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To fave their Temple ev'ry hand essay'd,
And with cold ringers grafp'd the feeble blade:
Through their torn veins reviving fury ran,
And life's last anger warm'd the dying man.
But heavier far the fetter'd captive's doom!
To glut with sighs the iron ear of Rome;
To fwell flow pacing by the car's tall side,
The stoic tyrant's plilofophic pride;
To flefli 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—arfempty coast,
She mourn'd her fons enflav'd, her glories lost:
In her wide streets the lonely raven bred,
There bark'd the wolf, and dire hyænas 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 kifs Messiah's tomb s
While forms celestial sill'd his tranced eye,
The day-light dieams of pensive piety,
O'er his still breast a tearful fervour stole,
And fofter forrows charm'd the mourner's foul.
Oh, lives there one, who mocks his artlefs zeal?
Too proud to worlhip, 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 repofe,
No joy that fparkles, and no tear that flows 1
Far other they who rear'd that pompous lhrine, (7) And bade the rock with Parian marble shine. Then hallow'd Peace renew'd her wealthy reign, Then altars fmok'd, and Sion fmil'd again. There fculptur'd gold and costly gems were feen, And all the bounties of the Britilh Queen ; (8) There barbarous kings their fandal'd nations led, And steel-clad champions bow'd the crested head. There, when her siery race the defert pour'd, And pale Byzantium fear'd Medina's fword, When coward Asia shook in trembling woe. And bent appal'd before the Bactrian bow; From the moist regions of the western star The wandering Hermit wak'd the storm of war. (9) Their limbs all iron, and their fouls all flame, A countlefs host, the red-crofs warriors came; E'en hoary priests the facred combat wage, And clothe in steel the palfied arm of age; While beardlefs youths and tender maids asfume The weighty morion and the glancing plume. In balhful pride the warrior virgins wield The ponderous falchion and the fun-like lhield, And start to fee their armour's iron gleam Dance with blue lustre in Tabaria's stream.
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 fnuff'd the fcent of blood.
7) The Temple of the Sepulchre.
8) St Helena, who was, according to Cambden, born at Colchester.
fl) Peter the Hermit.
Not fuch the numbers, nor the host fo dread
By northern Brenn, or Scythian Timur led, (10)
Nor fuch the heart-infpiring zeal that bore
United Greece to Phrygia's reedy siSore!
There Gaul's proud knights with boastful mien
Form the long line, and fluke the cornel lance;
Here, link'd with Thrace, in clofe battalions stand
Anfonia's fons, a foft, inglorious band;
There the stern Norman joins the Austrian train,
And the dark tribes of late reviving Spain;
Here, in black siles, advancing sirm and flow,
Victprious Albion twangs the deadly bow :—
Albion,—still promp the captive's wrong to aid,
And wield in freedom's caufe the freeman'6 generous
Ye fainted fpirits of the warrior dead,
Whofe giant force Britannia's armies led!
Whofe bickering faulchions foremost in the sight,
Sill pour'd confusion ou the Soldan's might;
Lords of the biting axe and beamy fpear,
Wide-conquering Edward, lion Richard, hear!—
At Albion's call your crested 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 still their generous aid fupply,
And pluck the palm of Syrian chivalry I
When he, from towery Malta's yielding ifle,
And the green waters of reluctant Nile,
Th' Apostate Chief, from Mifraim's fubject fliore
To Acre's walls hit trophied banners bore;
10) Brennus and Tamerlane.
When the pale desert mark'd his proud array,
And Defolation hop'd an ampler fway;
What hero then triumphant Gaul difmay'd?
What arm repcll'd the victor renegade?
Britannia's Champion !—bath'd in hostile blood,
High on the beech the dauntlefs Seaman stood:
Admiring-Asia faw the unequal sight;
E'en the pale crefcent blefs'd the Christian's might.
Oh day of death I oh thirst, beyond controul,
Of crimfon conquest in th' Invader's foul!
The stain, yet warm, by social footsteps trod,
O'er the red moat fupply'd a panting road;
O'er the red moat our conquering thunders stew,
And loftier still the grifly rampire grew.
While proudly glow'd above the refcu'd tower
The wavy crofs that mark'd Britannia's power.
Yet still Destruction fweeps the lonely plain,
And heroes lift the generous fword in vain.
Still o'er her Iky the clouds of anger roll,
And God's revenge hangs heavy on her foul.
Yet shall flie rife ;—but not by war restor'd,
Nor built in murder, planted by the fword.
Yes, Salem, thou shalt rise: thy Father's aid
Shall heal the wound His chastening hand has made;
Shall judge the proud opprefsor's ruthlefs fway,
And burst his brazen bonds, and oast his cords away.
Then on your tops shall deathlefs verdure fpring;
Break forth, ye mountains! and ye vallies, sing!
No more your thirsty rocks shall frown forlorn,
The unbeliever's jest, the heathen's fcorn;
The sultry fands fhall ten-sold 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 vision of defcending pow'r, (2)
Tells every gate, and meafures every tower;
And chides the tardy feals that yet detain'
Thy Lion, Judah, from his destin'd reign.
And who is He? the vast, 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, ajid every faint is there;
Earth's utmost bounds confefs their awful fway,
The mountains worihip, and the ifles obey;
Nor fun nor moon they ne^d, nor day nor night ; (4)
God is their temple, and the Lamb their light.
And ihall not Ifrael's fons exulting come,
Hail the glad beam, and claim their ancient home?
On David's throne lhall 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 thoufand harti attune the mystic fong,
Ten thousand thoufand faints the strain prolong
*' Worthy the Lamb! omnipotent to fave!
V Who dy'd, who lives, triumphant o'er the grave!"
1 lack. Xt. 2 Rev. xxi. 1st, 3 Ibid. x. 4 Ibid. xxi. 1%