Near to the conquered walls the Romans meet,
And long to see their victory complete;
With conquest flush’d in eagerness they wait
The word “attack,” to seal the city’s fate.
But Titus comes, his laurell’d brow serene,
Nor cross’d with frowns, nor wrinkled o’er with spleen,
But in his well-bought honors slowly moves,
Turns to his men, and thus their deeds approves:
“Behold, my friends, Jerusalem’s proud walls
O’erthrown by bravery and inward brawls,
By Roman bravery, which never droops,
By Rome’s allies and Roman well-try’d troops;
With grateful heart I ’plaud your mighty deeds,
And honor him who for his country bleeds;
Yes, happy he who in our cause has fell,
For fall we must, and who can fall so well
As for his country’s freedom—Who would shrink,
And, like a dog diseas’d, forgotten sink?
Is there one present holds a soul so base,
That would the name of Roman so disgrace?
Is there one here of all Rome’s fighting friends,
Who to such grov’ling baseness e’er descends?
Why do I pause—Let’s ask yon bleeding foe,
And why—yon falling towers answer—no?
Look at yon sturdy walls no longer such,
Those clouds of dust will tell you’ve done too much;
The walls no longer stop our great career,
Those headstrong rebel Jews no longer jeer.
Then on, my friends, nor check your flowing rage,
E’en to the temple’s steps the war we’ll wage,
There from its rocky height we’ll dash them slain,
And save the holy place themselves profane;
There pay our vows to Him, whose frowning nod
Makes nations tremble, Rome’s benignant God;
To whose great pow’r we owe each great success,
The king of all in heav’n, on earth not less.”
As Titus spoke, a band by Chezron led
Descend with each a torch of blazing red,
Down to the conquer’d inner wall they haste,
To move the Romans or the wall lay waste;
They mount the tow’rs, the Roman guards destroy,
And glut their deep revenge with savage joy;
Chezron, the foremost, tears the standard down,
And in its place exulting rears his own:
A well pois’d shaft now trembles in the air,
Which, e’er he can his weighty shield prepare,
Strikes to his brain.—“Save me!” aloud he cries,
With anguish mad, turns up his glaring eyes,
Reels, struggles, groans, then curses God, and dies.
His followers with frenzy view his end,
And lose at once their leader and their friend;
Wild in despair the destin’d wall they fire,
Then rushing headlong in the flames expire.
Three hundred Jews thus fearless sought a grave,
And fell with Chezron—all as Chezron brave;
Thus fell three hundred renegading Jews
To endless night (as all who God abuse),
Neglected fell, and fell no more to rise,
For ever banish’d from the happy skies.
Eleazer’s troops now on the Romans rush,
Resolv’d to perish or at once to crush,
With double speed their weighty jav’lins fly,
They kill with fury, and with fury die;
Yet all their courage now avails but nought,
For Roman ranks, with glowing freedom fraught,
Pursue their conquest, spite of breasted files,
Through falling ruins and o’er smoking piles.
The Jews retreat, the Romans follow hard,
Nor can assistant troops their steps retard;
Back to the guarded temple’s sloping height
The Jews retire, and there renew the fight;
There head to head they press both man and horse,
As striving vultures o’er the mould’ring corse,
Or, like two lions, eager both for blood,
Wage with their fangs to grasp the trembling flood.
But see!—the holy house—it smokes, it burns,
By Simon fir’d (who all devotion spurns),
The holy house, the temple’s outer court,
’Till now held sacred—stands a blazing fort.
Now ’midst the war, poor Jezra, sunk in woe,
Prays for her lofty friend—her city’s foe;
Around the Roman camp she walks and wails,
Tears her dark locks, and spreads them to the gales;
Like a young plantain, nipp’d by raging frost,
Droops for her friends—her native city lost;
Now wildly gazes on her once fair home,
Now views the ’spiring temple’s shining dome,
Beneath whose concave she so oft hath knelt,
Warm’d by that mercy angels never felt:
Angels ne’er felt?—nay, reader, do not pause,
What sav’d us from the curse of broken laws?
For what did Jesus undertake our cause?
For what did Jesus take a mortal form?
For what did Jesus bear each angry storm?
For what did Jesus tread our earthly road?
For what did Jesus bear our heavy load?
For what did Jesus sweat, did Jesus sigh?
And oh! for what did Jesus groan and die?
To save fall’n man from gaping hell—and prove
The strength of mercy and his saving love;
Redeeming love, to angels e’en unknown,
Redeeming mercy, ne’er to angels shown:
’Twas this that Jezra’s pious bosom fill’d,
’Twas this that ev’ry rising passion still’d;
’Twas this, when at the altar’s foot she lay,
Cheer’d her young soul, and bade her fears give way;
’Twas thoughts of this, and happy days gone by,
That now made Jezra roll her languid eye.
The curling smoke the stately building hides,
The flames dart round its well-built glossy sides;
The Jews fly thro’ their gory streets with fear,
Their groans and shouts reach even Jezra’s ear;
“The temple’s fir’d (they cry in piercing tones)
No shelter left to rest our weary bones!
