.1 <r» *, ■ 
 
 '#' <<2 
 
 
 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS.; 
 
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 UNITED STATES OE AMERICA. 
 
TADMOR, 
 
 The Pride of the Desert. 
 
 BY 
 
 H. PHILIPS MONTGOMERY. 
 
 / 
 
 BOSTON : C/ 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS. 
 PHILADELPHIA: CHARLES DESILVER. 
 
 1865. 
 
T6 2- 
 
 + 2.+" 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864, by 
 
 H. PHILIPS MONTGOMERY, 
 
 in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Eastern 
 
 District of Pennsylvania. 
 
 University Press: 
 
 Welch, Bigelow, and Company, 
 
 Cambridge. 
 
CANTO I. 
 
 THE COUNCIL. 
 
CANTO I. 
 
 THE COUNCIL. 
 
 DEEP in the Orient, now, alas ! entombed, 
 Surrounded by a vast and trackless moor, 
 Which drank her beryl waters, Tadmor bloomed. 
 Her fearless sons did whilom conquering pour 
 From arrowy Tigris to the Nilus' shore ; 
 But scarce the Sea had waved her triumph-tongue, 
 Her hautboy's blast and bursting peal of war 
 Italia heard ! Rome's temple-gates were swung ; 
 Palmyra quivered not ! and how she fell, my song. 
 
 The thirsting sands of Syrian plain 
 Bid sad adieu to night again. 
 And now aloft the day has won 
 Each cedar-top of Lebanon. 
 The encircled caravan unwinds 
 
 Once more its drowsy coil ; 
 The drooping camel gladly finds 
 
 Fair Suri's softening soil. 
 
TADMOR. 
 
 For since the Iran waters told 
 Their wavelet parting, naught had lulled 
 Their slumber save the desert's breath, 
 And Simoom's seething blast of death. 
 
 II. 
 
 Oh, 't is a beauteous sight to see 
 The morn's first blush on Stromboli ! 
 But gorgeous where with earliest light 
 Palmyra bursts upon the sight ! 
 A thousand glittering towers beam ; 
 A thousand sparkling minarets gleam ; 
 From column, dome, and colonnade, — 
 On these the skilful Scopas made 
 His name immortal, — shaft and base, 
 And capital of Corinth's grace, 
 Reflection springs ; as when on high 
 The Polar spirits light their sky, 
 And spread auroral archway o'er 
 The northern zone from shore to shore. 
 
 III. 
 
 Aloft, e'en temple-dome above, 
 Are terraced aisle and cooling grove. 
 The wearied eye glad lingers now 
 Where tendril, rose, and leafy bough, 
 Be-drooped with dew, their precious breath 
 
TADMOR. 7 
 
 Send showering to the plain beneath 
 
 From amaranth and Suri flowers 
 
 So sweetly, that fair Eden's bowers 
 
 In all their bloom were scarce more fair ; 
 
 And th' Almighty trained the blossom there ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Afar, Euphrates' wave is seen 
 
 To sprinkle wide her matin-sheen. 
 
 Proud flood ! what empires hast thou known 
 
 Since Chaos fell, and Earth was born ? 
 
 Thy gladsome waters swept the vales 
 
 Of Paradise, while choral gales 
 
 Hymned sweetly in quaternion flow, 
 
 And echoing came and soft and low 
 
 From each thy sacred sister-flood, 
 
 And praised Him, Maker of all good ! 
 
 V. 
 
 Temptation was not absent long, 
 Fair Ede, and cursed with withering Wrong 
 Thy beauteous bloom. Thy wandering wave 
 Then knew not Earth, nor where to lave. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Then reigned Chaldea's " King of Kings " 
 Where Tigris to Euphrates brings 
 
TADMOR. 
 
 Her fleetest foam : and Man forswore 
 The Great Omnipotent ! His doom 
 Enkindled, spread a blackening gloom 
 Upon the earth ; from Heaven's shore 
 And th' empyrean's copious deeps 
 Upbroken did the waters pour ! 
 Till Ararat's most lofty steeps 
 Sank down into the gurgling main ! 
 The ocean-wave was monarch then. 
 
 VII. 
 
 But soon thy currents poured anew, 
 
 Euphrates, but in darker hue ; 
 
 Arid traced their deep and erring line 
 
 To Babylonia's impious shrine. 
 
 Her tower crumbled, while each tongue, 
 
 Though uttering, was unknown : 
 
 Dissentient voices came among 
 
 Mankind, and Man was lone ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Then next th' Assyrian dipped his steel 
 In thy fair stream, and stamped the heel 
 Of power on thy groaning shore 
 For ages ! and great Babylon rose. 
 Her sparkling splendor soon was o'er ; 
 For Heaven told her dismal woes ! 
 
TADMOR. C 
 
 And 'mid her deep damnation's throes, 
 The Persian and the roving Mede 
 Unstrung his bow, unreined his steed 
 Upon yon sands. Then from the West 
 The mighty Macedonian came ; 
 For humbled Europe had confessed — 
 Though Hellas loathe — his boundless fame. 
 He oped the Cilician portals wide, 
 Where Taurian mount meets Taurus' side, 
 And heeding not the Asian foe, 
 He joyed in Iran's orient glow. 
 
 IX. 
 
 The conqueror sighed his sword uphung, 
 
 The clarion soon his requiem rung ! 
 
 Then Roma sang her battle-paean, 
 
 Unfurled her bright imperial sheen 
 
 From Mada'i to Senaar. 
 
 The Chaldean marks a stranger star, — 
 
 The Kasdim in their brazen towers 
 
 Knew -all the orbs, and knew their hours, — 
 
 The star on Juda rests ! Again, 
 
 Thou storied river ! thy glad wave 
 
 Re-echoed the night-wind's whispering strain ; 
 
 And with thy flowing murmur gave 
 
 All-joyous homage to the Throne 
 
 Of Him Triune, and yet but One. 
 
10 TADMOR. 
 
 His brow ungemmed, no court was there, 
 No bright monarchal spangling shone, 
 No train of pomp, no gilded glare : 
 He reigned unbugled, bannerless, 
 With but th' Adoring Mother's kiss, 
 And angel's voice to crown Him King ! 
 Thou wouldst to His Dominion cling ! 
 But Roma hushed thy wavelet-songs. 
 Once more to Syria now belongs 
 The fair Euphrates ; and her own 
 Is claimed by Tadmor for her throne. 
 But cease ; the pages yet to come 
 Will tell her glory, mourn her doom ! 
 
 X. 
 
 Behold ! the day his blushing bride 
 The roseate morn leads down the side 
 Of Lebanon, while fount and fell, 
 And leaf and shrub in Suri's dell, 
 Joins in the bridal chorus loud 
 Of merriest nature, while the cloud 
 With morn-tints spangled throws her sheen, 
 An azured veil, upon the scene. 
 
 XL 
 
 Now brightly burns the vestal fire ; 
 Now sweetly chants the temple-choir ; 
 
TAD M OR. 1 1 
 
 Tow'rets and minarets sparkle higher 
 
 To greet the glorious Sun ! 
 The censers fast their cassia fling ; 
 The choristry more joyous sing ; 
 While clanging chimes harmonious ring 
 
 Thence cadence into one. 
 For scarce has echo hushed her flow, 
 The jocund morn is draped in woe. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Why ceased the choral morning song ? 
 Why stilled the chancel's votive tongue ? 
 Why from the palace and the cot — 
 These equal love their own begot — 
 Wild sorrowing comes ? the mother's moan 
 Like that in Judah's Ramah known 
 When Rachel childless wept her own ? 
 
