Jehoias and Jehoiakim next appear; Both urge that vengeance which before was near. He in Egyptian fetters captive dies, This by more courteous Anger murdered lies. His son and brother next to bonds sustain, Israel's now solemn and imperial chain. Here's the last scene of this proud city's state; All ills are met, tied in one knot of Fate. Their endless slavery in this trial lay; Great God had heaped up ages in one day: Strong works around the walls the Chaldees build, The town with grief and dreadful business filled: To their carved gods the frantic women pray, Gods which as near their ruin were as they: At last in rushes the prevailing foe, Does all the mischief of proud conquest show. The wondering babes from mothers' breasts are rent, And suffer ills they neither feared nor meant. No silver reverence guards the stooping age, No rule or method ties their boundless rage. The glorious temple shines in flames all o'er, Yet not so bright as in its gold before. Nothing but fire or slaughter meets the eyes; Nothing the ear but groans and dismal cries. The walls and towers are levelled with the ground, And scarce aught now of that vast city's found, But shards and rubbish, which weak signs might keep, Of forepast glory, and bid travellers weep. Thus did triumphant Assur homewards pass, And thus Jerus'lem left, Jerusalem that was! Thus Zedechia saw, and this not all; Before his face his friends and children fall, The sport of insolent victors: this he views, A king and father once: ill Fate could use His eyes no more to do their master spite; All to be seen she took, and next his sight. Thus a long death in prison he outwears, Bereft of grief's last solace, even his tears. Then Jeconiah's son did foremost come, And he who brought the captived nation home; A row of Worthies in long order passed O'er the short stage; of all old Joseph last. Fair angels passed by next in seemly bands, All gilt, with gilded baskets in their hands. Some as they went the blue-eyed violets strew, Some spotless lilies in loose order threw. Some did the way with full-blown roses spread, Their smell divine, and colour strangely red; Not such as our dull gardens proudly wear, Whom weather's taint, and wind's rude kisses tear. Such, I believe, was the first rose's hue, Which, at God's word, in beauteous Eden grew; Queen of the flowers, which made that orchard gay, The morning-blushes of the Spring's new day. With sober pace an heavenly maid walks in, Her looks all fair, no sign of native sin Through her whole body writ; immoderate grace Spoke things far more than human in her face: It casts a dusky gloom o'er all the flowers, And with full beams their mingled light devours. An angel straight broke from a shining cloud, And pressed his wings, and with much reverence bowed; Again he bowed, and grave approach he made, And thus his sacred message sweetly said: