I came to spare, it wraps the fabric round.
Fate, Fate, I feel thou'rt mightier than Cesar,
He cannot save what thou hast doom'd! Back,
Romans,

Withdraw your angry cohorts, and give place
To the inevitable ruin. Destiny,

It is thine own, and Cesar yields it to thee.
Lead off the prisoner.

SIMON.

Can it be the fire
And yet how dare I doubt ?
Destroys, the thunders cease. I'll not believe,

A moment, Romans.
Is't then thy will, Almighty Lord of Israel,
That this thy Temple be a heap of ashes?
Is't then thy will, that I, thy chosen Captain,
Put on the raiment of captivity?

By Abraham, our father! by the Twelve,
The Patriarch Sons of Jacob! by the Law,
In thunder spoken! by the untouch'd Ark!
By David, and the Anointed Race of Kings!
By great Elias, and the gifted Prophets !
I here demand a sign!

'Tis there-I see it. The fire that rends the Veil !

We are then of thee
Abandon'd-not abandon'd of ourselves.
Heap woes upon us, scatter us abroad,
Earth's scorn and hissing; to the race of men
A loathsome proverb; spurn'd by every foot,
And curs'd by every tongue; our heritage
And birthright bondage; and our very brows
Bearing, like Cain's, the outcast mark of hate :
Israel will still be Israel, still will boast
Her fallen Temple, her departed glory ;
And, wrapt in conscious righteousness, defy
Earth's utmost hate, and answer scorn with scorn.

THE FOUNTAIN OF SILOE.
MIRIAM, the Soldier.

MIRIAM.

Here, here not here-oh! any where but hereNot toward the fountain, not by this lone path.

What's here?
Am I in heaven, and thou forehasted thither
To welcome me? Ah, no! thy warlike garb,
And the wild light, that reddens all the air,
Those shrieks-and yet this could not be on earth,
The sad, the desolate, the sinful earth.
And thou couldst venture amid fire and death,
Amid thy country's ruins to protect me,
Dear Javan?

Javan, I fear that mine are tears of joy :
'Tis sinful at such times-but thou art here,
And I am on thy bosom, and I cannot
Be, as I ought, entirely miserable.

JAVAN.

My own beloved! I dare call thee mine,

For Heaven hath given thee to me-chosen out,
As we two are for solitary blessing,
While the universal curse is pour'd around us
On every head, 'twere cold and barren gratitude
To stifle in our hearts the holy gladness.

But, oh Jerusalem! thy rescued children
May not, retir'd within their secret joy,
Shut out the mournful sight of thy calamities.

Oh, beauty of earth's cities! throned queen
Of thy milk-flowing valleys! crown'd with glory!
The envy of the nations! now no more
A city-One by one thy palaces
Sink into ashes, and the uniform smoke
O'er half thy circuit hath brought back the night
Which the insulting flames had made give place
To their untimely terrible day. The flames
That in the Temple, their last proudest conquest,
Now gather all their might, and furiously,
Like revellers, hold there exulting triumph.
Round every pillar, over all the roof,
On the wide gorgeous front, the holy depth
Of the far sanctuary, every portico,
And every court, at once, concentrated,
As though to glorify and not destroy,
They burn, they blaze-

Look!

Look, Miriam, how it stands!

Hark-hark!

The feeble cry of an expiring nation.

Hark-hark!

The awe-struck shout of the unboasting conqueror.
Hark-hark!

It breaks-it severs-it is on the earth.
The smother'd fires are quench'd in their own ruins :
Like a huge dome, the vast and cloudy smoke
Hath cover'd all.
And it is now no more,

Nor ever shall be to the end of time,
The Temple of Jerusalem!-Fall down,
My brethren, on the dust, and worship here
The mysteries of God's wrath.
Even so shall perish,
In its own ashes, a more glorious Temple,
Yea, God's own architecture, this vast world,
This fated universe-the same destroyer,
The same destruction-Earth, Earth, Earth, be
hold!

And in that judgment look upon thine own!

HYMN.

Even thus amid thy pride and luxury,
Oh Earth! shall that last coming burst on thee.
That secret coming of the Son of Man.
When all the cherub-throning clouds shall shine,
Irradiate with his bright advancing sign:

When that Great Husbandman shall wave his fan, Sweeping, like chaff, thy wealth and pomp away: Still to the noontide of that nightless day,

Shalt thou thy wonted dissolute course maintain. Along the busy mart and crowded street, The buyer and the seller still shall meet,

And marriage feasts begin their jocund strain : Still to the pouring out the Cup of Wo; Till Earth, a drunkard, reeling to and fro, And mountains molten by his burning feet, And Heaven his presence own, all red with furnace heat.

The hundred-gated Cities then,

The Towers and Temples, nam'd of men
Eternal, and the Thrones of Kings;
The gilded summer Palaces,
The courtly bowers of love and ease,
Where still the Bird of pleasure sings;
Ask ye the destiny of them?
Go gaze on fallen Jerusalem!