 XIII. 
 
 From Taurus' hills through Syria's aisles 
 A Syrian host in confused files 
 To Tadmor streams ! their banners torn, 
 Their serried ranks impetuous borne 
 By Rome's wild cohorts, as the leaves 
 Are shattered by th' autumnal blast, 
 Where flowery Sibma vainly grieves 
 Her summer-sheen is sweeping past ! 
 
12 T ADM OR. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Full soon the offspring of great Jove 
 And Themis, circling, sadly move 
 To noon and eve. Now list the calls 
 From shrilly clarions wide resound, 
 And winding turn in swift rebound, — 
 As when the storm on Etna falls, 
 And thrills her fiery-caverned ground. 
 
 XV. 
 
 To th' accited Council chief and sage 
 Troop in the measured step of age ; 
 Statesman, and soldier whose proud form 
 Ne'er quivered in the battle storm ! 
 The Council met. A seething sound 
 Like that of waves which fell around 
 Baal-Zephon's shoal, when Orion urged 
 The Red-Sea waves so that they surged 
 Beneath her sands ; till morning watch 
 Sweet Miriam sang in joyous glee, 
 " The Chosen walk a pathwayed sea ! 
 This morn in vain the watery search 
 For Pharaoh and his chariotry ! " 
 
TADMOR. 13 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Hushed now the voice and eager tongue, 
 
 And warriors' clashing steel 
 Which on the marbled pave had rung, 
 
 And swells the hautboy peal ; 
 And burst the trumpets to the dome ! 
 While sways the throng like Norway's trees 
 When howls the Arctic's wildest breeze. 
 'T is he, the great Longinus, come ! 
 He casts one glance of pride around 
 The numerous host ; one well may see 
 His nature noble and as free, 
 By guile nor arcane malice bound. 
 Th' Almighty's ban but lightly traced 
 Its withering line on one so graced. 
 No self is there : by millions deemed 
 A Great Palladium, he but seemed 
 At Suri's shrine devout to stand, — 
 That shrine his Country, his own Land. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 The bugle-strain is still more shrill, 
 The trumpet-blast is louder still, 
 As, beauteous, yet in martial mien, 
 Appears the gorgeous " Orient Queen." 
 
H 
 
 TADMOR. 
 
 Her form is woman's utmost grace ; 
 
 A mind reflects in that fair face 
 
 And brilliant eye, the spirits stern 
 
 Such as in women rarely burn, — 
 
 Spirits which on the battle-field 
 
 Could charge the foe, nor ask the shield ! 
 
 Dark Pride has marked her brow with care, 
 
 For Beauty loves to revel there. 
 
 So proud and fair, yon Queen may claim 
 
 The blood of Egypt's fairest fame, 
 
 And Macedonia's nobler name. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 High on a throne, — all fretted wrought 
 In gems from Ind and Ophir brought, 
 Where Oman's dark and surgy Sea 
 Gives precious pearls to Araby, — 
 Zenobia viewed the countless throng. 
 She waved each harp and lute and song 
 Which heralded her coming, cease ! 
 Then, soft as rainbow's gentle kiss 
 On great Niagara's feathery foam, 
 Or as from Sinai's deep abyss 
 The morning calls the woody gloom, 
 While anxious echo left her cell 
 In dome and arch, her accents fell : — 
 
T ADM OR. 15 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " My Palmyrenians, ye well know, 
 
 By sad Orontes' waters' flow 
 
 At Emesa and Antioch 
 
 Resounded far the battle shock ! 
 
 When Suri with Italia clashed, 
 
 In vain our hissing fire flashed ; 
 
 In vain my furious horsemen clove 
 
 Their foe's strong rank, and filled the grove 
 
 With Roman blood ; in vain their steel ; 
 
 The maddened foe in frenzied reel 
 
 But gathered strength, — as waves which sweep 
 
 The rapids, ere they plunge the steep, 
 
 When some rock-isle impedes their flow. 
 
 One moment heard Rome's battle-paean ; 
 
 One moment glowed her standards' sheen. 
 
 Now, Syria, list thy peal of woe ! 
 
 The bugles' sound, the ordered tread, 
 
 Like spirit-marching of the dead, 
 
 Now nearer comes ; each bellowing hill 
 
 Back hurls their shout, while clarions thrill 
 
 The wide terrene ! A moment more 
 
 Palmyra's victory was o'er ! 
 
 The Roman's triumph-chant was sung ; 
 
 The Syrian's dirge was faintly rung ; 
 
 For many a dying hero there 
 
l6 T ADM OR. 
 
 Had but the requiem of the air : 
 His winding-sheet his armor cold, 
 
 The mountain rock his bier ; 
 His cold clay heeds not costly fold 
 
 Whose spirit knew not fear. 
 
 XX. 
 
 "Aurelian, with furious speed, 
 
 To Tadmor comes ; he doth not heed 
 
 The foe, nor famine, nor the blast 
 
 Which sounds her death-knell wild and fast 
 
 When he from Taurus mount shall burst, 
 
 And in our stream shall slake his thirst, 
 
 Our pleasant plants then no more green ; 
 
 Our merry vineyard-shouting ceased, 
 
 When evening in amethyst 
 
 Bids rest from toil ; no more then seen 
 
 The tendril clinging to the bough, 
 
 Nor heard our gushing streamlets' flow ! 
 
 XXI. 
 
 " Say, then, ye sons of lone Tadmor, 
 Ye who fear not the rage and roar 
 Of battle's tempest, shall this flood 
 Be poured on Suri ? or your blood 
 Be driven through your fevered vein 
 By heaving heart, that once again, 
 
TADMOR. i J 
 
 With earnest hate and eager zeal, 
 
 In Rome's proud ranks ye dash your steel ? 
 
 XXII. 
 
 " Say first, Longinus, thou great sage ; 
 Thou who art learned in wisdom's page ; 
 Hast plucked from Hellas' richest vines, 
 Hast delved into her deepest mines, 
 And brought that richest mineral forth, 
 Of daring courage, untold worth ! 
 Land of Leonidas, and thee, 
 Self-doomed Solon, thou wouldst be 
 Alone with these, of glorious fame, 
 Though in a desert without name ! " 
 
 XXIIL 
 
 Zenobia ceased. Longinus stood ; 
 
 In majesty of thought he viewed 
 
 The anxious host ; with deep despair 
 
 He wrestled, not debasing fear, 
 
 Strained now each eye, and turned each ear : — 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 " Queen of the Orient, and ye peers, 
 I too have seen the wounds and tears 
 Of Syrian soldier, and his home, 
 The clash of hosts, the battle's foam. 
 
1 8 T ADM OR. 
 
