And overhung with tempest. Why, my voice,
My motion, breaks upon the oppressive stillness
Like a forbidden and disturbing sound.
The very air's asleep, my feeblest breathing
Is audible-I'll think my prayers-and then-
-Ha! 'tis the thunder of the Living God!
It peals! it crashes! it comes down in fire!
Again! it is the engine of the foe,

Our walls are dust before it-Wake-oh wake-
Oh Israel!-Oh Jerusalem, awake!

Why shouldst thou wake? thy foe is in the heavens.
Yea, thy judicial slumber weighs thee down,
And gives thee, oh! lost city, to the Gentile
Defenceless, unresisting.

It rolls down,

As though the Everlasting raged not now
Against our guilty Zion, but did mingle
The universal world in our destruction;
And all mankind were destined for a sacrifice
On Israel's funeral pile. Oh Crucified!

Here, here, where thou didst suffer, I beseech thee
Even by thy Cross!

Hark! now in impious rivalry Man thunders. In the centre of our streets The Gentile trumpet, the triumphant shouts Of onset; and I,—I, a trembling girl Alone, awake, abroad.

Oh, now ye wake,

Now ye pour forth, and hideous Massacre,
Loathing his bloodless conquest, joys to see you
Thus naked and unarm'd-But where 's my father?
Upon his couch in dreams of future glory.
Oh! where's my sister? in her bridal bed.

Many Jews.

FIRST JEW.

To the Temple! To the Temple! Israel! Israel!
Your walls are on the earth, your houses burn
Like fires amid the autumnal olive grounds.
The Gentile's in the courts of the Lord's house.
To the Temple! save or perish with the Temple!

SECOND JEW.

To the Temple! haste, oh all ye circumcised! Stay not for wife or child, for gold or treasure! Pause not for light! the heavens are all on fire, The Universal City burns!

THIRD JEW.

Arms! Arms!

Our women fall like doves into the nets

Of the fowler, and they dash upon the stones
Our innocent babes. Arms! Arms! before we die
Let's reap a bloody harvest of revenge.
To the Temple!

FOURTH JEW.

Simon! lo, the valiant Simon.

The above, SIMON.

SIMON.

He comes! he comes! the black night blackens with

him,

And the winds groan beneath his chariot wheels

He comes from heaven, the Avenger of Jerusalem!

Ay, strike, proud Roman! fall, thou useless wall!
And vail your heads, ye towers, that have discharged
Your brief, your fruitless duty of resistance.
I've heard thee long, fierce Gentile! th' earthquake
shocks

Of thy huge engines smote upon my soul,

And my soul scorn'd them. Oh! and hear'st not thou
One mightier than thyself that shakes the heavens?
Oh pardon, that I thought that He, whose coming
Is promised and reveal'd, would calmly wait
The tardy throes of human birth. Messiah,
I know thee now, I know yon lightning fire,
Thy robe of glory, and thy steps in heaven
Incessant thundering.

I had brought mine arms,
Mine earthly arms, my breastplate and my sword,
To cover and defend me-Oh! but thou
Art jealous, nor endurest that human arm
Intrude on thy deliverance. I forswear them,

I cast them from me. Helmless, with nor shield
Nor sword, I stand, and in my nakedness
Wait thee, victorious Roman-

Ay, well thou say'st, "to the Temple"-there 't will be
Most visible. In his own house the Lord
Will shine most glorious. Shall we not behold
The Fathers bursting from their yielding graves,
Patriarchs and Priests, and Kings and Prophets, met
A host of spectral watchmen, on the towers
Of Zion to behold the full accomplishing
Of every Type and deep Prophetic word?
Ay, to the Temple! thither will I too,
There bask in all the fulness of the day
That breaks at length o'er the long night of Judah.

Chorus, of Jews flying towards the temple.
Fly! fly! fly!

Clouds, not of incense, from the Temple rise,
And there are altar-fires, but not of sacrifice.

