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 ;

K

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,

1

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 shame.

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 spare me only, I alone am mark'd

And seal'd for life: death cruelly seems to shun me,

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.

But ah! the shrieks that come from out the dwellings

Of my youth's loved companions-every where

I hear some dear and most familiar voice

In its despairing frantic agonies.

Ah me! that I were struck with leprosy,

That sinful men might loathe me, and pass on.

And I might now have been by that sweet fountain Where the winds whisper through the moonlight leaves, I might have been with Javan there—Off, offThese are not thoughts for one about to die— Oh, Lord and Saviour Christ!

An OLD MAN, MIRIAM.

OLD MAN.

Who spake of Christ?

What hath that name to do with saving here?

He's here, he's here, the Lord of desolation,

Begirt with vengeance! in the fire above,

And fire below! in all the blazing city

Behold him manifest!