 'T is true th' Abana's waters flow 
 To Pharphar's wave and sands below, 
 Ensanguined with Palmyra's slain ; 
 Though ours the loss, yet theirs the gain. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 "Whose blood to his own land is given 
 Constant breathes to highest Heaven ! 
 More honor in his cere-cloth's mould 
 Than Colchian colors, Hermean gold. 
 Fair Suri sheds her sweetest bloom 
 Where soldier sleeps in patriot's tomb ! 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 " E'en now the Hesperian gale doth bring 
 The hammers' fall, the clink and ring 
 Of Gothic arms and clashing shields 
 In wild Hyrcinia's woody fields. 
 When winter builds a pathway o'er 
 The Danube's flood to Thracian shore, 
 Then Rome her cohorts soon may need, 
 Each lance and bow, each foaming steed. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 " The Persian king has learned to know 
 To Tadmor better friend than foe ; 
 While from the South, the copious Nile 
 
TAD M OR. 19 
 
 Her Memphian horse and swarthy file 
 Shall pour upon yon Roman host. 
 These burning sands our ramparts strong ; 
 Here Rome shall build her holocaust, 
 With plenteous death and requiem song ! 
 My life to Tadmor and my Queen 
 I give ! and, by the morn's bright sheen, 
 Which spangles now yon orby dome, 
 I but in death see conquering Rome ! " 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 A shadow crossed his glowing brow, 
 As night-shade glooms the waters' flow. 
 Longinus paused ; convulsed with thought, 
 He strove to deem the shade was naught. 
 His patriot eye was dimmed ; his frame 
 Heaved once, and only once, with shame. 
 Again his voice, but quivering, came : — 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 " More fatal is the mining slow 
 
 Of occult mind, than open foe ; 
 
 The oak bends not with wildest wind, - 
 
 But by the worm we fagots bind. 
 
 At Thermos' gates, where CEtan dell 
 
 The ocean meets, the Spartan fell ! 
 
 The Persian power stormed in vain ; 
 
 A Greek betrayed, the Greeks were slain ! 
 
20 TADMOR. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 " O Palmyrenians ! should I find 
 
 Betrayal in a Syrian mind, 
 
 As joyous as the Teuton's pall 
 
 When in the strife his captains fall 
 
 Would be my death ! nor should ye grieve, 
 
 For living death 't would be to live ! " 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 As through the magnet's unseen vein 
 
 The amber flows, or as the rain 
 
 From high Armenia's mountain-snow 
 
 Doth swell each fount and stream below, 
 
 So did Longinus' voice and mien 
 
 Flow through the throng ; and each was seen 
 
 To glow with new-awakened fire. 
 
 Soldier and sage, each son and sire 
 
 Clanked his steel, or waved his hair. 
 
 'T is silence, though the echoing air 
 
 Is loath to lose Longinus' word. 
 
 Again Zenobia's voice is heard : — 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 " My sons of Suri ! who is here 
 
 And deems us lost, or shrinks with fear ? 
 
 When he, our bravest, — ^ if there be 
 
T ADM OR. 21 
 
 The bravest, 'mid such bravery, — 
 Fair Tadmor deems and life but one, 
 And joys in death her past renown ? 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 "Well do I know no suasion need 
 To urge ye to heroic deed ! 
 Then be each arm a mighty host 
 In will and daring, though the cost 
 Be death. Yet shall a Roman die ! 
 Our God shall tint your panoply 
 With colors gorgeous, and as rare — 
 If we may earth to Heaven compare — 
 As Christians say their Great on High 
 Doth gild His own who faithful die ! 
 Primal of all, when Ccele-Syria's dell, 
 Hushed in repose, no jarring sound shall tell, 
 Let all Palmyra to our Temple throng, 
 To urge on high due praise and votive song 
 To Him, All-Glorious Orb, whose eterne Light 
 Knows not Earth's fleeting morn, nor hour, nor night ! " 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 The Assembly o'er, now' heard the fall 
 Of ponderous iron ; fosse and wall 
 With thousands teem ; the liquid flame 
 Crackles and seethes : such sound there came 
 
2 2 TADMOR. 
 
 When Salem fell and passed away, — 
 
 Such was Jehovah's doom ; — then day 
 
 And night were one, for through the gloom, 
 
 The flash, and hiss, and bursting boom 
 
 Of charged fire did disthrone 
 
 The star-crowned god. Now, one by one, 
 
 The balista and tower strong 
 
 In labent groove are dragged along. 
 
 The creeking wheel heaps up the sand 
 
 In hugest mounds, for close at hand 
 
 The Roman doth his engines bring. 
 
 But list yon sacred bells' wild swing ! 
 
 Their pealing chimes are loud and clear, 
 
 And call to temple and to prayer. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 What pen can write, whose voice can tell, 
 Of Tadmor's temple ere she fell ? 
 Bewildered Fancy guides her wing 
 Where Contemplation may not soar ; 
 And yet from aeriest heights may bring 
 No sheen more bright than sprinkles o'er 
 Yon wondrous fabric, or more pure ! 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Of massive strength, yet graceful form, 
 Unmoved, untinged by wildest storm 
 
TADMOR. 
 
 That bleaky Caucasus could blow, 
 
 When Boreas hurls his mountain snow, 
 
 Each fluted shaft and architrave, 
 
 And pure and white, the moon doth lave ; 
 
 Delighted in their carved cells, 
 
 Like ocean's voice in Oman's shells, — 
 
 So white and pure, the Orient star, 
 
 Bright gnomon to the morn, 
 Will leave one gleam to linger there 
 
 To greet the coming dawn ! 
 Innumerous lights are showered wide, 
 
 Like aerolites that gleam 
 O'er Bab-el-Mandeb's boisterous tide, 
 
 Where whirls her tropic stream. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Pride of the world ! thy temple-brow 
 Must need be strong, and deep below 
 Thy fountain-deeps must be thy walls ! 
 E'en then those rocks and columned halls 
 Shall by the shivering wind be blown ; 
 Thy very site unsearched, unknown, 
 Till Arab, wandering o'er the plain, 
 Shall pile thy friezed and fretted fane, 
 And rudely drag, with heating toil, 
 Thy slumbering arches from the soil : 
 And through long ages yet to be, 
 
24 TADMOR. 
 
 Yon sad and sorrowing cypress-tree 
 Alone shall tell it bloomed with thee ! 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 Now throng through the temple's every aisle 
 Palmyra's thousands, file on file 
 Continuous pours, and helmet clanks 
 With helmet, as the martial ranks, 
 With heads uncovered, bend the knee 
 
 In silence and in awe ! 
 But ne'er to foe could such things be 
 
 When heard the shouts of war. 
 Now timbrels, lutes, and sacred song 
 
 In chords consociate flow, 
 And sweep like whirlwind wild along, 
 
 Enwrapping all below. 
 Then from aloft the sounds quick reel 
 From cymbals' crash and trumpets' peal. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Now wave the censers in the air, 
 Blazes the cressets' brightest glare ; 
 A thousand hands fast hold the strings, 
 Ten thousand strings vibrate no more, 
 As, white as snow, where Hyems flings 
 Her purest mantle on the floor 
 Of dreary Zembla, comes the train 
 
TADMOR. 25 
 
 Of priests, whose robes are sprinkled o'er 
 
 With flashing sardius and ligure. 
 
 Quick every harp is full again ; 
 
 And emerald and jasper bright 
 
 Vie with the lustres' streaming light, — 
 
 For India's islets scarce may boast, 
 
 Trinacria's golden-showered coast, 
 
 Or Pactolus, or Hermes' stream, 
 
 Such gems as on yon white robes gleam. 
 
 The altars, heaped with offerings rare, 
 
 Their incensed flames throw high in air. 
 
 But list ! the lutes have ceased their flow, 
 
 And silence binds the minstrelsy ! 
 While in deep tone and measure slow 
 
 Is heard the chancel's solemn plea. 
 
