Recited in the Theatre, Oxford, June 15, 1803.
REFT of thy fons, amid thy foes forlorn,
Mourn, widow'd queen, forgotten Sion, mourn!
Is this thy place, fad City, this thy throne,
Where the wild defert rears its craggy stone?
While funs unbleft their angry luftre fling,
And way-worn pilgrims seek the fcanty spring?
Where now thy pomp, which kings with envy view'd?
Where now thy might, which all thofe kings fubdu’d?
No martial myriads mufter in thy gate;
No fuppliant nations in thy Temple wait;
No prophet bards thy glittering courts among,
Wake the full lyre, and fwell the tide of fong :
But lawlers Fórce, and meagre Want is there,
And the quick-darting eye of restless Fear;
While cold Oblivion, 'mid thy ruins laid,
Folds his dank wing beneath the ivy fhade. (1)
Ye guardian Saints! ye warrior fons of heaven, (2) To whofe high care Judæa's state was given!
(1) Alluding to the usual manner in which Sleep is represented in ancient statues. See also Pindar, Pyth. I. v. 16, 17,
σε κνώσσων Ὑδρὸν νῶτον ἀιωρει.”
(2) Authorities for these Josh v. 13. 2 Kings vi. 2.
celestial warriors may be found, 2 Macc. v. 3. lbid. xi. &c.
O wont of old your nightly watch to keep,
A hoft of gods, on Sion's towery steep!
If e'er your fecret footsteps linger ftill
By Siloa's fount, or Tabor's echoing hill,
If e'er your song on Salem's glories dwell,
And mourn the captive land you lov'd fo well;
(For, oft, 'tis faid, in Kedron's palmy vale,
Mysterious harpings swell the midnight gale,
And, bleft as balmy dews that Hermon cheer,
Melt in foft cadence on the pilgrim's ear ;)
Forgive, bleft fpirits, if a theme fo high
Mock the weak notes of mortal minstrelsy!
Yet, might your aid this anxious breast inspire
With one faint fpark of Milton's seraph fire,
Then fhould my Muse ascend with bolder flight,
And weave her eagle-plumes, exulting in the light.
O happy once in heaven's peculiar love,
Delight of men below, and faints above!
Though, Salem, now the fpoiler's ruffian hand
Has loos'd his hell-hounds o'er thy wafted land;
Tho' weak, and whelm'd beneath the storms of Fate,
Thy houfe is left unto thee defolate;
Though thy proud ftones in cumb'rous ruin fall,
And feas of fand o'er-top thy mouldering wall;
Yet fhall the Mufe to Fancy's ardent view
Each fhadowy trace of faded pomp renew:
And as the Seer (3) on Pisgah's topmost brow
With glistening eye beheld the plain below,
With prefcient ardour drank the scented gale,
And bade the opening glades of Canaan hail;
Her eagle-eye fhall fean the profpect wide,
From Carmel's cliffs to Almotana's tide; (4)
The flinty wafte, the cedar-tufted hill,
The liquid health of smooth Ardeni's rill;
The grot, where, by the watch-fire's ev'ning blaze, (5) The robber riots, or the hermit prays;
Or where the tempeft rives the hoary stone,'
The wintry top of giant Lebanon.
Fierce, hardy, proud, in conscious freedom bold,
Those ftormy feats the warrior Drufes hold; (6)
From Norman blood their lofty line they trace,
Their lion courage proves their generous race.
They, only they, while all around them kneel
In fullen homage to the Thracian steel,
Teach their pale defpot's waning moon to fear
The patriot terrors of the mountain spear.
Yes, valorous chiefs, while yet your fabres fhine, The native guard of feeble Palestine,
O ever thus, by no vain boast difmay'd,
Defend the birthright of the cedar fhade!
What though no more for you th' obedient gale
Swells the white bofom of the Tyrian fail ;
(4) Almotana is the oriental name for the Dead Sea, as Ardeni is for Jordan.
(5) The mountains of Palestine are full of caverns, which are generally occupied in one or other of the methods here
(6) The untameable spirit, feodal customs, and affection for Europeans, which distinguish this extraordinary race, who boast themselves to be a remnant of the Crusaders, are well described in Pagees.
Though now no more your glitt'ring marts unfold
Sidonian dyes and Lufitanian gold; (7)
Though not for you the pale and fickly slave
Forgets the light in Ophir's wealthy cave;
Yet your's the lot, in proud contentment bleft,
Where cheerful labour leads to tranquil rest.
No robber rage the ripening harvest knows;
And unreftrain'd the generous vintage flows:
Nor lefs your fons to manlieft deeds aspire,
And Afia's mountains glow with Spartan fire.
So when, deep finking in the rofy main,
The western Sun forfakes the Syrian plain,
His watery rays refracted luftre shed,
And pour their latest light on Carmel's head.
Yet fhines your praise, amid surrounding gloom,
As the lone lamp that trembles in the tomb :
For, few the fouls that spurn a tyrant's chain,
And fmall the bounds of Freedom's fcanty reign.
As the poor outcast on the cheerless wild, (8)
Arabia's parent, clasp'd her fainting child,
And wander'd near the roof no more her home,
Forbid to linger, yet afraid to roam:
My forrowing Fancy quits the happier height,
And fouthward throws her half-averted fight.
For fad the scenes Judæa's plains disclose,
A dreary waste of undistinguish'd woes :
See War untir'd his crimson pinions spread,
And foul Revenge that tramples on the dead!
7) The gold of the Tyrians chiefly came from Portugal, which was probably their Tarshish,
Lo, where from far the guarded fountains shine,(9)
Thy tents, Nebaioth, rife, and Kedar, thine!
'Tis your's the boast to mark the stranger's way,
And fpur your headlong chargers on the prey,
Or roufe your nightly numbers from afar,
And on the hamlet pour the waste of war;
Nor spare the hoary head, nor bid your eye
Revere the facred fmile of infancy.
Such now the clans whose fiery courfers feed
Where waves on Kifhon's bank the whispering reed;
And their's the foil, where, curling to the fkies,
Smokes on Gerizim's mount Samaria's facrifice. (10)
While Ifrael's fons, by fcorpion curfes driven,
Outcasts of earth, and reprobate of heaven,
Through the wide world in friendless exile ftray,
Remorfe and fhame, fole comrades of their way,
With dumb defpair their country's wrongs behold,
And, dead to glory, only burn for gold.
O Thou, their Guide, their, Father, and their Lord,
Lov'd for Thy mercies, for Thy pow'r ador'd!
If at Thy name the waves forgot their force,
And refluent Jordan fought his trembling fource;
If at Thy name like sheep the mountains filed,
And haughty Sirion bow'd his marble head;
To Ifrael's woes a pitying ear incline,
And raise from earth thy long-neglected vine!
Her rifled fruits behold the heathen bear,
And wild-wood boars her mangled clusters tear.
9) The watering places are generally beset with Arabs, who exact toll from all comers.
10) A miserable remnant of Samaritan worship still exists on Mount Gerizim.
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