Yea, mightier names are in the fatal roll,
'Gainst earth and heaven God's standard is un-
furl'd,

The skies are shrivell'd like a burning scroll, And the vast common doom ensepulchres the world.

Oh! who shall then survive?

Oh! who shall stand and live?

When all that hath been, is no more :
When for the round earth hung in air,
With all its constellations fair

In the sky's azure canopy;

When for the breathing Earth, and Sparkling Sea,
Is but a fiery deluge without shore,

Heaving along the abyss profound and dark,
A fiery deluge, and without an Ark.

Lord of all power, when thou art there alone
On thy eternal fiery-wheeled throne,
That in its high meridian noon

Needs not the perish'd sun nor moon:
When thou art there in thy presiding state,
Wide-sceptred Monarch o'er the realm of doom:
When from the sea depths, from earth's darkest

womb,

The dead of all the ages round thee wait: And when the tribes of wickedness are strewn

Like forest leaves in the autumn of thine ire: Faithful and True! thou still wilt save thine own!

The saints shall dwell within the unharning fire, Each white robe spotless, blooming every palin. Even safe as we, by this still fountain's side, So shall the Church, thy bright and mystic Bride, Sit on the stormy gulf a halcyon bird of calm. Yes, 'mid yon angry and destroying signs, O'er us the rainbow of thy mercy shines, We hail, we bless the covenant of its beam, Almighty to avenge, Almightiest to redeem !

THE LATE DR. ARNOLD.

From the Edinburgh Review,

Introductory Lectures on Modern History. By THOMAS ARNOLD, D.D., Regius Professor of Modern History in the University of Oxford, and Head Master of Rugby School. 8vo. Oxford: 1842.

IMPERFECTLY as this volume of Lectures, interrupted by the death of its lamented author, answers the promise, to the fulfilment of which we looked so eagerly, little more than a year ago, when he was appointed to the Chair of Modern History at Oxford, we should feel ourselves guilty of no common degree of neglect if we omitted to notice it; for we may perhaps find no other occasion for paying our tribute of respect to one of the noblest minds and highest characters of these days, prematurely taken from us in the middle of a career of usefulness, which we believe we are guilty of no exaggeration in terming unparalleled in that line of life which Dr. Arnold had adopted.

As far as they throw light on the literary and intellectual attainments of their author, these lectures are undoubtedly incomplete enough; and, regarded in that point of view, they possess the positive fault of attempting too many things at once. They are impressed with the peculiarly eager temperament, the perfervidum ingenium, the active, but somewhat desultory range of thought which display themselves, more or less, in every production of the writer. Who that has read much, and felt strongly, on any subject, and who has not yet acquired that last and somewhat melancholy gift of experience, the art of arranging and chastening the thoughts as they arise, when favored with some opportunity of giving vent to his accumulated ideas, has not experienced the mixture of pleasurable excitement and embarrassment produced by the throng of multitudinous topics pressing forward for utter

ance? This argument to be confuted, that be advanced, that well-remembered illustrato be urged, this long-cherished theory to tion to be furbished up for use-and all to be compressed within the narrow compass prescribed by overruling circumstances! Just so we can conceive of Dr. Arnoldfrom his youth an insatiable reader of history, and at the same time an active contrcversialist, in whose head every series of phenomena naturally crystallized into a theory-when he suddenly found himself invested with the office of an historical teacher. We perceive at once, in the odd mixture of matters huddled together in these few pages, the variety of subjects which filled his mind, and the necessity under which he lay of disburdening himself of his feelings on each, as if the retention of any part of his stores oppressed him. The province of history-the provinces of church and state-the characteristics of historical style-military ethics-military geography -national prejudices-religious and politi cal parties in England-these are only some of the prominent topics rather glanced at than discussed in the pages before us; and put forward apparently as if for more extended consideration at some future timetopics on which he longed to speak his mind to the world, and could not abstain from a partial disclosure of it-topics, many of them, on which we shall have long to wait for an instructor as rich at once in zeal and knowledge.

But if this volume is to a certain extent. disappointing, rather from the over-richness than meagerness of its contents, it will, if possible, add to the veneration with which its author's character is already regarded as a moral philosopher, and an instructor of the youth of England. It adds one more claim to those which the late head master of Rugby already possessed on public gratitude and veneration.

Every one accustomed to English society has observed the strength of that generous tie which, in after life, connects the pupil, especially when bred in our great public schools, with his former master. Even in ordinary cases, we by no means admit the truth of the ill-natured saying, that there is little of this affectionate remembrance, except where the scholar feels himself superior to his teacher. We believe it, on the contrary, to be the general rule, and that the exceptions arise only from causes discreditable either to the one party or the other. But, common as this feeling is, and derived as it is from many sources-from the instinctive attachment to old places and times