NEAR to the conquered walls the Romans meet, And long to see their victory complete; With conquest flush’d in eagerness they wait The word “attack,” to seal the city’s fate. But Titus comes, his laurell’d brow serene, Nor cross’d with frowns, nor wrinkled o’er with spleen, But in his well-bought honors slowly moves, Turns to his men, and thus their deeds approves: “Behold, my friends, Jerusalem’s proud walls O’erthrown by bravery and inward brawls, By Roman bravery, which never droops, By Rome’s allies and Roman well-try’d troops; With grateful heart I ’plaud your mighty deeds, And honor him who for his country bleeds; Yes, happy he who in our cause has fell, For fall we must, and who can fall so well As for his country’s freedom—Who would shrink, And, like a dog diseas’d, forgotten sink? Is there one present holds a soul so base, That would the name of Roman so disgrace? Is there one here of all Rome’s fighting friends, Who to such grov’ling baseness e’er descends? Why do I pause—Let’s ask yon bleeding foe, And why—yon falling towers answer—no? Look at yon sturdy walls no longer such, Those clouds of dust will tell you’ve done too much; The walls no longer stop our great career, Those headstrong rebel Jews no longer jeer. Then on, my friends, nor check your flowing rage, E’en to the temple’s steps the war we’ll wage, There from its rocky height we’ll dash them slain, And save the holy place themselves profane; There pay our vows to Him, whose frowning nod Makes nations tremble, Rome’s benignant God; To whose great pow’r we owe each great success, The king of all in heav’n, on earth not less.” As Titus spoke, a band by Chezron led Descend with each a torch of blazing red, Down to the conquer’d inner wall they haste, To move the Romans or the wall lay waste; They mount the tow’rs, the Roman guards destroy, And glut their deep revenge with savage joy; Chezron, the foremost, tears the standard down, And in its place exulting rears his own: A well pois’d shaft now trembles in the air, Which, e’er he can his weighty shield prepare, Strikes to his brain.—“Save me!” aloud he cries, With anguish mad, turns up his glaring eyes, Reels, struggles, groans, then curses God, and dies. His followers with frenzy view his end, And lose at once their leader and their friend; Wild in despair the destin’d wall they fire, Then rushing headlong in the flames expire. Three hundred Jews thus fearless sought a grave, And fell with Chezron—all as Chezron brave; Thus fell three hundred renegading Jews To endless night (as all who God abuse), Neglected fell, and fell no more to rise, For ever banish’d from the happy skies.