 THE PR A YE R. 
 
 " Thou mightiest of orbs ! sprung from that voice 
 Which rang in heavenly echo through the gloom 
 Of jarring chaos ; then the furious Etnas hurled 
 Down tumbling to the floods their smoking tops ; 
 The whirling oceans roared and gulfed them fast 
 And seething to their fiery-angered deeps ; 
 Such desolation then, that swiftest sphere, 
 
26 TADMOR. 
 
 Malignant deemed of earth, enjoyed the scene, 
 As starry systems plunged through elemental war ! 
 On th' empyrean's loftiest mountain-height 
 Thou stoodst ! then sprang each wildly-roaming orb, 
 And found her azured groove. Soon countless harps 
 To flowing harmony were tuned, which since 
 And ceaseless have their hymning chorals wound 
 In winding morning-song their praise to Thee ! " 
 
 CHORISTRY. 
 
 Almighty Orb ! Most High of Power ! 
 Hear our Prayer, and mark the Plea ! 
 Soon comes Palmyra's trial-hour, 
 , Be Thou with us, "HXie ! 
 
 II. 
 
 " Or if by blasting heat, or moist exhale 
 
 Of dampening dew and pestilential chill, 
 
 Or darkness deep, as when th' Egyptian groped, 
 
 And cursed the land of Goshen, which had caused 
 
 Such grief upon the Nile, to Thee best known ; 
 
 So that yon proud and daring Roman host, 
 
 Which, impious, would assail thy chosen shrine, 
 
 May be from Asia to Europa hurled ! 
 
 Thence evermore our flames shall constant burn, 
 
 Our glad and grateful hymns shall follow Thee 
 
 From glowy Persia to the Great-Sea deep, 
 
TADMOR. 
 
 Where Hesperus with fading beam now calls 
 The Sea-rose from its amber-shrouded couch 
 To greet rejoicing Thee, all-glorious Sun ! 
 
 CHORISTRY. 
 
 Almighty Orb ! Most High of Power ! 
 Hear our Prayer, and mark the Plea ! 
 Soon comes Palmyra's trial-hour, 
 Be thou with us, "H\ie ! 
 
 27 
 
CANTO II. 
 
 THE SIEGE. 
 
CANTO II. 
 
 THE SIEGE. 
 
 NOW empire with an empire strives for sway ; 
 Thadmora hurls defiance to great Rome ; 
 Through Coele-Syria's purple-flowered way 
 
 The blasting tramps of angry cohorts come. 
 Her once cerulean skies are dimmed in gloom, 
 
 While portents dark of ill on Suri throng. 
 Zion betrayed her trust, — she found her doom ! 
 Defiant was her pride, and sweet her song, 
 Yet Salem's willowed harps in Shinar were unstrung ! 
 
 The clarion rings on mountain steep, 
 The Roman host upsprings from sleep ; 
 And loud and shrill the tuba strain 
 Calls to the cohorts, " March again ! " 
 
 II. 
 
 Twelve times the hour-glass had told 
 Its dreamy tale ; as oft had rolled 
 
32 TAD M OR. 
 
 From winded horn the " night-watch change." 
 The tents are struck ; in 'customed range 
 The beasts of burden wait the blast 
 To bear their toil. It comes full fast ! 
 The camp is silence, for their tread 
 Already sounds from woody glade. 
 
 III. 
 
 In discord dull, the plumbean tramp, 
 The heavy-armor's clink and clamp, 
 The lituus peal, and chargers' stamp 
 On the echoing rock, comes not so shrill 
 As voices from yon startled hill ! 
 For many years of beauteous peace 
 Had smiled on Sibma's flowery leas. 
 
 IV. 
 
 A Roman soldier, loath to leave 
 Orontes' blooming flowered shore, 
 Strayed gladly where the Great-Sea tide 
 Its blue wave heaves on Syria's side, 
 And mused the Past, its glories o'er ! 
 
 V. 
 
 " Thou Monarch Sea, thy waves still roll, 
 While earth's proud thrones have bid thee oft 
 To mark their deeds ! and now the lull 
 
T ADM OR. 33 
 
 Of thy night-spray is heard aloft, 
 Nor brings their echo to its toll ! 
 They called the isles in all thy deep ! 
 And slumber now in wakeless sleep. 
 
 VI. 
 
 "Where now their triremes, and the hosts 
 Of shields which glimmered on thy coasts ? 
 Silent and low, in the dark ocean-dell, 
 Where the coralline, building his snowy-white cell, 
 Has more voice than they, though in full-swelling 
 
 pride 
 They skimmed the warm tropic to India's tide. 
 
 VII. 
 
 "Where now the rainbow-tinted blaze 
 Of pageantry, which stunned the gaze 
 Of Cydnus' banks, when Nile's dark queen 
 In flowing palace glided by ? 
 Where now e'en Rome's imperial sheen 
 Of Actium, and her Argosy ? 
 
 VIII. 
 
 "There Tyre, on her sapphire throne, 
 In spangled splendor whilom shone ! 
 By sea-floods crowned, a gorgeous queen, 
 Enrobed in azure and in green, 
 3 
 
34 
 
 TADMOR. 
 
 Her sceptre dripping with the spray 
 Of far-off isles, 4ield monarch sway ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 " No more the groaning timber glides 
 From Lebanon's exhaustless sides ! 
 No more the moist and weeded keel 
 Is dragged up on the lab'ring wheel, 
 Till Hyem's feathery t winds are o'er 
 No more the Tyrian marks the star 
 The royal-born # Harpalyce ; 
 And furls his sail, or holds the oar, 
 As her light shimmers on the sea ! 
 
 "O many a hand on the emerald floor 
 Of the Persian waters, has groped for Tadmor ! 
 And, Tarshish, thy mariner, joyous and free, 
 As he furled his swan-wing in the foam of this sea, 
 And he thought of his pearl, and, fair Tadmor, of 
 thee! 
 
 XL 
 
 "Thy wave resilient shuns those walls 
 Where Tyre held her festivals ! 
 Alas ! now there the glazed owl, 
 The bittern's cry, and famish-howl 
 
TADMOR. 35 
 
 Of roving wolf, where once the dove 
 Told soft her matin-tale of love. 
 And Zor and beauteous Saida seem 
 Lone desolation, and a dream ! 
 
 XII. 
 
 "Nations have but an humble span 
 Of time their own, — and so with man ! 
 His life a mount : the joyous child 
 Quick-bounding climbs ; through wooded wild 
 And myrtled grove he loves to stray, 
 And pluck the primrose by the way. 
 He sports with shadows, mocks dull care, 
 And seeks the sun-light's vertic glare. 
 No storm is there, no howling blast ; 
 The future all, and none the past. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 " Midsummer dons her deepest green ; 
 The child, now man, sees what hath been. 
 With eager step, aloft he seeks — 
 Ambition led — the highest peaks. 
 Man drinks but of a Circean bowl, 
 Who gains alone the human goal. 
 Th' Acropolis won, his crowned wreath 
 
 Its verdure but an hour wears ! 
 A single blast imbrowns the heath, 
 
 The first chill wind his chaplet sears. 
 
