The Destruction of Jerusalem
(After Eben Fardd, 1802-1863, one of the leading Welsh poets of the nineteenth century)
Rachel Mourning
Rachel, ah me! most wretchedly
Mourns, meekest, worthiest woman,
Her husband dear hurled to his bier
By Roman fiends inhuman.
Tremulously now murmurs she:
“Naught’s here but naked horror;
Black despond and blind despair,
Mad turmoil, murderous terror!
Free he rose, his hero blows
Gave Rome black cause to rue him;
Ten to one, then they run
Their poisonous poignards through him.
Thus took flight thy tortured sprite,
Dear heart, from my fond seeing!
Now stars on high in stark dawn die,
We too must far be fleeing.
Children dear, I thrill with fear
To hear your hungry crying!
Away, away! one more such day—
And we’re too weak for flying.”
The Burning Temple
The savage foes of this lost land of ours
Conspire to fire Antonius’ shapely towers.
Ere long the Temple proud, surpassing all
Art’s fairest gems, shall unto earth be bowed!
Lo! through the lurid gloom the lightning’s lash!
And hark the unnatural thunder crash and boom!
Moriah’s marvellous fane is leaning low;
With cries of woe her rafters rend in twain;
For our Imperial One is brought to naught.
Yea, even where most cunningly she was wrought,
The fire has cleft its way each coign into,
For wood and stone searching her bosom through.
Astonishingly high she took the blue,
Yet weeping molten dross shall meet the ground—
A sight for grief profound to gaze across.
Flame follows flame, each like a giant worm,
To feast and batten on her beauteous form.
Through gold and silver doors they sinuous swarm
And crop the carven flowers with gust enorme;
Till all is emptiness.
Then with hellish shout
The embruted Gentiles in exultant rout
Into her Holy of Holies profanely press!
One streaming flood of steaming blood—
Shudders her sacred pavement!