God is the strongest, all our hopes are vain,
We strive ’gainst him, and therefore suffer pain;
Great God! restrain thy wrath, in pity save,
And penitent we’ll seek the silent grave.”
O’er dead and dying frantic Jezra speeds,
Through ranks of footmen, and ’midst frothy steeds,
To where brave Titus, struggling with the rest,
Inspires his men, and shews his dazzling crest;
There mid’ the din of war she dauntless stands,
And to the Roman lifts her lily hands:
“Great conqueror—invincible—my friend,
Oh! save the temple, and some pity lend;
Oh! let not distant ages proudly tell,
God’s consecrated house by Romans fell.
No—no—to check the flames then give your word,
And victory accompany your sword,
Think on my dying father’s last behest,
Think how he clasp’d you to his heaving breast,
Think how he gave me to your willing care,
Think how he bade you all my troubles share;
Preserve this casket, which again I give,
For if the temple falls I cease to live;
Oh! may’st thou ever conquer, ever quell,
Oh! may’st thou ever—Ah! that crash, farewell!”
Thus spake the maid, then seiz’d a fallen blade,
And cut her way, of foes nor death afraid;
Through smoke and dust she gains the silver’d door,
And flings herself upon the burning floor.
Around the roof the uncloy’d flames still roll,
While fear and madness fill each Jewish soul;
The Romans fight with more than mortal pow’r,
And press the Jews to Lebanon’s high tow’r,
(A place of strength, where Solomon abode,
And prov’d his wisdom in each new-penn’d code).
By hateful craft, in which the Jews excel,
Two hundred thousand manly Romans fell,
With twice as many Jews, who murd’ring died,
And with their victims grovel side by side.
Titus with grief beholds his falling troops,
But still his youthful courage nothing droops,
He goads his steed, repeats his leader’s names,
And bids them risk their lives to stop the flames:
But useless all, th’ increasing flames arise,
With dreadful glare illume the low’ring skies.
Amidst the flames is Jezra rising seen,
Around her neck a scarf of shining green,
The gift of Titus, which she always wore
In token of the stifled love she bore:
High on a pinnacle she stands, and there
Pours forth in dying tears her deep despair.
Warriors and men of might,
Great in peace and strong in fight,
Strive and slay
While you may,
God inspires you—He is right.
Sacrilegious rebels all,
You have fought, and you must fall,
In these fires
Hope expires,
Death your drooping heads enthrall.
Wake the trumpet, still the song,
Wield your weapons firm and strong,
Bravely rush,
Die or crush,
Round the burning temple throng.
Bid your famish’d children moan,
Bid your dying partners groan,
View the grave,
Nought can save,
Titus reigns on Judah’s throne.
Angels now around me sing,
Now aloft they take their wing,
See him here,
Father dear,
Oh! descend, and comfort bring.
See my murder’d mother’s shade,
Now of Rome nor Jews afraid,
Bids me die,
To her fly,
E’er this house in ruin’s laid.
Rebel Jews for death prepare,
Nought is left ye but despair;
’Twas foretold
You were sold,
When you built your temple square.
Conq’ring Titus, fare-thee-well,
Let not after ages tell,
Never know
Judah’s foe
Bade my breast with passion swell.
God of Light, who rules the whole,
Take, oh! take my fleeting soul;
Quit me—breath,
Welcome death,
Let me reach the long’d-for goal.
Father, mother, brothers, stay,
Bear me on your wings away,
Oh! descend,
Comfort lend,
Now my mortal pow’rs decay.
No more was heard—she groans,—she clasps the sash,
And silent falls amid the dreadful crash;
From ev’ry breast bursts forth a lengthen’d groan,
Aspiring Titus e’en forgets his throne:
He looks for her he ne’er shall see again,
And turns to weep, but weeping now is vain;
Awhile the troops with grief inactive stand,
Like shipwreck’d sailors on a barren strand,
Which having gain’d, lie murm’ring on the brink,
And view their comrades die, their vessel sink,
Without the pow’r to save,—while thro’ the sky
The pealing thunders roll and lightnings fly.
“Charge, Jews, with spirit (Simon madly cries)
And let them see their vaunting we despise;
Your temple’s lost, your wealthy city won,
’Tis slavery to yield, and death to run:
Then since these Christian dogs have taken all,
We’ll have revenge, and in revenging fall;
We’ll sell our lives as dearly as we may,
And end at once our sorrows and the fray.”
Again each soldier wakes to new alarms,
Again resounds the dreadful clang of arms,
Again they use their utmost force and skill,
Again each other’s blood with pleasure spill,
Again the Jews with eager glow assail,
And yet again must Roman arms prevail.
This Simon saw, and basely taking flight,
Escapes unknown amid the shades of night;
His famish’d troops beneath the Roman’s ire
Can scarcely stand—they strike, and then expire.
