I. Oh, Mariamne! now for thee The heart for which thou bled'st is bleeding; Revenge is lost in Agony[ma] And wild Remorse to rage succeeding.[mb] Oh, Mariamne! where art thou? Thou canst not hear my bitter pleading:[mc] Ah! could'st thou--thou would'st pardon now, Though Heaven were to my prayer unheeding. II. And is she dead?--and did they dare Obey my Frenzy's jealous raving?[md] My Wrath but doomed my own despair: The sword that smote her 's o'er me waving.-- But thou art cold, my murdered Love! And this dark heart is vainly craving[me] For he who soars alone above, And leaves my soul unworthy saving. III. She's gone, who shared my diadem; She sunk, with her my joys entombing; I swept that flower from Judah's stem, Whose leaves for me alone were blooming; And mine's the guilt, and mine the hell, This bosom's desolation dooming; And I have earned those tortures well,[mf] Which unconsumed are still consuming! _Jan._ 15, 1815. ON THE DAY OF THE DESTRUCTION OF JERUSALEM BY TITUS. I. From the last hill that looks on thy once holy dome,[mg] I beheld thee, oh Sion! when rendered to Rome:[mh] 'Twas thy last sun went down, and the flames of thy fall Flashed back on the last glance I gave to thy wall. II. I looked for thy temple--I looked for my home, And forgot for a moment my bondage to come;[mi] I beheld but the death-fire that fed on thy fane, And the fast-fettered hands that made vengeance in vain. III. On many an eve, the high spot whence I gazed Had reflected the last beam of day as it blazed; While I stood on the height, and beheld the decline Of the rays from the mountain that shone on thy shrine. IV. And now on that mountain I stood on that day, But I marked not the twilight beam melting away; Oh! would that the lightning had glared in its stead, And the thunderbolt burst on the Conqueror's head![mj] V. But the Gods of the Pagan shall never profane The shrine where Jehovah disdained not to reign; And scattered and scorned as thy people may be, Our worship, oh Father! is only for thee. 1815. BY THE RIVERS OF BABYLON WE SAT DOWN AND WEPT.[302] I. We sate down and wept by the waters[303] Of Babel, and thought of the day When our foe, in the hue of his slaughters, Made Salem's high places his prey; And Ye, oh her desolate daughters! Were scattered all weeping away. II.