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| REFT of thy sons, amid thy foes forlorn, | |
| Mourn, widowed queen, forgotten Sion, mourn! | |
| Is this thy place, sad city, this thy throne, | |
| Where the wild desert rears its craggy stone; | |
| While suns unblest their angry lustre fling, | 5 |
| And wayworn pilgrims seek the scanty spring? | |
| Where now thy pomp which kings with envy viewed? | |
| Where now thy might which all those kings subdued? | |
| No martial myriads muster in thy gate; | |
| No suppliant nations in thy Temple wait; | 10 |
| No prophet bards, thy glittering courts among, | |
| Wake the full lyre, and swell the tide of song: | |
| But lawless force, and meagre want are there, | |
| And the quick-darting eye of restless fear, | |
| While cold oblivion mid thy ruins laid, | 15 |
| Folds his dank wing beneath the ivy shade. * * * * * | |
| O happy once in Heaven’s peculiar love, | |
| Delight of men below, and saints above! | |
| Though, Salem, now the spoiler’s ruffian hand | |
| Has loosed his hell-hounds o’er thy wasted land; | 20 |
| Though weak, and whelmed beneath the storms of fate, | |
| Thy house is left unto thee desolate; | |
| Though thy proud stones in cumbrous ruin fall, | |
| And seas of sand o’ertop thy mouldering wall; | |
| Yet shall the Muse to Fancy’s ardent view | 25 |
| Each shadowy trace of faded pomp renew: | |
| And as the seer on Pisgah’s topmost brow | |
| With glistening eye beheld the plain below, | |
| With prescient ardor drank the scented gale, | |
| And bade the opening glades of Canaan hail; | 30 |
| Her eagle eye shall scan the prospect wide, | |
| From Carmel’s cliffs to Almotana’s tide; | |
| The flinty waste, the cedar-tufted hill, | |
| The liquid health of smooth Ardeni’s rill; | |
| The grot where, by the watchfire’s evening blaze, | 35 |
| The robber riots, or the hermit prays; | |
| Or where the tempest rives the hoary stone, | |
| The wintry top of giant Lebanon. * * * * * | |
| For thee his ivory load Behemoth bore, | |
| And far Sofala teemed with golden ore; | 40 |
| Thine all the arts that wait on wealth’s increase, | |
| Or bask and wanton in the beam of peace. | |
| When Tiber slept beneath the cypress gloom, | |
| And silence held the lonely woods of Rome; | |
| Or e’er to Greece the builder’s skill was known, | 45 |
| Or the light chisel brushed the Parian stone; | |
| Yet here fair Science nursed her infant fire, | |
| Fanned by the artist aid of friendly Tyre. | |
| Then towered the palace, then in awful state | |
| The temple reared its everlasting gate: | 50 |
| No workman’s steel, no ponderous axes rung! | |
| Like some tall palm the noiseless fabric sprung. | |
| Majestic silence!—then the harp awoke, | |
| The cymbal clanged, the deep-voiced trumpet spoke; | |
| And Salem spread her suppliant arms abroad, | 55 |
| Viewed the descending flame, and blessed the present God. * * * * * | |
| Lo! star-led chiefs Assyrian odors bring, | |
| And bending Magi seek their infant King! * * * * * | |
| Daughter of Sion! virgin queen! rejoice! | |
| Clap the glad hand and lift the exulting voice! | 60 |
| He comes,—but not in regal splendor drest, | |
| The haughty diadem, the Tyrian vest; | |
| Not armed in flame, all-glorious from afar, | |
| Of hosts the chieftain, and the lord of war: | |
| Messiah comes! let furious discord cease; | 65 |
| Be peace on earth before the Prince of Peace! * * * * * | |
| Ye hovering ghosts, that throng the starless air, | |
| Why shakes the earth? why fades the light? declare! | |
| Are those His limbs, with ruthless scourges torn? | |
| His brows, all bleeding with the twisted thorn? | 70 |
| His the pale form, the meek, forgiving eye | |
| Raised from the cross in patient agony? | |
| Be dark, thou sun,—thou noonday night, arise, | |
| And hide, O, hide, the dreadful sacrifice! | |
| Ye faithful few, by bold affection led, | 75 |
| Who round the Saviour’s cross your sorrows shed, | |
| Not for his sake your tearful vigils keep; | |
| Weep for your country, for your children weep! | |
| Vengeance! thy fiery wing their race pursued; | |
| Thy thirsty poniard blushed with infant blood. | 80 |
| Roused at thy call, and panting still for game, | |
| The bird of war, the Latian eagle came. | |
| Then Judah raged, by ruffian Discord led, | |
| Drunk with the steamy carnage of the dead: | |
| He saw his sons by dubious slaughter fall, | 85 |
| And war without, and death within the wall. | |
| Wide-wasting plague, gaunt famine, mad despair, | |
| And dire debate, and clamorous strife were there; | |
| Love, strong as death, retained his might no more, | |
| And the pale parent drank her children’s gore. | 90 |
| Yet they who wont to roam the ensanguined plain, | |
| And spurn with fell delight their kindred slain; | |
| E’en they, when, high above the dusty fight, | |
| Their burning temple rose in lurid light, | |
| To their loved altars paid a parting groan, | 95 |
| And in their country’s woes forgot their own. | |
| As mid the cedar courts and gates of gold | |
| The trampled ranks in miry carnage rolled, | |
| To save their Temple every hand essayed, | |
| And with cold fingers grasped the feeble blade: | 100 |
| Through their torn veins reviving fury ran, | |
| And life’s last anger warmed the dying man! * * * * * | |
| Ah! fruitful now no more,—an empty coast, | |
| She mourned her sons enslaved, her glories lost: | |
| In her wide streets the lonely raven bred, | 105 |
| There barked the wolf, and dire hyenas fed. | |
| Yet midst her towery fanes, in ruin laid, | |
| The pilgrim saint his murmuring vespers paid; | |
| ’T was his to climb the tufted rocks, and rove | |
| The checkered twilight of the olive grove; | 110 |
| ’T was his to bend beneath the sacred gloom, | |
| And wear with many a kiss Messiah’s tomb. * * * * * | |
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