36 TADMOR. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " October spreads with topaz hue 
 Th' autumnal floor, while sad and few 
 Are nature's songs, — reflective bent 
 Life's faltering steps in slow descent. 
 The shadow length'ning on the lea, 
 The wan moon's pathway on the sea, 
 • The deep'ning cadences of day, 
 The seething night-lull of the spray, — 
 Scarce heard from distant rock-bound shore, 
 All whisper, ' Man, thy life soon o'er ! ' 
 
 XV. 
 
 " Old age slow totters in the glade, 
 'Mid cold December's leafless shade ; 
 Through joyless nature howls the blast ; 
 The mountain torrent surges fast. 
 Perchance, in flow of ebbing age, 
 The lone and darksome pilgrimage 
 Of death begins in life, — when mind 
 Hath left a vacancy behind : 
 Oblivion mounts her dreamy throne ; 
 Her trains of fancies, one by one, 
 Recall of childhood hours ; and then 
 The aged smiles, and dreams again. 
 
TADMOR. 57 
 
 XVI. 
 
 "Now have the three Custodia dread 
 Spun out, yet pause to cut, the thread 
 Of weaved life. The fiat said, 
 And man is with the mumbling dead, 
 Where Styx, in dread Gehenna's gloom, 
 In turgid flow, shall tell his doom ! 
 
 XVII. 
 
 "And this is Syria, whose proud queen 
 Hath flung her banner 'gainst the sheen 
 Of purpled Rome ! This beauteous land, 
 The gods on high, with showering hand, 
 Have ever filled with plenteousness 
 And fruitful bloom. So Christians say 
 That Israel was, ere Righteousness 
 Was lost in Sin ; for in that day 
 Their valleys smoked with impious flame, 
 As infants bled for Moloch's name ! 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 "Here did th' Israelitish king — 
 Earth's wisest — Juda's cohorts bring; 
 And Tadmor from the desert rose ; 
 And here Damascus, where still flows 
 Her golden stream ! I 've heard, in Rome, 
 
38 TAD M OR. 
 
 When good Vespasian reigned, did come, 
 In chains, one Paul, and told that here 
 A voice from Heaven called him from 
 His persecuting sin, to bear 
 Thenceforth the cross of Him who rose 
 From Calvary, where Kedron flows ! 
 He fell, the Seven Churches fell, 
 And all who impious would assail 
 Great Jove, th' Omnipotent of all ! 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " Roma, my country ! is thy doom 
 To know decadence, and the tomb 
 Of this flood's depths ? A thousand times 
 This whirling globe hath rung her chimes 
 In New-Year peal ! as oft her chord 
 The poised sun hath faintly heard 
 In burning Cancer ! — and yet still 
 Rome's empire is, unbound her will ! " 
 
 XX. 
 
 Now shift the scene to Theudemor ! 
 And mark, that ceaseless-spinning Time 
 Has passed one half th' Ecliptic floor ! 
 On Suri's genial perfumed clime 
 The sacred sun more vertic glows, 
 To greet her streams, but not the rose ! 
 
TADMOR. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 But few the hours to the crash 
 Upon thy wall, thou lone Tadmor ! 
 For vain the wild Arabians' dash — 
 Like lightning on the Bsetic shore — 
 Upon the Roman cohorts' mail ! 
 At night, their lances like the gale, 
 When the crashing cloud lights up the side 
 Of Athos, and th' .^Egean tide. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 In vain Palmyra's gates wide ope, 
 Her thousands shower down the slope 
 To break the siege ! In vain the foe 
 Is thwarted in the mine below ! 
 For angered voice and steeled clank 
 Come faintly from the deep-earth dank, 
 Where gallery has sapped in vain 
 To turn the stream into the plain ; 
 Or where 'twould kindle flame beneath, 
 And level wall upon the heath. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 This night, amid the harshest hum 
 
 Of battle-music shrill, shall come 
 
 The gath'ring tramp, and moaning wail, 
 
 When Tadmor mourns for those shall fall ! 
 
 39 
 
40 
 
 TADMOR. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 O Death ! thy sting is not the end 
 Of mortal life ! Man may defend 
 'Gainst recollections of his joys 
 To be no more : not this alloys 
 His parting hour ! That horrid grin, 
 That griping agony, is Sin ! 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Sin frets and clogs the struggling soul ! 
 
 To that vast void it may not soar. 
 Boundless infinitude ! the roll 
 
 ,And noise of all the orbs afar, 
 Seen from the Caspian, to their full 
 Accretioned, would be but a toll ; 
 Nor heard by smallest orb of light 
 Which shines on Heaven's gorgeous night ! 
 To the just alone decreed the sight, — 
 By ordinance of the Mighty One, — 
 In flickering life, to joyous read 
 The gleaming scroll, " Well hast thou done ! " 
 For him alone, on High decreed, 
 To see the crystal-studded mounts, 
 The vales in amber-colored glow, 
 Where, gushing forth, the living founts 
 Of precious mercy ceaseless flow ! 
 
TADMOR. 41 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Land of the lily and the palm ! 
 How oft, in evening hour calm, 
 The Afric wind has whispered tales 
 Amid the hush of thy sweet vales, 
 And told, she lingered on Galilee ; 
 And there came down from airy height, 
 At Bethlehem was glad to light, 
 But sorrowing moaned at Calvary ! 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Pride of the East, to thee in vain 
 
 'Twas told, that Christ was born and slain 
 
 To rise again ! Yon foam-born queen, 
 
 Pure-robed in white and silvery sheen, 
 
 Drawn through the azure by her doves, 
 
 Fanned by the roseate-smiling loves, 
 
 Astarte hight, — for her, Tadmor 
 
 And Thammuz, whom she moaned of yore, 
 
 And now would glean anemone, 
 
 And gladly drink its purple die ! 
 
 For these, by night, thy temples throng, 
 
 With chorals sweet, and hymning song ! 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Alas ! Bellona's shrieking voice 
 Through Suri howls with fearful noise ; 
 
42 
 
 TADMOR. 
 
 And calls her handmaids to her side, 
 And bids them scatter far and wide 
 Grim pestilence and famine sear, — • 
 For these to war are ever near ! 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Quick they obey : and now full soon, 
 'Mid havoc wild, the fierce triune 
 On Tadmor's vale and towers fall ! 
 But there divide, — the Roman feels 
 Full soon disease, which, dreadful, steals 
 Resistless through his chained mail, 
 Though many a lance had plunged in vain ; 
 And many a warrior tells this eve 
 To the babbling camp, 'in glad reprieve, 
 His day-deeds o'er, who, when again 
 The morn shall tint each mount and vale, 
 Shall clutch in death his own breast-mail ! 
 
 xxx. 
 
 Sad Theudemor ! thy sacred sun 
 Not now to thee distils such dew 
 
 Of chill disease. But there is one 
 
 More dreadful woe, — and sparing few. 
 
 Want unsupplied ! Mark now the glare 
 
 Of the rambling eye, where once the clear 
 
TADMOR. 43 
 
 And merry glance of jocund age ! 
 When Rome shall bind more close her siege, 
 Thou helpless fondling, weep, but heed ! 
 Thou shalt be fed ! and death shall feed ! 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Why haste to war, ye sons of men ? 
 Alas ! the subtle fiend, when, 
 In hell's profound and dark arcane, 
 He brewed the brackish slimy juice 
 For Eve, the compound did infuse 
 With crimson gall, a venom gum, 
 With which compared the hemlock sore 
 Life-giving is ! From deep-hell gloom 
 To Ede he 's come ! Ede is no more ! 
 Her wandering queen is roaming o'er 
 The earth exiled, and tells awhiles 
 Of joy in those once flowery aisles ; 
 And while she speaks, the hand of Cain 
 Is crimsoned deep, and man slays man ! 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Why haste to war ? The holocaust 
 Of death has smoked with human gore 
 With ceaseless flame, from the Borean coast 
 To South Arabia's myrrhine shore. 
 