And there are victims, yet nor bulls nor goats;
And Priests are there, but not of Aaron's kin;
And he that doth the murtherous rite begin,
To stranger Gods his hecatomb devotes;
His hecatomb of Israel's chosen race
All foully slaughter'd in their Holy Place.
Break into joy, ye barren, that ne'er bore! (20)
Rejoice, ye breasts, where ne'er sweet infant hung!
From you, from you no smiling babes are wrung,
Ye die, but not amid your children's gore.
But howl and weep, oh ye that are with child,
Ye on whose bosoms unwean'd babes are laid;
The sword that's with the mother's blood defiled
Still with the infant gluts the insatiate blade.
Fly! fly! fly!

Fly not, I say, for Death is every where,

To keen-eyed Lust all places are the same: There's not a secret chamber in whose lair

Our wives can shroud them from th' abhorred shamc.

Where the sword fails, the fire will find us there, All, all is death-the Gentile or the flame.

On to the Temple! Brethren, Israel on!

Though every slippery street with carnage swims, Ho! spite of famish'd hearts and wounded limbs, Still, still, while yet there stands one holy stone, Fight for your God, his sacred house to save, Or have its blazing ruins for your grave!

The Streets of Jerusalem.

MIRIAM.

Thou hard firm earth, thou wilt not break before me,
And hide me in thy dark and secret bosom!
Ye burning towers, ye fall upon your children

With a compassionate ruin-not on me

Ye spare me only, I alone am mark'd

Was shaken off, as with a patient pity He look'd on us, the infuriate multitude. MIRIAM.

Didst thou not fall and worship?

OLD MAN.

I had call'd

The curse upon my head, my voice had cried
Unto the Roman, "On us be his blood,

And on our children!"—and on us it hath been-
My children and my children's children, all,
The Gentile sword hath reap'd them one by one,
And I, the last dry wither'd shock, await
The gleaning of the slaughterer.

MIRIAM.

Couldst thou see

The Cross, the Agony, and still hard of heart?

OLD MAN

Fond child, I tell thee, ere the Cross was raised

Me, who am readiest and most wish to die.

Oh! I have sat me by the ghastly slain

In envy of their state, and wept a prayer

That I were cold like them, and safe from th' hands
Of the remorseless conqueror. I have fled,
And fled, and fled, and still I fly the nearer
To the howling ravagers-they are every where.
I've closed mine eyes, and rush'd I know not whither,

And still are swords and men and furious faces
Before me, and behind me, and around me.

With such a majesty of calm compassion,
Such solemn adjuration to our souls—
But yet 't was not reproachful, only sad-
As though our guilt had been the bitterest pang
Of suffering. And there dwelt about him still,
About his drooping head and fainting limb,
A sense of power; as though he chose to die,
Yet might have shaken off the load of death
Without an effort. Awful breathlessness

MIRIAM.

OLD MAN.

Away! Men glared upon me As though they did detect my guilty pity; Their voices roar'd around me like a tempest, And every voice was howling "Crucify him!"I dared not be alone the apostate child

Of Abraham

MIRIAM.

Ah! thou didst not join the cry?

OLD MAN.

Woman, I did, and with a voice so audible
Men turn'd to praise my zeal. And when the dark.

ness,

The noonday darkness, fell upon the earth,
And the earth's self shook underneath my feet,
I stood before the Cross, and in my pride
Rejoiced that I had shaken from my soul
The soft compunction.

MIRIAM.

Ha!--but now, oh! now,

Thou own'st him for the eternal Son of God,

The mock'd, and scourged, and crown'd and crucified

Thou dost believe the blazing evidence

Of yon fierce flames! thou bow'st thyself before

The solemn preacher, Desolation,

That now on Zion's guilty ruins seated
Bears horrible witness,

OLD MAN.

Maiden, I believe them,

I dare not disbelieve; it is my curse,
My agony, that cleaves to me in death.

MIRIAM.

Oh! not a curse, it is a gracious blessingBelieve, and thou shalt live!

OLD MAN.

Back, insolent!

What! wouldst thou school these grey hairs, and be

come

Mine age's teacher?

MIRIAM.

Hath not God ordain'd

Wisdom from babes and sucklings?

OLD MAN.

Back, I say;

I have lived a faithful child of Abraham, And so will die.

MIRIAM.

For ever! He is gone,

Yet he looks round, and shakes his hoary head
In dreadful execration 'gainst himself
And me I dare not follow him.

