The curling smoke the stately building hides, The flames dart round its well-built glossy sides; The Jews fly thro’ their gory streets with fear, Their groans and shouts reach even Jezra’s ear; “The temple’s fir’d (they cry in piercing tones) No shelter left to rest our weary bones! God is the strongest, all our hopes are vain, We strive ’gainst him, and therefore suffer pain; Great God! restrain thy wrath, in pity save, And penitent we’ll seek the silent grave.” O’er dead and dying frantic Jezra speeds, Through ranks of footmen, and ’midst frothy steeds, To where brave Titus, struggling with the rest, Inspires his men, and shews his dazzling crest; There mid’ the din of war she dauntless stands, And to the Roman lifts her lily hands: “Great conqueror—invincible—my friend, Oh! save the temple, and some pity lend; Oh! let not distant ages proudly tell, God’s consecrated house by Romans fell. No—no—to check the flames then give your word, And victory accompany your sword, Think on my dying father’s last behest, Think how he clasp’d you to his heaving breast, Think how he gave me to your willing care, Think how he bade you all my troubles share; Preserve this casket, which again I give, For if the temple falls I cease to live; Oh! may’st thou ever conquer, ever quell, Oh! may’st thou ever—Ah! that crash, farewell!” Thus spake the maid, then seiz’d a fallen blade, And cut her way, of foes nor death afraid; Through smoke and dust she gains the silver’d door, And flings herself upon the burning floor. Around the roof the uncloy’d flames still roll, While fear and madness fill each Jewish soul; The Romans fight with more than mortal pow’r, And press the Jews to Lebanon’s high tow’r, (A place of strength, where Solomon abode, And prov’d his wisdom in each new-penn’d code). By hateful craft, in which the Jews excel, Two hundred thousand manly Romans fell, With twice as many Jews, who murd’ring died, And with their victims grovel side by side. Titus with grief beholds his falling troops, But still his youthful courage nothing droops, He goads his steed, repeats his leader’s names, And bids them risk their lives to stop the flames: But useless all, th’ increasing flames arise, With dreadful glare illume the low’ring skies. Amidst the flames is Jezra rising seen, Around her neck a scarf of shining green, The gift of Titus, which she always wore In token of the stifled love she bore: High on a pinnacle she stands, and there Pours forth in dying tears her deep despair. Warriors and men of might, Great in peace and strong in fight, Strive and slay While you may, God inspires you—He is right.