44 
 
 TADMOR. 
 
 Let anger but his conscience sear, 
 .And man would from his adverse tear 
 The upturned eye, and hush its prayer ! 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 How different is the olive-grove, 
 
 Where smiling Peace may fearless rove ; 
 
 Sprung from high heaven and from the earth, 
 
 And as to mark such precious birth, 
 
 She was enwreathed in blooming flowers, 
 
 And in her hand th' averted torch ; 
 
 While o'er her bloodless altars watch, 
 
 To keep unharmed her tranquil bowers, 
 
 Her pearl-crowned sisters, — justice, law. 
 
 And over all Astrsea keeps — 
 
 That heaven-born mother never sleeps — 
 
 Her scales well poised. She would that o'er 
 
 The earth man would but render due 
 
 And justice to his fellow-man ! 
 
 This done, the gales indeed but few 
 
 A nation's wrongs could ever fan 
 
 From ember to the hideous fires 
 
 Of sack and pillage, whose dread pyres 
 
 Have burned, and still relentless burn, 
 
 In every clime of every zone ! 
 
CANTO III. 
 
 THE FALL, 
 
CANTO III. 
 
 THE FALL, 
 
 WHERE, O vain man, has that lost Pleiad 
 gone, 
 Which, many ages since, her sisterhood 
 Of clustering orbs did leave ?. God knows her morn, 
 Her noon, and eve, and night, as when she stood 
 The monarch of the stars ! She throws a flood 
 Of light on worlds beyond the mortal ken ; 
 While He, th' Omniscient, marks her solitude, 
 And hears her winding spheric-harp's refrain, 
 When all the other orbs have ceased their choral strain ! 
 
 Now Erebus, with sable train, 
 Shadows, darkness, fitful dreams, 
 His night-march stalks in Syria's glen 
 All lightless ; for the flinty gleams, 
 Which nightly there had showered wide 
 From peak to peak and side to side 
 Of rocky pass, have flickered out ; 
 
48 TADMOR. 
 
 Uncalled the watch, unheard the shout ; 
 All hushed as tide of Great-sea main. 
 Sad Theudemor, thou 'It hear again ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Wearied with watching, and with thought 
 How next to thwart his Roman foes, 
 Longinus sleeps ; but not repose 
 Is there for one whose mind is fraught 
 With troublous care ! Not thus the swain 
 Whose day-toil o'er, down-glides the stream 
 Of sweet oblivion, and whose dream 
 Will follow its flow with willing brain. 
 
 III. 
 
 The sable balances of night 
 Are equal poised 'twixt eve and morn. 
 Longinus' dream takes distant flight : 
 " What sound is that by echo borne ? " 
 He speaks aloud : " Is it the breeze 
 Which, oft-times checked by clustering trees 
 Which throng on cypressed Lebanon, 
 Sweeps wildly o'er the desert lone ? 
 'T is the Roman psean ! Rouse, Tadmor ! 
 Thou soon shalt feel a crash and roar 
 Such as yon walls have ne'er yet known ! 
 List to yon distant measured moan : — 
 
T ADM OR. 49 
 
 THE P y£ A N . 
 
 1. 
 
 " Fling up the proud eagles, ye sons of Italia ! 
 
 Bandrols and banners in glittering sheen ! 
 Our history's pages are gilded yet brighter, 
 
 For Roma has conquered where Roma has seen ! 
 
 In the wilds of the North, 
 
 Where the Teuton and Goth 
 Still dream of the Tibur in midsummer green, — 
 
 Where the Nubian gale 
 
 Fans the dark Nilus' vale, — 
 Our Roma has conquered where Roma has seen ! 
 
 " Brave Hellas we levelled e'en to her foundations, 
 Her streamlets made dry ere they gushed to the sea ; 
 And thus shall be darkened this ' Pride of the Morning,' 
 And crumbled her colonnades, strong though they 
 be! 
 We shall give her bright .domes 
 To the fierce desert-storms, — 
 Ply sickle and scythe where is Tadmor beneath ; 
 Then shout mount to mountain, 
 And echo each fountain, 
 ' The gods give Aurelian victory's wreath ! ' " 
 4 
 
50 TADMOR. 
 
 IV. 
 
 " Now to the walls ! and from your towers 
 Mark where the foe would hurl his showers 
 Of ironed beams and massive rock ! 
 Mark where shall come the storming shock 
 Of the swinging ram, and the barbed hail, 
 When shell-bound Plutei assail ! 
 
 " Drive on your mines ! that hollow earth, 
 When firm their plumbean tower stands, 
 With archers crowded in its girth, 
 Shall yield till scorched and smoking sands, 
 Long fusing from your flaming brands, 
 Shall deep engulf them ! List ! more near 
 The murmur comes ; and, by the glare 
 Of crackling flames, methinks they bear 
 In Roman camp the red-flag streaming, 
 And high spears firm and battle-gleaming ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 "A trumpet sounds! their leader's voice 
 
 Calls to the Milites for choice. 
 
 At once are countless hands upthrown ; 
 
 At once their voices shout aloud ; 
 
 And shields are rung, their flash, upborne, 
 
 Enlightens bright yon midnight cloud. 
 
TADMOR. 5I 
 
 VII. 
 
 " Now sound the trumpets' harshest din ; 
 
 ' To arms ! ' the Roman legions cry ; 
 The eagles willing, they deem to win 
 
 More sure in war the victory. 
 When standards loathe to leave the ground, 
 Unheard the shout and triumph-sound. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 " Their watchword giv'n with furious foam, 
 
 Aurelian cries : ' Sons of Rome ! 
 
 Live not to hear, in days to come, 
 
 That ye, who've conquered the hardy Goth, 
 
 And whose proud paean has sounded north 
 
 Till Scythian quailed, — that ye did storm 
 
 In vain 'gainst one of woman form ! 
 
 Fling your banners 'mid the foe ! 
 
 The gods are ours ; and, ere the glow 
 
 Of earliest morn shall tint the east, 
 
 Palmyra 's ours ! Your toil ceased, 
 
 The golden crown shall deck your feast ! ' 
 
 IX. 
 
 "And now they summon from our bounds 
 The guardian gods. Quick now resounds 
 The hideous crash of angered war ! 
 
52 
 
 TADMOR. 
 
 In vain their shielded tortoise creeps 
 
 To mount the high walls' sloping steeps ; 
 
 The huge rock slips, and with a roar — 
 
 Like many whirlwinds in the deeps 
 
 Shiver the foam on rocky shore — 
 
 Breaks down and bursts their platted shields ! 
 
 In sad recoil the cohort yields ! 
 
 " Now let your engines pour their floods 
 
 Of eager flame upon the foe ; 
 Yon sparkling fire ever bodes 
 
 Dread ruin in its arrowed flow. 
 ' Now charge, ye steel-clad heroes, down ! ' 
 
 See how they stream ! Ah ! many a groan 
 Comes up from Roman ranks full soon ! 
 
 Their lines are broken, but not gone. 
 
