Survey of the ascension of Christ—The consequences of the Jews rejecting him—State of the city—A description of the leaders of the rebels, with their situations—The Romans effect a breach—The rebels join and resist them—A battle which lasts till night—Titus is awakened by a dream—Walks among the dead—Encounters a dying Jew and his daughter, whom he swears to protect—The Jew’s death—Titus bears the lady to his tent—Morning—The siege renewed—Antiochus of Macedon begs leave to attack the Jews—Titus consents—Antiochus’s defeat and narrow escape—The Romans gain the second and third wall—A view of the city.

See how he shines! the wondrous great God-man,
Archangels’ wings theorising breezes fan;
Their trumpets shake the joyful realms above,
And hail his coming to a Father’s love:
Th’ angelic choir the golden harps prepare,
And waft their joyful strains to nether air,
More sweet they chaunt, more vigorous their lays,
They sing his love—a fond Redeemer’s praise;
They sing of him who shed his peaceful blood,
Who in the place of ruin’d mortals stood;
Who, now the task is done, his throne resumes,
’Till sleeping men shall issue from their tombs.
See how the cherubim their homage pay,
And raise their hallelujahs thro’ the day;
Around his throne the lovely rainbow [34] gleams,
On His bright face its added glory beams:
Yet this Eternal, fallen man to save,
Hung on the cross, descended to the grave,
Was marr’d with thorns, bore man’s vast load of guilt,
To save e’en Jews his precious blood was spilt;
But they, perverse, his promis’d ransom scorn’d,
And lost in sin, to sin their safety pawn’d.
Now comes the tainting force of sin’s harsh breath,
War, famine, murder, slavery, and death.
Now view the holy temple’s checquer’d floor
Strew’d o’er with bodies welt’ring in their gore;
Their op’ning veins send forth a crimson flood,
The marble steps are overflown with blood;
The rev’rend priest before the mob recedes,
And sacrifice with sacrificer bleeds:
Sons, fathers, brothers, ’gainst each other strive,
And as their victims fall, with joy revive;
While gnawing hunger, horror, and despair,
Pervade each breast, and in their faces stare.
A tender mother, by hard famine prest,
Views her dear infant die upon her breast;
The spouse returning sucks his partner’s breath,
And with her sinks into the arms of death;
A loving brother hears his sister’s cries,
Kisses her haggard cheek, and with her dies.
Now through the streets the mad’ning rabble pour,
Thousands by thousands with their leaders—four;
Ambitious souls, who strive to win the crown,
Four able chieftains, and of great renown.
First came Eleazer, Simon’s headstrong son,
Whose fame was sullied e’er his deeds begun;
His fiery soul by gentle love was sway’d,
He sought for Judah’s crown to win the maid:
A Jewish dame, possessing ev’ry grace,
A splendid fortune and a lovely face;
But high of birth, proud, arrogant, and vain,
Such was the fair, Eleazer strove to gain;
For her the claims of pity he withstood,
And swore to gain her, tho’ through fields of blood
Unhappy youth! with grief we see thy state,
And think thee worthy of a better fate;
By him oppos’d was Chezron, luckless fool,
What claims are his that he alone should rule?
Devoid of sense, impetuous and proud,
Heedless in war, and in the senate loud;
Cruel, revengeful, deadly in his hate,
Fit man, indeed, to save a falling state.

The next was John, a Jew of noble birth,
Who thought that he was born to rule the earth;
His father told him so, and he believ’d,
Nor doubted but the world would be reliev’d
From Roman tyranny.—Mistaken youth,
Had some kind friend inclined thine heart to truth,
How many husbands’ groans and fathers’ fears,
How many mothers had been spar’d their tears;
But such is man; his restless passions’ slave,
He seeks for happiness, and finds a grave.
Spurr’d by ambition and a thirst for fame,
He gains his end, then dies and leaves—a name:
He hears that joys are found beyond the skies,
And not on earth, yet after joys he flies,
Gives up the chace, pursues again, and dies.

