Sacrilegious rebels all, You have fought, and you must fall, In these fires Hope expires, Death your drooping heads enthrall. Wake the trumpet, still the song, Wield your weapons firm and strong, Bravely rush, Die or crush, Round the burning temple throng. Bid your famish’d children moan, Bid your dying partners groan, View the grave, Nought can save, Titus reigns on Judah’s throne. Angels now around me sing, Now aloft they take their wing, See him here, Father dear, Oh! descend, and comfort bring. See my murder’d mother’s shade, Now of Rome nor Jews afraid, Bids me die, To her fly, E’er this house in ruin’s laid. Rebel Jews for death prepare, Nought is left ye but despair; ’Twas foretold You were sold, When you built your temple square. Conq’ring Titus, fare-thee-well, Let not after ages tell, Never know Judah’s foe Bade my breast with passion swell. God of Light, who rules the whole, Take, oh! take my fleeting soul; Quit me—breath, Welcome death, Let me reach the long’d-for goal. Father, mother, brothers, stay, Bear me on your wings away, Oh! descend, Comfort lend, Now my mortal pow’rs decay. No more was heard—she groans,—she clasps the sash, And silent falls amid the dreadful crash; From ev’ry breast bursts forth a lengthen’d groan, Aspiring Titus e’en forgets his throne: He looks for her he ne’er shall see again, And turns to weep, but weeping now is vain; Awhile the troops with grief inactive stand, Like shipwreck’d sailors on a barren strand, Which having gain’d, lie murm’ring on the brink, And view their comrades die, their vessel sink, Without the pow’r to save,—while thro’ the sky The pealing thunders roll and lightnings fly. “Charge, Jews, with spirit (Simon madly cries) And let them see their vaunting we despise; Your temple’s lost, your wealthy city won, ’Tis slavery to yield, and death to run: Then since these Christian dogs have taken all, We’ll have revenge, and in revenging fall; We’ll sell our lives as dearly as we may, And end at once our sorrows and the fray.” Again each soldier wakes to new alarms, Again resounds the dreadful clang of arms, Again they use their utmost force and skill, Again each other’s blood with pleasure spill, Again the Jews with eager glow assail, And yet again must Roman arms prevail. This Simon saw, and basely taking flight, Escapes unknown amid the shades of night; His famish’d troops beneath the Roman’s ire Can scarcely stand—they strike, and then expire.