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To fave their Temple ev'ry hand effay'd,

And with cold fingers grafp'd the feeble blade:
Through their torn veins reviving fury ran,
And life's laft anger warm'd the dying man.
But heavier far the fetter'd captive's doom!
To glut with fighs the iron ear of Rome;
To fwell flow pacing by the car's tall fide,
The ftoic tyrant's plilofophic pride;
To flesh the lion's ravenous jaws, or feel
The fportive fury of the fencer's steel;
Or pant, deep-plung'd beneath thy fultry mine,
For the light gales of balmy Palestine.

Ah! fruitful now no more-ar empty coaft, She mourn'd her fons enflav'd, her glories loft: In her wide streets the lonely raven bred, There bark'd the wolf, and dire hyenas fed. Yet midst her towery fanes, in ruin laid, The pilgrim faint his murmuring vefpers paid; 'Twas his to climb the tufted rocks, and rove The checquer'd twilight of the olive grove; 'Twas his to bend beneath the facred gloom, And wear with many a kiss Meffiah's tomb : While forms celestial fill'd his tranced eye, The day-light dreams of penfive piety, O'er his ftill breaft a tearful fervour ftole, And fofter forrows charm'd the mourner's foul. Oh, lives there one, who mocks his artless zeal? Too proud to worship, and too wife to feel? Be his the foul with wintry reafon blest, The dull lethargic fovereign of the breast! Be his the life that creeps in dead repose, No joy that fparkles, and no tear that flows!

Far other they who rear'd that pompous shrine, (7) And bade the rock with Parian marble shine. Then hallow'd Peace renew'd her wealthy reign, Then altars smok’d, and Sion smil’d again. There fculptur'd gold and coftly gems were seen, And all the bounties of the British Queen; (8) There barbarous kings their fandal'd nations led, And steel-clad champions bow'd the crested head. There, when her fiery race the defert pour'd, And pale Byzantium fear'd Medina's fword, When coward Asia fhook in trembling woe, And bent appal'd before the Bactrian bow; From the moift regions of the western star The wandering Hermit wak'd the ftorm of war. (9) Their limbs all iron, and their fouls all flame, A countless hoft, the red-crofs warriors came; E'en hoary priests the facred combat wage, And clothe in steel the palfied arm of age; While beardless youths and tender maids assume The weighty morion and the glancing plume. In bashful pride the warrior virgins wield The ponderous falchion and the fun-like shield, And start to fee their armour's iron gleam Dance with blue luftre in Tabaria's ftream. The blood-red banner floating o'er their van, All madly blithe the mingled myriads ran: Impatient Death beheld his destin'd food, And hovering vultures snuff'd the scent of blood.

7) The Temple of the Sepulchre.

8) St Helena, who was, according to Cambden, born at Colchester.

9) Peter the Hermit.

Not fuch the numbers, nor the hoft fo dread By northern Brenn, or Scythian Timur led, (10) Nor fuch the heart-infpiring zeal that bore United Greece to Phrygia's reedy shore!

There Gaul's proud knights with boastful 'mien advance,

Form the long line, and fhake the cornel lance;
Here, link'd with Thrace, in close battalions stand
Aufonia's fons, a foft, inglorious band;

There the ftern Norman joins the Auftrian train,
And the dark tribes of late reviving Spain;
Here, in black files, advancing firm and flow,
Victorious Albion twangs the deadly bow :-
Albion,-ftill promp the captive's wrong to aid,
And wield in freedom's cause the freeman's generous
blade !

Ye fainted fpirits of the warrior dead,
Whofe giant force Britannia's armies led!
Whofe bickering faulchions foremost in the fight,
Sill pour'd confufion on the Soldan's might;
Lords of the biting axe and beamy fpear,
Wide-conquering Edward, Lion Richard, hear!—
At Albion's call your crefted, pride refume,
And burst the marble slumbers of the tomb!
Your fons behold! in arm, in heart the fame,
Still prefs the footsteps of parental fame,
To Salem fill their generous aid supply,
And pluck the palm of Syrian chivalry!
When he, from towery Malta's yielding isle,
And the green waters of reluctant Nile,
Th' Apoftate Chief, from Misraim's subject shore
To Acre's walls his trophied banners bore;
10) Brennus and Tamerlane.

When the pale defart mark'd his proud array,
And Defolation hop'd an ampler fway;
What hero then triumphant Gaul dismay’d ?
What arm repell'd the victor renegade ?
Britannia's Champion!-bath'd in hoftile blood,
High on the beech the dauntlefs SEAMAN ftood:
Admiring Afia faw the unequal fight;

E'en the pale crefcent blefs'd the Chriftian's might.
Oh day of death! oh thirst, beyond controul,
Of crimson conqueft in th' Invader's foul!
The flain, yet warm, by focial footsteps trod,
"O'er the red moat supply'd a panting road;
O'er the red moat our conquering thunders flew,
And loftier ftill the grifly rampire grew.
While proudly glow'd above the rescu'd tower
The wavy crofs that mark'd Britannia's power.
Yet ftill Destruction sweeps the lonely plain,
And heroes lift the generous fword in vain.
Still o'er her sky the clouds of anger roll,
And God's revenge hangs heavy on her foul.
Yet shall she rife but not by war restor'd,
Nor built in murder, planted by the sword.
Yes, Salem, thou shalt rife: thy Father's aid
Shall heal the wound His chaftening hand has made;
Shall judge the proud oppreffor's ruthless sway,
And burst his brazen bonds, and caft his cords away.
Then on your tops fhall deathlefs verdure spring;
Break forth, ye mountains! and ye vallies, fing!
No more your thirsty rocks shall frown forlorn,
The unbeliever's jeft, the heathen's fcorn;
The fultry fands fhall ten-fold harvests yield,
And a new Eden deck the thorny field.

E'en now, perhaps, wide waving o'er the land,
The mighty angel lifts his golden wand; (1)
Courts the bright vifion of defcending pow'r, (2)
Tells every gate, and measures every tower;
And chides the tardy feals that yet detain "
Thy Lion, Judah, from his deftin'd reign.

And who is He? the vaft, the awful form, (3)
Girt with the whirlwind, fandal'd with the storm?
A western cloud around his limbs is fpread,
His crown a rainbow, and a fun his head.
To highest heaven he lifts his kingly hand,
And treads at once the ocean and the land :
And hark! His voice amid the thunder's roar,
His dreadful voice-that time shall be no more!
Lo! cherub-hands the golden courts prepare;
Lo! thrones are fet, and every faint is there;
Earth's utmost bounds confess their awful sway,
The mountains worship, and the isles obey;
Nor fun nor moon they need, nor day nor night; (4)
God is their temple, and the Lamb their light.
And fhall not Ifrael's fons exulting come,

Hail the glad beam, and claim their ancient home?
On David's throne fhall David's offspring reign,
And the dry bones be warm with life again.
Hark! white-rob'd crowds their deep hofannas raife,
And the hoarfe flood repeats the found of praife;
Ten thousand harps attune the mystic fong,
Ten thousand thousand faints the strain prolong ;-
Worthy the Lamb! omnipotent to fave!

"Who dy'd, who lives, triumphant o'er the grave!"

1 Ezek. xl. 2 Rev. xxi. 10.

3 lbid. x. 4 Ibid. xxi. 22.

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