|,

Thine instrument of havoc and of horror,
Thine to the extremest limits of revenge;
Till not a single stone of yon proud city
Remain; and even the vestiges of ruin
Be utterly blotted from the face of earth?

Streets of Jerusalem near the Inner Wall.

Miriam, Salone.

MIRIAM.

Sweet sister, whither in such haste?

SALONE.

And know'st thou not

My customary seat, where I look down

And see the glorious battle deepen round me ? Oh! it is spirit-stirring to behold

The crimson garments waving in the dust,

The eagles glancing in the clouded sunshine.

MIRIAM.

Salone! in this dark and solemn hour,

Were it not wiser that the weak and helpless,

Bearing their portion in the common danger,

Should join their feeble efforts to defend

Should be upon their knees in fervent prayer
Unto the Lord of Battles?

SALONE.

Yes; I know

That Zion's daughters are set forth to lead
Their suppliant procession to the gates
Of the Holy Temple. But Salone goes
Where she may see the God whom they adore
In the stern deeds of valiant men, that war
To save that Temple from the dust.

Behold!

I mount my throne, and here I sit the queen
Of the majestic tumult that beneath me
Is maddening into conflict. Lo! I bind
My dark locks, that they spread not o'er my sight.
Now flash the bright sun from your gleaming arms,
Shake it in broad sheets from your banner folds,
Mine eyes will still endure the blaze, and pierce
The thickest!

MIRIAM.

And thou hast no tears to blind thee?

SALONE.

Behold! behold! from Olivet they pour,

Thousands on thousands, in their martial order.
Kedron's dark valley, like Gennesareth,

When over it the cold moon shines through storms,
Topping its dark waves with uncertain light,
Is tossing with wild plumes and gleaming spears.
Solemnly the stern lictors move, and brandish
Their rod-bound axes; and the eagles seem,

With wings dispread, to watch their time for swooping!

The towers are moving on; and lo! the engines, As though instinct with life, come heavily labouring Upon their ponderous wheels; they nod destruction Against our walls. Lo! lo, our gates fly open; There Eleazar-there the mighty John

Ben Cathla there, and Edom's crested sons.

Oh! what a blaze of glory gathers round them! How proudly move they in invincible strength !

MIRIAM.

And thou canst speak thus with a steadfast voice, When in one hour may death have laid in the dust Those breathing, moving, valiant multitudes ?

SALONE.

And thou! oh thou, that movest to the battle Even like the mountain stag to the running river, Pause, pause, that I may gaze my fill!

MIRIAM.

Our father!

Salone! is't our father that thou seest?

SALONE.

Lo! lo! the war hath broken off to admire him!

The glory of his presence awes the conflict!
The son of Cæsar on his armed steed