The sun now rises, and with him the troops, Some singly go and some in chatting groups; Some shew how they might gain the second wall, Some plan th’ attack, and tell the city’s fall. The trumpets sound, each hastens to his post, Till straggling numbers form a dreadful host, Their brighten’d arms with polish’d lustre glows. To strike with dazzling awe their bearded foes; Whilst neighing chargers, eager for the fight, Now prance around with joy—a goodly sight. Brave Titus now in warlike pomp array’d, For war’s dread clangor leaves the weeping maid, And mounted on his lofty milk-white steed Surveys his armies—ready all to bleed; With lofty shouts they rend the troubled air, And joyful for the crimson field prepare. “This joys my soul (cries Titus) comrades all, Who dare oppose such bravery must fall; Then let not eager rashness mark your way, But dart like serpents on your yielding prey; Let not dissension part our peaceful hive, And oh! reflect, that you with madmen strive— Madmen who, careless of their city’s fate, Meet death like tigers, and like tigers hate: Be crafty then, be steady, but be brave, And dim with Jewish blood each shining glaive; Remember your forefathers’ mighty deeds, This poise your darts, this urge your well-train’d steeds; Here let our Roman banners be unfurl’d, Rome still shall be the mistress of the world.” Again the army their loud voices raise, And in loud accents echo forth his praise: “Down with Jerusalem! great Titus, live! Titus shall reign; to him our lives we give, For him we’ll fight ’till Jewish tongues shall own, That only he is worthy Judah’s throne.” They raise, their spears, their shining weapons wield, And strike their arms against the sounding shield; Their eager coursers paw the beaten ground, While e’en the city hears the lengthen’d sound. “Approach, brave Antiochus (Titus cries) Why bends that brow? why sink those gloomy eyes? Has aught been done to shame thy father’s shade? Great Alexander! does thy courage fade, That courage which has e’er undoubted stood, That tips thy weighty spear so oft with blood? Or does this dreary siege your spirits tire, And still restrain your youthful warlike fire? Speak freely, prince, brave Alexander’s heir, Believe me, friend, your weal shall be my care.” “Most mighty sir (the youthful chief returns) My lofty soul for speedy conquest burns, Which ne’er can be attain’d if thus we stay, And with such boyish tremours shun the fray: Six hundred hardy youths attend my word, All skill’d to fling the dart or wield the sword, Of Macedonia all, a lofty race, And sprung from fathers they will ne’er disgrace. Permit us then, brave sir, these Jews to tame, And die, at least, with glory on our name; At once like lions on our foes we’ll rush, Like lions perish, or like lions crush.”