“Prince (answers Titus) you’re, I fear, too bold, But yet in Rome it never shall be told, That Titus checked the ardor of his hosts: No, lead them on, we still maintain our posts, And if thou fall’st, as much I fear thou wilt, Thy comrades’ blood be on thee, thine the guilt.” The headstrong youths now spur their foaming steeds Straight to the walls, and Antiochus leads; The walls are lin’d with Jews, a mighty show, Who pour their jav’lins thick upon the foe: The jav’lins ring upon each brazen shield, Rebound aloft, and sink upon the field. Machines for scaling ’gainst the wall they fix, And then undaunted mount them six by six; But six by six they fall, a gory heap, And with their fathers now in darkness sleep. Five thousand Jews now issue from the gate, All fram’d for slaughter, big with ’venging fate; Surrounding Antiochus’s brave band, Their angry songs are heard through Judah’s land. Buckler to buckler, clashing steel to steel, Ring thro’ the air with harsh and dismal peal; In vain the Macedonians strive to fly, Hemm’d in with foes they fight, and fighting die. Titus afar beholds them cut and slain, And bids his willing army scour the plain; But all too late—the Jews hard pressing still, Like reapers mow till none are left to kill, Save Antiochus—he, amidst the fray, Brake their close ranks, and through them cut his way: His courser wounded fell, on foot he fled, Whilst whizzing arrows flew around his head. The Jews pursue, each goads his tiring steed, The flying prince defies their angry speed, And gains the camp, from fear and danger freed; Then turns his eyes towards the fatal walls, Gazes on Titus, staggers,—pants,—and falls. Just so the bounding stag by hunters chac’d, Its lovely limbs by sweat and dust defac’d, Escapes their toils, regains his native glade, And trembling sinks to rest beneath the shade. But now the Roman army move along, Around the walls the Jewish rebels throng; They meet, the fight begins, with blow for blow, While hostile blood in foaming currents flow. Breast-plates resound, spears crack on shatter’d helms, The Romans press, their fury overwhelms; Death stalks triumphant o’er the purpled scene, And fills his hungry jaws from wounds yet green, Scoffs at his victim’s courage to his face, And joyous clasps him in his cold embrace. The Jews retire, o’erpress’d with dire fatigue, Within the gate to mourn their broken league, To mourn the bleeding comrades they now lack, And breathless wait the Romans’ fierce attack. The Romans, with their new success elate, Place batt’ring rams, and force each pond’rous gate; A breach they make, then mount—the Jews oppose, And pour destruction on their rising foes: Whole legions fall, yet legions still appear, And mount the breach, devoid of puny fear. The rebel Jews dismay’d the wall forsake,