And silence held the lonely woods of Rome;
Or ere to Greece the builder's skill was known,
Or the light chisel brushed the Parian stone;
Yet here fair Science nursed her infant fire,
Fanned by the artist aid of friendly Tyre.
Then towered the palace, then in awful state
The temple reared its everlasting gate.
No workman steel, no pond'rous axes rung;
Like some tall palm the noiseless fabric sprung.
Majestic silence!-then the harp awoke,

The cymbal clanged, the deep-voiced trumpet spoke,

And Salem spread her suppliant arms abroad, Viewed the descending flame, and blessed the present God.

Nor shrunk she then, when, raging deep and
loud,

Beat o'er her soul the billows of the proud.
E'en they who, dragged to Shinar's fiery sand;
Tilled with reluctant strength the stranger's
land;

Who sadly told the slow-revolving years,

And steeped the captive's bitter bread with tears: Yet oft their hearts with kindling hopes would burn,

Their destined triumphs, and their glad return,

And their sad lyres, which, silent and unstrung,

In mournful ranks on Babel's willows hung, Would oft awake to chant their future fame, And from the skies their lingering Saviour claim. His promised aid could every fear control;

This nerved the warrior's arm, this steeled the martyr's soul.

Nor vain their hope :-Bright beaming through

the sky,

Burst in full blaze the Day-spring from on high.
Earth's utmost isles exulted at the sight,
And crowding nations drank the orient light.
Lo, star-led chiefs Assyrian odors bring,
And bending Magi seek their infant King.
Marked ye, where, hovering o'er his radiant
head,

The dove's white wings celestial glory shed?
Daughter of Sion, virgin queen, rejoice:
Clap the glad hand, and lift the exulting voice.
He comes, but not in regal splendor drest,
The haughty diadem, the Tyrian vest ;
Not armed in flanie, all glorious from afar,
Of hosts the chieftain, and the lord of war.
Messiah comes; let furious discord cease:
Be peace on earth before the Prince of Peace,
Disease and anguish feel his blest control,
And howling fiends release the tortured soul;
The beams of gladness hell's dark caves illume,

And Mercy broods above the distant gloom. Thou palsied earth, with noonday night o'erspread,

Thou sickening sun, so dark, so deep, so red,
Ye hov'ring ghosts, that throng the starless air,
Why shakes the earth? why fades the light?
declare.

Are those his limbs, with ruthless scourges torn?
His brows all bleeding with the twisted thorn?
His the pale form, the meek forgiving eye,
Raised from the cross in patient agony ?
-Be dark, thou sun-thou noonday night, arise,
And hide, O hide, the dreadful sacrifice.

Ye faithful few, by bold affection led,

Who round the Saviour's cross your sorrows

shed,

Not for his sake your tearful vigils keep ;-
Weep for your country, for your children weep,
-Vengeance, thy fiery wing their race pursued;
Thy thirsty poniard blushed with infant blood.
Roused at thy call, and panting still for game,
The bird of war, the Latian eagle caine.
Then Judah raged, by ruffian Discord led,
Drunk with the steamy carnage of the dead:
He saw his sons by dubious slaughter fall,
And war without, and death within the wall.

Wide-wasting Plague, gaunt Famine, mad Despair,

And dire Debate,and clamorous Strife was there:
Love,strong as Death,retained his might no more,
And the pale parent drank her children's gore.
Yet they, who wont to roam th' ensanguined
plain,

And spurn with fell delight their kindred slain;
E'en they, when high above the dusty fight,
Their burning Temple rose in lurid light,
To their loved altars paid a parting groan,
And in their country's woes forgot their own.

As 'mid the cedar courts, and gates of gold,
The trampled ranks in miry carnage rolled,
To save their Temple every hand essayed,
And with cold fingers grasped the feeble blade :
Through their torn veins reviving fury ran,
And life's last anger warmed the dying man.
But heavier far the fettered captive's doom;
To glut with sighs the iron ear of Rome :
To swell, slow pacing by the car's tall side,
The stoic tyrant's philosophic pride;
To flesh the lion's rav'nous jaws, or feel
The sportive fury of the fencer's steel;

Or pant, deep plunged beneath the sultry mine, For the light gales of balmy Palestine.

Ah, fruitful now no more,-an empty coast,

She mourned her sons enslaved, her glories lost. In her wide streets the lonely raven bred, There barked the wolf, and dire hyænas fed. Yet midst her towery fanes, in ruin laid, The pilgrim saint his murmuring vespers paid. 'Twas his to climb the tufted rocks, and rove The chequered twilight of the olive grove; 'T was his to bend beneath the sacred gloom, And wear with many a kiss Messiah's tomb; While forms celestial filled his tranced eye, The day-light dreams of pensive piety, O'er his still breast a tearful fervor stole, And softer sorrows charmed the mourner's soul. O, lives there one, who mocks his artless zeal? Too proud to worship, and too wise to feel? Be his the soul with wintry Reason blest, The dull, lethargic sovereign of the breast. Be his the life that creeps in dead repose, No joy that sparkles, and no tear that flows. Far other they who reared yon pompous shrine And bade the rock with Parian marble shine. Then hallowed Peace renewed her wealthy reign,

Then altars smoked, and Sion smiled again. There sculptured gold and costly gems were seen, And all the bounties of the British queen;

There barb'rous kings their sandaled nations led, And steel-clad champions bowed the crested head.