 XL 
 
 " In vain your charge, my noble braves ! • 
 But few return, and many graves 
 Are found amid the din and tramp 
 And hideous glare of Roman camp. 
 Aurelian redoubles now 
 
 His eager legions, for the storm 
 Is trending, Tadmor, to thy brow ; 
 
 In solid wedge and thick they form ! 
 
TADMOR. 53 
 
 XII. 
 
 "And thou, my queen, art undismayed 
 Amid this crash and battle roar ! 
 
 For thee shall shiver many a blade, 
 Ere thou shalt lose thy own Tadmor. 
 
 Amid the sound, and 'mid yon sheen, 
 
 Is heard thy voice, and marked thy mien. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 " List ! comes the deadliest crash of all ! 
 A hundred engines seek the wall. 
 Though thousands fall, the mighty beams 
 Swing to and fro ; the iron gleams 
 Like lightning flash amid the gloom 
 Of dismal Hades' vale of doom ! 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " Now whirled far back to utmost bound, 
 They scoop the air with whirlwind sound. 
 Our walls are crumbling ! Fly, thou queen, 
 While yet the night thy course may screen ! 
 Go thou to Persia ! Rome shall know 
 She has but taken one Tadmor. 
 She 's gone ! The foe Palmyra gains ! 
 Our queen yet lives, and Syria reigns ! " 
 
54 TADMOR. 
 
 XV. 
 
 We leave the harsh discord of war, 
 And speed the Syrian desert o'er. 
 See, in yon deep and shaded bower, 
 The lily, thyme, and myrtle flower, 
 With citron branch and leaves entwine, 
 And tendrils drooping from the vine. 
 Their essence sweet as that which came 
 From far Sabea, to the child 
 Who humbly slept in Bethlehem, 
 While hushed the voicing night-wind wild, 
 And God to man was reconciled ! 
 
 XVI. 
 
 No sound comes here, save waters' moan 
 
 Of fair Euphrates ; and the lone 
 
 And low chant of the vigil watch, 
 
 Who nightly the sacred embers turn, 
 
 Till morn doth gild the orient arch 
 
 (This night the last that flame shall burn) ! 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Here woman weeps, and weeps alone, 
 Save but a minstrel ; he is one 
 Of boyhood bloom, and form and face 
 Of Hylas, when with heavenly grace 
 
TADMOR. 
 
 He tripped the blue Olympian skies, 
 And gave the cup to Hercules. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 The woman lays a diadem 
 Upon the ground ; unclasps the gem 
 Which circled neck and arm. The seas 
 Were sounded deep to give her these. 
 So pure each pearl and diamond rare, 
 It seemed like morn-dew sprinkled there. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Her voice in such sad cadence fell, 
 It hushed the mellowing warbled trill 
 Of the Bulbul in her leafy gloom. 
 And many a floweret lost its bloom ; 
 For here, 'tis said that all night long 
 The Syrian roses list her song. 
 Her voice enchimed with river's flow, 
 She told the child and night her woe ! 
 
 Is it a dream ? My gilded empire lost, 
 
 Down-trampled to the dust by mighty Rome ? 
 
 My firm-foundationed power rudely tost, 
 
 As wild winds lash the shivering ocean foam ? 
 
 55 
 
56 TADMOR. 
 
 2. 
 Fair Suri, I had often longed to bind 
 
 The nations' crowns upon thy lily brow ! 
 And, proud Italia conquered, naught had lined 
 
 Thy power's limit, save th' Atlantic flow ! 
 
 3- 
 
 But now, hushed e'en my merry vineyard song 
 In paths once peaceful ; and the trills 
 
 Of twilight nature never more shall throng 
 Through Theudemor's acacia-blossomed hills ! 
 
 4* 
 All pomp and spangled power now have fled ! 
 
 Palmyra, to oblivion doomed, shall be 
 Unsorrowed and unknown, save by her dead, — 
 
 As Siddim's lone and ever surgeless sea ! 
 
 5- 
 And thou, Longinus, who hast ever been 
 
 Not self, but ministrant to Tadmor's throne ! 
 To regain all that 's lost were not to win, 
 
 If thou, Devotion's fairest type, art gone ! 
 
 XX. 
 
 The minstrel deemed by word and smile 
 Her sorrowing anguish to beguile, 
 And 'suage her woe. Then, pausing, sought 
 His lyre, for well he had been taught, 
 
TADMOR. 57 
 
 Though young, each cadence and each chord 
 That skill and nature could afford. 
 Then rambling o'er its golden strings, 
 His boyish carol thus he flings : — 
 
 I. 
 See, on fair Persia's glimmered sand, 
 Sweet Lotis, with her pearly hand, 
 
 Entwines the lily stem. 
 On th' aloes lute, when Dian's gleam 
 First silvers o'er Euphrates' stream, 
 
 She chants her evening hymn ! 
 
 2. 
 With blithe Aurora's matin-song, 
 Her nereid-train in clusters throng 
 
 Where blushing corals grow ! 
 Be thou so sad, they trip away, 
 Ere yet the joyous jocund day 
 
 Has kissed Togarmah's snow! 
 
 3- 
 Then bind those temples once again ! 
 O'er Theudemor thou mayst not reign; 
 
 Deem not the past hath been ! 
 But bid thou gold-winged Hope to tell 
 Yon wave and wind, in flood and dell, 
 
 Thou shalt be Syria's queen ! 
 
58 T ADM OR. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Now morning comes, but clouds of gloom 
 Enscreen the sun ; his 'customed song 
 He hears not ; but, as from a tomb, 
 Wild sorrow urges slow along 
 The Syrian plain for many a rood ; 
 And where her pride and plenty stood 
 In gorgeous glow, now smokes and reeks 
 With piled death ! The searcher seeks 
 Amid the glaring holocaust 
 For one faint smile, ere yet be lost 
 The pulse of life ; while in the air 
 The flapping bird has fixed his glare. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 The victory o'er, at trumpets' sound, 
 The Roman lictors wind around 
 Their fasces with the laurel leaves ; 
 And soldier decks his triumph spear, 
 And decks his horse, who weary heaves, 
 Though firm his tramp, yet wild his glare ! 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Already, on his fleetest steed, 
 
 A horseman flies with earnest speed 
 
 To tell to Rome, " The conflict o'er, 
 
TADMOR. 
 
 Though hard the siege, we have Tadmor ! " 
 His message bound in brightest green, 
 He skims across the desert sheen ! 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 The cohorts all assembled now, 
 'T is known who wins the golden brow ; 
 Who primal scaled the city wall, 
 Who first from rampart wound the call. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 How many a soldier glows with pride, 
 The " Hasta Pura " by his side, 
 While thousands gaze with envious glance, 
 As floats the streamer from his lance ; 
 How many a steed is trapped in gold, 
 And clanking chains of cunning mould, 
 And broidered lace all covered o'er ; 
 How many a helm the bright horn bore, 
 'T were vain to tell ! for daring deeds 
 Were done on Syria's sandy meads 
 Ere Tadmor fell ! But speed our tale : 
 The trumpets sound " Assembly Call " ! 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 On throne of gold, Aurelian 
 
 Calls to his side the crowned train. 
 