The other murd’ring chief,
Who fill’d Jerusalem with woe and grief,
Was Simeon, Eleazer’s haughty sire,
A Jew by birth, and fill’d with Jewish fire,
By some call’d Simon—dreadful in array,
He swore to Judah’s throne to cut his way.
Eight thousand men of war his power own’d,
Beneath whose swords how many thousands groan’d!
Eleazer and his bands the temple gain’d,
And with their horrid deeds the place profan’d;
In blood they walk’d, breathing defiance round,
The vaulted roof their awful oaths resound;
Madly they rush, like tygers on their prey,
And murder all who dare oppose their way.
Without was John’s and Chezron’s savage bands,
In bloody strife engag’d, clos’d hands to hands,
While from the hill above the shafts were pour’d,
To fell those wretches who escap’d the sword.
By Simon’s party was the hill possess’d,
And wing’d their darts, whilst others closely press’d;
But hark! the Romans shout, “It’s down! it’s down!
A breach is made, and we possess the town!”
The wall so long by Roman arms assail’d,
The wall which long o’er Roman arts prevail’d,
But now, deserted by the city’s feud,
Gives way, at last, by Roman pow’r subdu’d.

“Hold, fools! (Eleazer cries) and cease your rage,
Shall we like lions here with friends engage,
While pagan dogs lay this our city low,
And trample on our laws without a blow?
No, never be it said; but follow me,
And with me die, or share my victory.”
The bands inspir’d, forget their civil thrall,
And join’d like brothers, rush towards the wall;
The mounted Romans view their coming foes,
Whilst ev’ry breast with double ardour glows:
The Jews approach—a bloody scene ensues,
Whole hosts of Romans fall on hosts of Jews.
The Jews retreat—the inner wall they gain,
And there with fury still the fight maintain;
Till lively Day had spun her golden thread,
And dusky Night her sable pinions spread.
Each warrior then, with toil and fury worn,
Unclasps the armour he so long has borne;
The sombre god their weary eyelids close,
And void of fear they taste a sweet repose;
Save the drear centinel, whose measur’d pace
Suits well the gloomy horrors of the place:
He gazes round upon the slaughter’d hosts,
Now thinks of blood, and now of fleeting ghosts,
And sighing cries—“I wish the war was o’er,
I safe at home within my cottage door.”
The conq’ring Titus now securely rests,
Freed from the cares of war and hostile guests;
But flitting fancies now around him play,
In wanton song they bid him to be gay;
Imagination points the city’s doom,
And he triumphant welcom’d into Rome:
The crown of laurels on his brow he feels,
And Jewish slaves attend his weighty wheels,
While Mars, o’ercome by Cupid’s well-known pow’r,
Destroys his tent, and rears a shady bow’r;
Here Love and Pleasure hail his wish’d return,
Here pomp and adulation round him burn,
Here joyous nymphs their graceful forms display
In mazy dance, and glad the happy day
With merry songs, and Titus is the theme,
But Titus wakes, and finds ’tis but a dream;
Still unresolv’d he looks around with pain,
Then sinks upon his couch to dream again,
Yet sleep flies from him, while his roving sense
Recalls past scenes—a paltry recompense.
Now, peerless Cynthia, goddess of the night,
In bright array sheds forth her silver light:
Her splendid beams shine on the waking chief,
Dispel the cloud, and smile away his grief.
“Shame! shame! (he cries) shall fancy thus controul,
And shall a dream unman a Roman soul?
Shall fleeting visions thwart my well try’d aim?
Forbid it manliness, forbid it fame.”
Whilst speaking thus, the Roman king arose,
And wanders forth ’midst heaps of slaughter’d foes;
Now join’d with dying friends, whose deepen’d sighs
In mournful echoes play along the skies.
Here thrifty Jews regret their ill-got coin,
Here Romans bold with bleeding cowards join;
The haughty chiefs in life overspread with pride,
Now grovel with the peasant side by side;
These Titus view’d with pain and downcast eye,
And strove in vain to stop the coming sigh;
Lost in himself, he wanders to and fro,
His eyes cast upward now—now down below,
While Cynthia still, is all her splendor deck’d,
Smiles on the bloody scene by clouds uncheck’d.
He hears a sound, and, aided by her beams,
Moves on his way—then stops, and thinks he dreams;
Listens again, and hears a female’s words:
“Oh, men! more cruel than your shining swords,
Could ye not spare my father’s hoary age?
Would not my three brave brothers glut your rage?
Would not a mother, by keen famine slain?
Return, my father! back to life again,
Return to share again thy daughter’s kiss!
Or bear me with you to yon scenes of bliss,
Where war and blood ne’er fright the peaceful shore,
And Jews or Romans trouble us no more.”