What's here?
It is mine home, the dwelling of my youth,
O'er which the flames climb up with such fierce haste.
Lo, lo! they burst from that house-top, where oft
My sister and myself have sate and sang
Our pleasant airs of gladness! Ah, Salone!
Where art thou now? These, these are not the lights
That should be shining on a marriage-bed.
Oh! that I had been call'd to dress thy bier,
To pour sweet ointments on thy shrouded corpse,
Rather than thus to weave thee bridal chaplets
To be so madly worn, so early wither'd!
Where art thou? I dare only wish thee dead,
Even as I wish myself.

"Tis she, herself!

When, even as though he heard a voice, and yet
There was no sound I heard, he sprung from me
Unto the chamber-door, and he look'd out
Into the city-

MIRIAM.

Well!-Nay, let not fall

Thy insufficient raiment- -Merciful Heaven,
Thy bosom bleeds! What rash and barbarous hand
Hath-

SALONE.

He came back and kiss'd me, and he said— I know not what he said-but there was something Of Gentile ravisher, and his beauteous bride,Me, me he meant, he call'd me beauteous bride,And he stood o'er me with a sword so bright My dazzled eyes did close. And presently, Methought, he smote me with the sword, but then He fell upon my neck, and wept upon me, And I felt nothing but his burning tears.

MIRIAM.

She faints! Look up, sweet sister! I have stanch'd The blood awhile-but her dim wandering eyes Are fixing-she awakes--she speaks again.

SALONE.

Ah! brides, they say, should be retired, and dwell
Within in modest secresy; yet here
Am I, a this night's bride, in the open street,
My naked feet on the cold stones, the wind
Blowing my raiment off-it's very cold—
Oh, Amariah! let me lay my head,
Upon thy bosom, and so fall asleep.

MIRIAM.

There is no Amariah here-'t is I, Thy Miriam.

SALONE.

The Christian Miriam!

MIRIAM.

•

Oh! that thou too wert Christian! I could give thee
A cold and scanty baptism of my tears.

Oh! shrink not from me, lift not up thy head,
Thy dying head, from thy loved sister's lap.

SALONE.

Off! set me free! the song is almost done,
The bridegroom 's at the door, and I must meet him,
Though my knees shake and tremble. If he come,
And find me sad and cold, as I am now,
He will not love me as he did.

MIRIAM.

Too true,

Thou growest cold indeed.

SALONE.

Night closes round,

Slumber is on my soul. If Amariah

Return with morning, glorious and adorn'd
In spoil, as he is wont, thou 'lt wake me, sister?
-Ah! no, no, no! this is no waking sleep.
It bursts upon me-Yes, and Simon's daughter,
The bride of Amariah, may not fear,

Nor shrink from dying. My half-failing spirit
Comes back, my soft love-melted heart is strong:
I know it all, in mercy and in love

Thou'st wounded me to death-and I will bless thee,
True lover! noble husband! my last breath

Is thine in blessing-Amariah!-Love!

And yet thou shouldst have staid to close mine eyes, Oh Amariah!-and an hour ago

I was a happy bride upon thy bosom,

And now am-Oh God, God! if he have err'd, And should come back again, and find me-dead!

MIRIAM.

Oh, God of Mercies! she is gone an infidel,
An infidel unrepentant, to thy presence,
The partner of my cradle and my bed,
My own, my only sister!-oh! but thou,

Lord, knowest that thou hast not drawn her to thee,
By making the fond passions of the heart,
Like mine, thy ministers of soft persuasion.

She hath not loved a Christian, hath not heard
From lips, whose very lightest breath is dear,
Thy words of comfort.

I will cover her.

Thy bridal veil is now thy shroud, my sister,
And long thou wilt not be without a grave.
Jerusalem will bury all her children
Ere many hours are past.

There's some one comes-
A Gentile soldier't is the same who oft

Hath cross'd me, and I've fled and 'scap'd him. Now,
How can I fly, and whither? Will the dead
Protect me? Ha! whichever way I turn,
Are others fiercer and more terrible.

I'll speak to him,-there's something in his mien
Less hideous than the rest.

MIRIAM, the SOLDIER

MIRIAM.