 59 
 
60 TADMOR. 
 
 For Rome hath ever marked with care 
 And honor full, the brave in war ! 
 There youth, his primal conflict won ; 
 There veteran, whom storm and sun 
 Had tinged and furrowed white and deep, 
 For old his years, and soon his sleep. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 For well he knew the battle-blast ! 
 And oft, when first ranks hurried past, 
 On knee affixed, Triarii 
 Opposed the storm of charging host ; 
 For well they deemed, if they should fly, 
 Rome's standard fell, the battle lost ! 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 The purpled monarch waved about 
 His ivory sceptre ; hushed the shout 
 Of clanging legions ; firm his ■ look, 
 And sad, yet proud, as thus he spoke : — 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 " Captains of Rome ! I well may mourn 
 Your serried ranks, and banners torn ! 
 Six months have rolled since first we cast 
 Our camp upon this desert waste ! 
 Six moons ye've braved yon orient foe, 
 
T ADM OR. 6 1 
 
 And oft have hurled her steel-clad files, 
 As Euroclydon sweeps the flow 
 Of waves upon JEgean isles. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 " For you the triumph and the spoil ! 
 Your deeds were noble, vast your toil ! 
 For our treasured dead, alas ! no urn ; 
 For them no cresset-light shall burn. 
 They fell for Rome, — they need not more 
 To glide the Stygian billows o'er. 
 Bring in the captives of Tadmor ! " 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 His voice surceased ; but many a tear 
 Fell free and fast from soldiers there, 
 Who soothed and sorrowed the parting groan 
 Of one well loved ; his gasping moan 
 Still rang its cadence o'er and o'er, 
 And looked " Revenge on Theudemor ! " 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Where now thy spirit, Orient Queen, 
 And why dejected in thy mien ? 
 Not thus thy look, when from thy throne 
 Thou ledd'st thy hosts of legions on 
 
62 TADMOR. 
 
 To stormy battle ! Canst thou fear 
 Yon legions' clamor for thy death ? 
 Some deeper woe thy mind must share, 
 To pale thy cheek and speed thy breath. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 The captives come in gloomy pace 
 To imperial presence. First of all, 
 Longinus ; mark a tear downfall 
 Zenobia's fair but anguished face ! 
 Still proud his look, undimmed his eye, 
 As when on Tadmor's citadel, 
 While round him glanced the arrow-hail, 
 He marked the foe, and how they fell 
 When swept Palmyra's legions by. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Unmoved his soul, as Petra's rock, 
 Which scorns the bleakest-driven shock 
 Of wild Arabia, whose lone sands, 
 To utter desolation cursed, 
 Woo not the gales of happier lands, 
 But mock the whirlwind's shivering burst. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Now troop the captives, till the plain 
 Resounds their tread and clanking chain. 
 
TADMOR. 63 
 
 Now thrice ten thousand shields are clashed ; 
 
 As many spears and lances flashed ; 
 
 As many voices shout aloud, 
 
 " Give us to death the ' Queen of the East ' ! 
 
 Our fallen, from their silent shroud, 
 
 Would call ' Revenge ! ' Give us the feast ! " 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Like bird of Indian land, which seeks 
 To burst the charm which binds her eye ; 
 On fluttering wing, she soars the peaks, 
 Looks fond at death, yet loath to die ; 
 So swayed Zenobia's troubled soul, 
 While on her heart the tempter stole. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 Unshaken as the strong banyan 
 In sunny Scinde, or Hindostan, 
 When howls the monsoon's sea-born storm, 
 So firm Longinus' soul and form ! 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 Then spoke the laurelled emperor : 
 " Thou whilom Queen of Theudemor ! 
 Didst thou, all aidless, urge this war, 
 So fraught with woe upon our ranks, 
 That yellow Tibur's teeming banks 
 
64 TADMOR. 
 
 Full long shall mourn ? Didst thou alone 
 
 Contemn the truce by us proposed ? 
 
 And with more strength thy proud gates closed ; 
 
 And searched in all the burning zone 
 
 For elements to mix that flame, 
 
 Which, seething, from thy towers came, 
 
 And gnawed corroding through each limb ? 
 
 In vain the barb was quick- withdrawn ; 
 
 In vain my hero back was borne ; 
 
 His eye but flashed, and- then grew dim. 
 
 If thou wast counselled, say by whom ? 
 
 Thou shalt have life, and they thy doom ! 
 
 Thou wilt not speak ? Then, by the Gods ! 
 
 Though woman, thou shalt die the death ! " 
 
 Now flash again the Roman swords ; 
 
 Then silent as, save whispered breath, 
 
 When storms are still, Sahara's heath ! 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 The trembling Queen sees not who comes ! 
 Her eyes downcast, 't is sable forms 
 Of dark and dread Carnifices ! 
 They reach her ear, though not her gaze. 
 Zenobia, now strong-brace thy soul, 
 And thou shalt win the golden goal 
 Of honored death ! A moment more 
 (For see they fix the fatal block 
 
TADMOR. 65 
 
 To meet the axe's stunning shock) 
 
 Thy soul shall breathe, earths anguish o'er ! 
 
 XL. 
 
 Now o'er her frame a tremor cold 
 
 Quick chilled the tear which else had rolled. 
 
 Her quivering hand slow moves, 'tis raised, 
 
 It rests. Longinus, — it is he ! 
 
 As the firm martyr, when high blazed 
 
 At first the pyre, drooped his knee, 
 
 Then, springing up, the brand he seized, 
 
 And smiled to immortality ! 
 
 XLI. 
 
 So did Longinus know one pang, 
 
 His pure heart bitter venom feel ; 
 
 Not serpent's thirsting eager fang 
 
 So soon his life-pulse could make still ! 
 
 " 'Tis done ! " He speaks : " One moment more, 
 
 I shall but rest with thee, Tadmor ; 
 
 Full soon, amid destroying showers, 
 
 Shall crash thy temple and thy towers ! 
 
 XLII. 
 
 " Thou, Imperator ! mayst not claim 
 That thou hast silenced Tadmor's name ! 
 Palmyra hath herself destroyed ; 
 5 
 
66 TADMOR. 
 
 O, sad her fall, and gloom her void ! 
 And thou, unhappy Queen, live on ! 
 Amid Rome's joy, thy jewelled crown 
 Will be as bright as when it shone 
 O'er thine own Suri ! Thou canst tell, 
 In days to come, of how they fell 
 Who loved this land, and loved it well ! 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 " For you, my friends in doom ! the tide 
 And time are apt that we unmoor 
 Our vessels from life's harbor-side, 
 And sail the boundless blue-deep o'er 
 With hopeful helm ! Our precious freight, 
 The triune soul, shall joyous gain 
 Eternal bliss, nor long shall wait 
 In doubtful wind or adverse main ! " 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 Longinus ceased ; and then, once more, 
 He turned to th' Orient and Tadmor ! 
 " Bring here the block ! " The shimmering blade 
 At once upsprings ! Longinus dead ! 
 
 XLV. 
 
 Go thou to Syria, where the gale 
 Still winds along her blasted vale ; 
 
TADMOR. 
 
 6 7 
 
 And in the desert thou shalt find 
 
 An Arab lone ; he strives to bind 
 
 Some fallen frieze with moistened clay. 
 
 He has toiled full long, for the crimson day 
 
 To the West glides down ; the sun is wan 
 
 When ling'ring on sad Suristan ! 
 
 'T is eve ! the toiler's work is o'er ; 
 
 Lone Arab, tell ! Was this Tadmor ? 
 
 Cambridge : Printed by Welch, Bigelow, & Co. 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
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