Great Titus melts, his flashing eyes o’erflow,
He weeps with pity—pity for a foe.
“Fair maid (said he) why spring those flowing tears?
Repose your grief with me, drive hence your fears,
Suppress those sighs, your parent yet may live,
He shall not fall for aught that I can give.”
The dying father at these words awoke,
And stares with vacancy on him who spoke,
Then mournful lisps, “Oh, man! if man thou art,
Attend my last poor wish e’er I depart,
And, if thou hop’st for peace beyond the grave,
Preserve an orphan, and my daughter save;
Oh! cheer my Jezra, pity her despair,
With you I leave her, take her to your care:
I was your deadly enemy ’tis true,
For thou a Roman art, and I a Jew.
But ah! that starting tear now speaks thee friend,
Then promise thou my Jezra to defend;
Thou swearest by thy sword!—Enough, enough;—
Oh! may thy path through life be never rough.
Here, take this casket, all I now have left,
For I have been of wealth and house bereft;
Give Jezra part, and then keep thou the rest,
Protect and guard her—so shalt thou be blest;
Farewell! farewell! the tide of life ebbs fast,
Soon will my dreary sorrows all be past,
Soon shall I meet my sons and martyr’d wife,
And feel no more the woes of war and strife.
I can no more—my wand’ring sight grows dark,
Jezra, adieu! death sinks my shatter’d bark,
My wound bursts forth, my spirit mounts on high,
To gain a happy home—I sink, I die!”
A dreadful pause, all nature seems to sleep,
The moon retires involv’d in clouds to sleep;
The scene around looks naked and forlorn,
And black’ning clouds obscure the welcome morn;
The maid in anguish wrings her lily hands,
Then flings her fragile form upon the sands.
Titus, transfix’d with love and fear, still kneels,
Hears ev’ry sob, and all her sorrow feels;
Raises the lovely burden in his arms,
Wipes off the tear, and gazes on her charms:
Then checks his sighs, which strive in vain for vent,
And bears the senseless maiden to his tent.

The sun now rises, and with him the troops,
Some singly go and some in chatting groups;
Some shew how they might gain the second wall,
Some plan th’ attack, and tell the city’s fall.
The trumpets sound, each hastens to his post,
Till straggling numbers form a dreadful host,
Their brighten’d arms with polish’d lustre glows.
To strike with dazzling awe their bearded foes;
Whilst neighing chargers, eager for the fight,
Now prance around with joy—a goodly sight.

Brave Titus now in warlike pomp array’d,
For war’s dread clangor leaves the weeping maid,
And mounted on his lofty milk-white steed
Surveys his armies—ready all to bleed;
With lofty shouts they rend the troubled air,
And joyful for the crimson field prepare.
“This joys my soul (cries Titus) comrades all,
Who dare oppose such bravery must fall;
Then let not eager rashness mark your way,
But dart like serpents on your yielding prey;
Let not dissension part our peaceful hive,
And oh! reflect, that you with madmen strive—
Madmen who, careless of their city’s fate,
Meet death like tigers, and like tigers hate:
Be crafty then, be steady, but be brave,
And dim with Jewish blood each shining glaive;
Remember your forefathers’ mighty deeds,
This poise your darts, this urge your well-train’d steeds;
Here let our Roman banners be unfurl’d,
Rome still shall be the mistress of the world.”
Again the army their loud voices raise,
And in loud accents echo forth his praise:
“Down with Jerusalem! great Titus, live!
Titus shall reign; to him our lives we give,
For him we’ll fight ’till Jewish tongues shall own,
That only he is worthy Judah’s throne.”
They raise, their spears, their shining weapons wield,
And strike their arms against the sounding shield;
Their eager coursers paw the beaten ground,
While e’en the city hears the lengthen’d sound.

“Approach, brave Antiochus (Titus cries)
Why bends that brow? why sink those gloomy eyes?
Has aught been done to shame thy father’s shade?
Great Alexander! does thy courage fade,
That courage which has e’er undoubted stood,
That tips thy weighty spear so oft with blood?
Or does this dreary siege your spirits tire,
And still restrain your youthful warlike fire?
Speak freely, prince, brave Alexander’s heir,
Believe me, friend, your weal shall be my care.”

“Most mighty sir (the youthful chief returns)
My lofty soul for speedy conquest burns,
Which ne’er can be attain’d if thus we stay,
And with such boyish tremours shun the fray:
Six hundred hardy youths attend my word,
All skill’d to fling the dart or wield the sword,
Of Macedonia all, a lofty race,
And sprung from fathers they will ne’er disgrace.
Permit us then, brave sir, these Jews to tame,
And die, at least, with glory on our name;
At once like lions on our foes we’ll rush,
Like lions perish, or like lions crush.”

