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MUSEUM OF LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART.
APRIL, 184 3.
FALL OF JERUSALEM.
Titus, Placidus, Terentius, Soldiers, Simon. I came to spare, it wraps the fabric ronnd.
Fate, Fate, I feel thou'rt mightier than Cesar, TITUS. Save, save the Temple! Placidus, Terentius,
He cannot save what thou hast doom'd! Back, Haste, bid the legions cease to slay; and quench
Withdraw your angry cohorts, and give place
It is thine own, and Cesar yields it to thee.
Lead off the prisoner.
Can it be? the fire
A moment, Romans. Ay, when your Cesar's throne, your Capitol
Is't then thy will, Almighty Lord of Israel,
That this thy Temple be a heap of ashes ?
Ist then thy will, that I, thy chosen Captain,
By Abraham, our father I 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 Élias, and the gifted Prophets !
1 here demand a sign! The bloody Captain of the Rebels, Simon,
"Tis there-I see it. The Chief Assassin. Seize him, round his limbs The fire that rends the Veil ! Bind straight your heaviest chains. An unhop'd
We are then of theo pageant
Abandond- not abandon'd of ourselves. For Cesar's high ovation. We'll not slay him, Heap woes upon us, scatter us abroad, Till we have made a show to the wives of Rome Earth's scorn and hissing ; to the race of men Of the great Hebrew Chiestain.
A loathsome proverb; spurn'd by every foot,
And curs'd by every tongue ; our heritage
And biribright bondage ; and our very brows
Bearing, like Cain's, the outcast mark of hate : See that ye rivet well their galling links.
Israel will still be Israel, still will boast (Holding up the chains.) And ye've no finer flax to gyve me with ?
Her fallen Temple, her departed glory ;
And, wrapt in conscious righteousness, defy
Earth's utmost hate, and answer scorn with scorn. Burst these, and we will forge thee stronger then.
THE FOUNTAIN OF SILOE.
MIRIAM, the Soldier.
Here, here-not here-oh! any where but here-Of those that perish in the flames. Too late Not toward the fountain, not by this lone path.
Vol. I. No. IV. 37
If thou wilt bear me hence, I'll kiss thy feet,
Hark-hark! And an officious kindness in thy violence
It breaks-it severs—it is on the earth. But I've not heard thy voice.
The smother'd fires are quench'd in their own ruins :
And it is now no more,
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, Forgive me all thy tears, thy agonies.
Yea, God's own architecture, this vast world,
This fated universe--the same destroyer, I dar'd not speak to thee, lest the strong joy
The same destruction- Earth, Earth, Earth, beShould overpower thee, and thy feeble limbs
hold! Refuse to bear thee in thy flight.
And in that judgment look upon thine own!
That secret coming of the Son of Man. Those shrieks- and yet this could not be on earth, 1 When all the cherub-throning clouds shall shine. The sad, the desolate, the sinful earth.
Irradiate with his bright advancing sign: And thou couldst venture amid fire and death, When that Great Husbandman shall wave his fan. Amid thy country's ruins to protect me,
Sweeping, like chaff, thy wealth and pomp away : Dear Javan? * *
Still to the noontide of that nightless day, Javan, I fear that mine are tears of joy :
Shalt thou thy wonted dissolute course maintain. 'Tis sinful at such times—but thou art here, Along the busy mart and crowded street, And I am on thy bosom, and I cannot
The buyer and the seller still shall meet, Be, as I ought, entirely miserable.
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, For Heaven bath given thee to me-chosen out, And Heaven his presence own, all red with furnace As we two are for solitary blessing,
heat. While the universal curse is pour'd around us On every head, 'twere cold and barren gratitude
The hundred-gated Cities then, To stifle in our hearts the holy gladness.
The Towers and Temples, nam'd of men But, oh Jerusalem ! thy rescued children
Eternal, and the Thrones of Kings; May not, retir'd within their secret joy,
The gilded summer Palaces, Shut out the mournful sight of thy calamities.
The courtly bowers of love and ease, Oh, beauty of earth's cities ! throned queen
Where still the Bird of pleasure sings ; Of thy milk-flowing valleys ! crown'd with glory! Ask ye the destiny of them? The envy of the nations ! now no more
Go gaze on fallen Jerusalem ! A city- One by one thy palaces
| Yea, mightier names are in the fatal roll, Sink into ashes, and the uniform smoke
Gainst earth and heaven God's standard is unO’er half thy circuit hath brought back the night
furi'd, Which the insulting flames had made give place The skies are shriveli'd like a burning scroll, To their untimely terrible day. The flames
And the vast common doom ensepulchres the That in the Temple, their last proudest conquest,
world. Now gather all their might, and furiously, Like revellers, hold there exulting triumph.
Oh! who shall then survive ? Round every pillar, over all the roof,
Oh! who shall stand and live ? On the wide gorgeous front, the holy depth
When all that bath been, is no more : Of the far sanctuary, every portico,
When for the round earth hung in air, And every court, at once, concentrated,
With all its constellations fair As though to glorify and not destroy,
In the sky's azure canopy ; They burn, they blaze
| When for the breathing Earth, and Sparkling Sea, Look, Miriam, how it stands!
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: Of our devoted city. Look, oh Christians ! When thou art there in thy presiding state, Still the Lord's house survives man's fallen dwell. Wide-sceptred Monarch o'er the realm of doom : ings,
When from the sea depths, from earth's darkest And wears its ruin with a majesty
womb, Peculiar and divine. Still, still it stands,
The dead of all the ages round thee wait : All one wide fire, and yet no stone hath fallen. | And when the tribes of wickedness are strewn