Oh! noble warrior,

I see not that thy sword is wet with blood:
And thou didst turn aside lest thou shouldst tread
Upon a dying man; and e'en but now,
When a bold ruffian almost seized on me,
Thou didst stand forth and scare him from his prey.
Hast thou no voice? perhaps thou art deaf too,
And I am pleading unto closed ears-

-Keep from me! stand aloof! I am infected.
Oh! if the devil, that haunts the souls of men,
They say, with lawless and forbidden thoughts,
If he possess thee, here I lift my voice-
By Jesus Christ of Nazareth, I adjure
The evil spirit to depart from thee.

Alas! I feel thy grasp upon mine arm,
And I must follow thee. Oh! thou hast surely
In thine own land, in thine own native home,
A wife, a child, a sister: think what 't were
To have a stranger's violent arms around her.
Ha! every where are more--and this man's hand
Did surely tremble; at the holy name
He seem'd to bow his head. I'll follow thee,
Let me but kiss the body of my sister,

My dead lost sister——

The Front of the Temple.

SIMON.

They fight around the altar, and the dead
Heap the choked pavement. Israel tramples Israel,
And Gentile Gentile, rushing where the Temple,
Like to a pit of frantic gladiators,

Is howling with the strife of men, that fight not
For conquest, but the desperate joy of slaying.
Priests, Levites, women, pass and hurry on
At least to die within the sanctuary.

I only wait without-I take my stand

Here in the vestibule-and though the thunders
High and aloof o'er the wide arch of heaven
Hold their calm march, nor deviate to their vengeance,
On earth in holy patience, Lord, I wait,
Defying thy long lingering to subdue
The faith of Simon.

"T was but now I pass'd
The corpse of Amariah, that display'd
In the wild firelight all its wounds, and lay
Embalm'd in honour. John of Galilee
Is prisoner; I beheld him fiercely gnashing
For I disdain to tempt them to my death,
His ponderous chains. Of me they take no heed,
And am not arm'd to slay.

The light within Grows redder, broader. 'Tis a fire that burns To save or to destroy. On Sinai's top, Oh Lord! thou didst appear in flames, the mountain Burnt round about thee. Art thou here at length, And must I close mine eyes, lest they be blinded By the full conflagration of thy presence?

TITUS, PLACIDUS, TERENTIUS, Soldiers, SIMON.

TITUS.

Save, save the Temple! Placidus, Terentius,
Haste, bid the legions cease to slay; and quench
Yon ruining fire.

Who's this, that stands unmoved
'Mid slaughter, flame, and wreck, nor deigns to bow
Before the Conqueror of Jerusalem ?
What art thou?

SIMON.

Titus, dost thou think that Rome Shall quench the fire that burns within yon Temple? Ay, when your countless and victorious cohorts, Ay, when your Cæsar's throne, your Capitol Have fallen before it.

TITUS.

Madman, speak! what art thou?

SIMON.

The uncircumcised have known me heretofore, And thou may'st know hereafter.

PLACIDUS.

It is he

I'll follow thee-Salone, oh that thou

Hadst room in thy cold marriage-bed for me!

Till we have made a show to the wives of Rome Of the great Hebrew Chieftain.

SIMON.

Knit them close, See that ye rivet well their galling links.

(Holding up the chains.)

And ye 've no finer flax to gyve me with?

TERENTIUS.

Burst these, and we will forge thee stronger then.

SIMON.

Fool, 't is not yet the hour.

TITUS.

Hark! hark! the shrieks
Of those that perish in the flames. Too late
I came to spare, it wraps the fabric round.
Fate, Fate, I feel thou 'rt mightier than Cæsar,

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 Cæsar yields it to thee.
Lead off the prisoner.

SIMON.

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

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 cursed 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 here-
Not toward the fountain, not by this lone path.
If thou wilt bear me hence, I'll kiss thy feet,
I'll call down blessings, a lost virgin's blessings,
Upon thy head. Thou hast hurried me along,
Through darkling street, and over smoking ruin,
And yet there seem'd a soft solicitude,
And an officious kindness in thy violence-
But I've not heard thy voice.

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, 't were cold and barren gratitude
To stifle in our hearts the holy gladness.

But, oh Jerusalem! thy rescued children
May not, retired 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