“Prince (answers Titus) you’re, I fear, too bold,
But yet in Rome it never shall be told,
That Titus checked the ardor of his hosts:
No, lead them on, we still maintain our posts,
And if thou fall’st, as much I fear thou wilt,
Thy comrades’ blood be on thee, thine the guilt.”
The headstrong youths now spur their foaming steeds
Straight to the walls, and Antiochus leads;
The walls are lin’d with Jews, a mighty show,
Who pour their jav’lins thick upon the foe:
The jav’lins ring upon each brazen shield,
Rebound aloft, and sink upon the field.
Machines for scaling ’gainst the wall they fix,
And then undaunted mount them six by six;
But six by six they fall, a gory heap,
And with their fathers now in darkness sleep.
Five thousand Jews now issue from the gate,
All fram’d for slaughter, big with ’venging fate;
Surrounding Antiochus’s brave band,
Their angry songs are heard through Judah’s land.
Buckler to buckler, clashing steel to steel,
Ring thro’ the air with harsh and dismal peal;
In vain the Macedonians strive to fly,
Hemm’d in with foes they fight, and fighting die.
Titus afar beholds them cut and slain,
And bids his willing army scour the plain;
But all too late—the Jews hard pressing still,
Like reapers mow till none are left to kill,
Save Antiochus—he, amidst the fray,
Brake their close ranks, and through them cut his way:
His courser wounded fell, on foot he fled,
Whilst whizzing arrows flew around his head.
The Jews pursue, each goads his tiring steed,
The flying prince defies their angry speed,
And gains the camp, from fear and danger freed;
Then turns his eyes towards the fatal walls,
Gazes on Titus, staggers,—pants,—and falls.
Just so the bounding stag by hunters chac’d,
Its lovely limbs by sweat and dust defac’d,
Escapes their toils, regains his native glade,
And trembling sinks to rest beneath the shade.
But now the Roman army move along,
Around the walls the Jewish rebels throng;
They meet, the fight begins, with blow for blow,
While hostile blood in foaming currents flow.
Breast-plates resound, spears crack on shatter’d helms,
The Romans press, their fury overwhelms;
Death stalks triumphant o’er the purpled scene,
And fills his hungry jaws from wounds yet green,
Scoffs at his victim’s courage to his face,
And joyous clasps him in his cold embrace.
The Jews retire, o’erpress’d with dire fatigue,
Within the gate to mourn their broken league,
To mourn the bleeding comrades they now lack,
And breathless wait the Romans’ fierce attack.
The Romans, with their new success elate,
Place batt’ring rams, and force each pond’rous gate;
A breach they make, then mount—the Jews oppose,
And pour destruction on their rising foes:
Whole legions fall, yet legions still appear,
And mount the breach, devoid of puny fear.
The rebel Jews dismay’d the wall forsake,
And Roman arms the second wall retake;
Soon mounted high the golden eagle shines,
And spreads new life, thro’ all the weary’d lines.
They shout aloud, their sun-burnt faces glow,
Heedless they pass their comrades now laid low;
No thoughts but war and victory they own,
Of conq’ring Romans and of Jews o’erthrown,
Of easy plunder to reward their toils,
Of massive gold and weighty Jewish spoils.

A sad reverse within the city reigns,
Here all is dying groans and bleeding veins;
Here Famine still in all its horrors clad,
Press some to death, and leave the living mad;
Here restless Faction rides in deadly strife,
And pleas’d with blood now takes the long-sought life;
Here sore oppression gripes with iron hand,
And darts with fury o’er the bleeding land;
Here houses blaze, here welt’ring bodies lay,
And fright with deep-fetch’d groans the dark’ning day;
Wild desolation holds his murd’ring reign,
While pity heedless bleeds at ev’ry vein.
Ill-fated city, Judah’s greatest pride,
Thy boasted strength all distant lands deride,
Now laugh to see thy boding towers gone,
To view thy fertile meadows left forlorn;
To view thy chiefs, with blood and rapine strong,
Now spread destruction o’er the famish’d throng,
Whose wealth nor pow’r can aught assistance give,
Or let their starving owners longer live.
So the firm oak, proud monarch of the wood,
Which for whole ages has undaunted stood,
When lightnings flash, and thunders roll afar,
Gives way, o’ercome by elemental war.