Next flies Eleazer to his native town,
And lost to hope of wearing Judah’s crown,
He mars his face, his fine wove garment rends,
Then fires his palace, calls his weeping friends,
And thus addresses them—“Now all is o’er,
In vain my fighting, I can do no more;
Him whom we crucify’d now mocks our woe,
And gives our once proud city to the foe;
In vain we strove, in vain their blood we’ve spilt,
’Tis ours to sin, and theirs to punish guilt,
Then do not weep—but die—’tis all we can.”—
He said,—and to his heart the weapon ran;
Forth flies the darken’d gore in foaming streams,
Around are heard deep groans and stifled screams,
In suffocating volumes rolls the smoke,
And all must die—each tie to earth is broke.
They seize Eleazer’s sword, and at each breast
They strike, and from their mortal sorrows rest;
Freed from their pride, and from ambition’s lust,
They, with their lordly palace, sink to dust.
Meanwhile, the Romans having conquer’d all,
And having kill’d till none was left to fall,
Like hunters ride through ev’ry blood-wash’d street,
Securing ev’ry valued prize they meet,
Uncheck’d by Titus, who within his tent
Thinks of his home, and gives his sorrows vent;
Thinks of his promis’d joys for ever fled,
For Jezra now is number’d with the dead.
“Ill-fated, girl! (he cries) thy lot was hard,
But who can now thy heav’nly steps retard?
No Titus conquers there to mock thy love,
No murd’ring rebels spoil thy peace above:
But had’st thou liv’d thy charms had broke my vow,
On thy smooth breast had sold my faith—but now,
My hard-earn’d honor’s safe, and happy thou.”
With this he opes the casket Jezra gave,
And drops the silent tear, as on her grave;
Gems, bars of gold, and glitt’ring ingots glow,
And strike upon his sight in costly show;
But these to him were now as gilded toys,
For she is gone, and with her all his joys.
A graven plate of gold soon meets his eyes,
And o’er its sides with eager haste he flies:
“To Titus—Roman, lover, friend, and king,
Jezra no more thy martial deeds shall sing;
No more, when hast’ning from the bloody plain,
Shall be the first to share thy joy or pain;
No more to wipe the sweaty drops away,
And hear thee tell the fortunes of the day;
No more will she thy glossy helm remove,
And bid thee war forego—to talk of love;
No more, when shines the moon, with thee she’ll roam,
No more she’ll point thee to thy heav’nly home;
No more the mercy of thy God she’ll show,
And tell what Jesus suffer’d here below.
But ah! if wounded to your tent you’re borne,
And that proud form by gnawing anguish torn,
Then look on these, poor Jezra’s dying gift,
Think of her, and thy soul to heaven lift,
Where now she dwells from ev’ry trouble free,
Where she has fled from earth, from Jews, and thee.”
Great Titus wept, and who could well refrain,
Her love avouch’d but now increas’d his pain.
Back to the blazing town again he rides,
Where death still stalks, and floats in bloody tides,
While near the temple’s ruins, once so gay,
Stood captur’d Simon, cloth’d in bright array, [78]
And calls aloud for Titus—he appears,
Nor mocks his fallen foe, nor proudly jeers,
But pours his anger thus to Simon’s ears.
“Thou most accursed of thy griping race,
Thy crimes are painted on that wrinkled face;
Yes, each foul hair that forms thy gristly beard,
Which speaks an age by all to be rever’d,
Would, had they fifty tongues, and each tongue free,
Could tell a murder basely done by thee.
Look on yon dying heaps, then look again,
Where in full pomp once stood your sacred fane;
See how its ruins jag the sacred hill,
Look round and view your city blazing still,
Then think that thou the author art of all,
Thy kindred’s murders, and thy city’s fall;
But now thy days shall know but woe and fear,
No hope shall point thee to the coming year,
But ev’ry minute bring some torment new,
Till you shall own none ever felt like you,
And in deep anguish bid the world adieu.”
Simon but answers with a dreary frown,
While Romans lead him through the conquer’d town,
Through trackless wastes, where palaces once stood,
O’er hills of slain, and streams of darken’d blood:
Still Titus rides amidst the awful roar,
Recalls his men, and bids them burn no more;
But vain his threats, and lost his loud commands,
They think of nought but what their rage demands.
With crash on crash the flames with force profound
Run thro’ whole streets, and hurl them to the ground,
There swamp’d in gore the ruins smoking lay,
While clouds of smoke obscure the shining day;
A sight like this was never seen before,
A sight so horrid shall be seen no more,
Till the last trump shall wake the slumb’ring dead,
And bid them rise from out their clayey bed;
Till Jesus’ blood-cross’d banner be unfurl’d,
And God’s avenging fire shall strike the world,
When fearing men and fiends shall dread the hour,
But all shall own the Saviour’s mighty pow’r,
Till Jews and Romans shall like friends arise,
And take their flight together through the skies;
There lost to anger and the love of fame
Shall join to bless the Tri-une’s sacred name;
Or like their native cities, burning go,
And sink for ever to eternal woe.
