Classic Poem

PART II

Slow o'er Herodion went the night and day,
As deeply wounded on his bed he lay.
Well had he fought to stop, while yet afar,
The growing triumphs of the Roman war;
Well had he fought to stay the overthrow
Of Zion now beleaguered by the foe.
Wounded he fell; but snatched from instant fate,
His soldiers drew him from the embattled gate,
And bore him home. Azala tends him there,
And waits and watches with unwearied care.
All this might yield a mitigating thought,
To bear him calmly through his present lot;
But his the fiery nature that could ill
Endure an arm less active than his will.
Electric blood, an energy of frame
Beyond the stuff of mortals, gave him fame
Even when a boy; a patriot spirit bore
The bold young warrior on from shore to shore
But Rome came on; and Zion's now the stage
Whereon his loftier battles he must wage.
How, when her gates were widely open flung,
Forth like a panther of the wild he sprung,
Far flinging back, as on the foe he leapt,
The sable locks that o'er his shoulders swept,
Redundant from beneath a hoop of gold
Which, set with jewels, round his head was rolled!
With glory came command: though young, he led
A band of veterans, of their foes the dread,
Gray men enseamed with scars from many a brunt;
And proud were they to have him in their front,
Clashing their arms around him, shaking each
His angry beard singed in the fiery breach.
How thus, a patriot, and in honour's quest
Fierce, could this wounded hero calmly rest?
Sterner his pangs to think that feuds within
His country tore with suicidal sin.
Came sounds of war; he heard the shouts again
Where men in battle did the deeds of men;
Up sprung he; scarce Azala could allay
His hot desire to rush into the fray;
Till fainting nature helped her, and his head
Back on his pillow like a child's she laid.
Yet still he bent, he listened to the fight,
His soul commixed with the tumultuous night;
Far plunging, grappling through the battle-tide,
He gloried bearing down the hostile side;
Till died the uproar suddenly, and shocked
His spirit to a present sense that mocked
The ideal toil, but left him, trembling yet,
From off his brow to wipe no fancied sweat.

II .

Noon passed—Azala came not; twilight dim
Drew on, nor food nor salves she brought for him.
Slow went the eve; at hollow dead of night
An aged Nurse, Josepha, stood in sight
“What shall we do?” she cried, with fear subdued:
“At noon Azala went to seek us food;
For bread and water hardly now we find,
Though daily portions are to you assigned:
Herself scarce eats, or seems frail bread to need;
Her own high thoughts her own dear body feed
A sword she took—her plans I durst not thwart;
So just, so wise the young betrothèd heart.
But she's not come: her quest so fierce for you
I dread—what will not such a dear one do?
To-day the war has raged; alas! this hour
The Holy Hill is in the enemy's power;
I fear she's slain; I've sought her far and wide,
But found her not; yet search must still be tried.
O could you rise! and quick! for still this night
The foe's grim pause but tells the ready fight.
I fear you cannot?” Up Herodion sprung,
A hasty mantle o'er his vest he flung;
By fiery fever to his limbs was lent
Unnatural strength: forth with the Nurse he went.

III .

And through the night, throughout Jerusalem, they
Sought young Azala by the moon's dim ray.
The straitened City lay in strange repose,
Like that which waits the Earthquake's coming throes;
For now the sword had cut its myriads down,
And famine thinned the many-peopled town,
And scarce the feeble residue could meet,
Or make be heard their voices in the street.
But lo! the wall: Lay all around the gate
The slain unburied in their festering state;
In these thick times of blood all reverence fled,
All hope, the living cared not for the dead.
Throughout the slain, their eyes still downward cast,
Josepha slowly, slow Herodion passed;
Azala was not there; by streets remote,
By courts they sought her, but they found her not.
Home then they went; but meeting, as they went,
Some plundering Romans, flushed and insolent,
Who drew on them, with bold opposing might,
Guarding the Nurse, Herodion dared the fight,
And drove them off; but not until, like rain,
His blood dropped to the ground from wounds new ta'en
They reached their home. At once loud tumults rise,
And ruddy wavings fire the midnight skies
Josepha climbs the roof; Herodion fast
Has followed her—The Temple burns at last!
Careering high o'er porch and portico,
They see the sheeted conflagration go.
From sainted lattice, and from sacred door,
The crooked fires with mingled warriors pour,
Who seem the demons of the flame, as they
With waving swords burst forth their writhing way
The red plague higher rides; with close embrace
Now twines around the Temple's central place,
Whose golden spikes clear glitter in the light;
Now driven away as by the winds of night,
Bellying it hangs in one wide-wafted blaze,
With ragged darting tongues that lick a thousand ways.
Below was war: with gleams, with darkness swept,
Now fiercely clear a thousand helmets leapt,
Dwarfed by the high devouring element
In all but hatred on their enemies bent,
So small they seemed, their gestures yet so dread,
As round the glaring courts the battle sped
But hark! the silver trumpets blow on high
From out their burning chambers in the sky
But see! upon yon fire-fanned parapet
With streaming stoles the Priests of God are set.
Behind a lurid mass of people stand,
And wait the motions of that holy band.
His trumpet first, then heaps of precious things
Each zealous Priest down on the enemy flings.
Back some retire with haste delirious, some
Raise high their arms to Heaven, by fear o'ercome;
Or is it last despair? Down flung, they go
Plunging into the haggard gulfs below:
Aha! 'tis wrath, 'tis death-surviving hate;
Each fells a Roman with his falling weight.
His aching eye Herodion thence withdrew,
The nearer city won his slackened view;
With shadowy forms the terraced roofs were thronged,
The last survivors of that siege prolonged;
In silence agonised the thin dark bands
Gazed on the lurid fight, and wrung their hands;
Yet bursting oft in one despairing yell,
As piece by piece their blazing Temple fell;
And aye they dropped by hundreds famine-weak,
Their lives exhausted in that last wild shriek
But ha! half screaming with some quick alarm,
Josepha grasped Herodion by the arm;
He saw her downward pointing to the street,
There came Azala with impetuous feet;
Bleeding she came, yet fiercely waved her brand,
Some scanty morsels filled her other hand.
She saw Herodion; with unnatural glee,
“Fear not,” she cried, “I'll bring the food for thee;
Through the strait days of siege and famine I
Will bravely feed you till this wo be by:
Come to the feast!” But fainting on her side
She sunk, and feebly on Herodion cried.
Down rushed he, falling on her neck he lay:
United thus in death they breathed their souls away.