Eleazer's Lamentation over Jerusalem; paraphrased out of Josephus.

Stanza I.

Alas, Jerusalem! Alas! where's now
 Thy pristine Glory, thy unmatch'd Renown
 To which the Heathen Monarchies did bow,
 Ah hapless, miserable Town! 
Where's all thy Majesty, thy Beauty gone? 
Thou once most noble celebrated place,
 The Joy, and the Delight of all the Earth;
 Who gav'st to God-like Princes Birth,
 And bred up Heroes, an immortal Race. 
Where's now the vast Magnificence which made
 The Souls of Foreigners adore
 Thy wond'rous Brightness, which no more
 Shall shine, but lie in an eternal Shade. 
Oh Misery! where's all her mighty State,
 Her splendid Train of numerous Kings,
 Her noble Edifices, noble Things,
 Which made her seem so eminently Great? 
That barb'rous Princes in her Gates appear'd,
 And wealthy Presents, as their Tribute brought,
 To court her Friendship, for her Strength they fear'd,
 And all her wide Protection sought. 
But now, ah, now they laugh, and cry,
 See how her lofty Buildings lie,
 See how her flaming Turrets gild the Sky! 

II.

Where's all the Young, the Valiant, and the Gay
 That on her Festivals were us'd to play
 Harmonious Tunes, and beautify the Day? 
The glittering Troops, which did from far
 Bring home the Trophies, and the Spoils of War. 
Whom all the Nations round with Terror view'd,
 Nor durst their God-like Valour try,
 Where-e'er they fought, they certainly subdu'd,
 And ev'ry Combat gain'd a Victory. 
Ah! where's the House of the Eternal King,
 The beauteous Temple of the Lord of Hosts,
 To whose large Treasuries our Fleets did bring
 The Gold, and Jewels of remotest Coasts;
 There had the Infinite Creator plac'd
 His terrible, amazing Name:
 And with his more peculiar Presence grac'd
 That Heav'nly Sanctum, where no Mortal came,
 The High-Priest only, he but once a Year,
 In that Divine Apartment might appear:
 So full of Glory, and so sacred then,
 But now corrupted with the Heaps of Slain,
 Which scatter'd round with Blood, defile the mighty Fane. 

III.

Alas Jerusalem! each spacious Street
 Was once so fill'd, the numerous Throng
 Were forc'd to justle as they pass'd along;
 And Thousands did with Thousands meet,
 The Darling then of God, and Man's belov'd Retreat. 
In thee was the bright Throne of Justice fixt,
 Justice impartial, and with Fraud unmixt. 
She scorn'd the Beauties of fallacious Gold,
 Despising the most wealthy Bribes;
 But did the sacred Balance hold
 With God-like Faith to all our happy Tribes. 
Thy well-built Streets, and ev'ry noble Square,
 Were once with polish'd Marble laid,
 And all thy lofty Bull-warks made
 With wond'rous Labour, and with artful Care. 
Thy pond'rous Gates, surprizing to behold,
 Were cover'd o'er with solid Gold;
 Whose Splendour did so glorious appear,
 It ravish'd and amaz'd the Eye;
 And Strangers passing, to themselves wou'd cry,
 What mighty Heaps of Wealth are here! 
How thick the Bars of massy Silver lie? 
O happy People! and still happy be,
 Celestial City! from Destruction free,
 May'st thou enjoy a long entire Prosperity. 

IV.

But now, oh wretched, wretched place! 
Thy Streets and Palaces are spread
 With heaps of Carcasses, and Mountains of the Dead,
 The bleeding Relicks of the Jewish Race:
 Each corner of the Town, no vacant space,
 But is with breathless Bodies fill'd;
 Some by the Sword, and some by Famine kill'd. 
Natives and Strangers are together laid,
 Death's Arrows all at random flew
 Amongst the Crowd, and no distinction made
 But both the Coward and the Valiant slew. 
All in one dismal Ruin joyn'd,
 (For Swords and Pestilence are blind;)
 The fair, the good, the brave, no Mercy find;
 Those that from far, with joyful haste,
 Came to attend thy Festival,
 Of the same bitter Potion taste,
 And by the black destructive Poison fall,
 For the avenging Sentence pass'd on all. 
Oh! see how the delight of human Eyes
 In horrid Desolation lies! 
See how the burning Ruins flame,
 Nothing now left, but a sad empty Name;
 And the triumphant Victor cries,
 This was the fam'd Jerusalem! 

V.

The most obdurate Creature must
 Be griev'd to see thy Palaces in Dust,
 Those antient Habitations of the Just:
 And could the Marble Rocks but know
 The Mis'ries of thy fatal overthrow,
 They'd strive to find some secret way unknown,
 Maugre the sensless Nature of the Stone,
 Their pity, and concern to show. 
For now, where lofty Buildings stood,
 Thy Sons corrupted Carasses are laid;
 And all by this Destruction made
 One common Golgotha, one Field of Blood. 
See! how those antient Men, which rul'd thy State,
 And made thee happy, made thee great,
 Who sat upon the awful Chair
 Of mighty Moses, in long Scarlet clad,
 The good to cherish, and chastise the bad;
 Now sit in the corrupted Air,
 In silent Melancholy, and in sad Despair? 
See! how their murder'd Children round 'em lie! 
Ah dismal Scene! hark how they cry! 
Woe! woe! one Beam of Mercy give,
 Good Heaven! Alas, for we would live! 
Be pitiful, and suffer us to die! 
Thus they lament, thus beg for Ease,
 While in their feeble aged Arms they hold
 The Bodies of the Off-spring, stiff and cold,
 To guard 'em from the rav'nous Savages:
 Till their increasing Sorrows Death perswade
 (For Death must sure with pity see
 The horrid Desolation he has made)
 To put a period to their Misery. 
Thy wretched Daughters that survive,
 Are by the Heathen kept alive
 Only to gratify their Lust,
 And then be mixt with common Dust. 
Oh! insupportable, stupendious Woe! 
What shall we do? Ah! whither shall we go? 
Down to the Grave, down to those happy Shades below! 
Where all our brave Progenitors are blest
 With endless Triumphs, and eternal Rest. 

VI.

But who without a Flood of Tears can see
 Thy mournful sad Catastrophe? 
Who can behold thy glorious Temple lie
 In Ashes, and not be in pain to die? 
Unhappy, dear Jerusalem! thy Woes
 Have rais'd my Griefs to such a vast excess,
 Their mighty Weight no Mortal knows,
 Thought cannot comprehend, or Words express,
 Nor can they possibly, while I survive, be less. 
Good Heaven had been extreamly kind,
 If it had struck me dead, or struck me blind,
 Before this cursed time, this worst of Days. 
Is Death quite tir'd, are all his Arrows spent? 
If not, why then so many dull Delays? 
Quick, quick, let the obliging Dart be sent! 
Nay, at me only, let ten Thousand fly,
 Who e'er shall wretchedly survive, that I
 May, happily, be sure to die. 
Yet still we live, live in excess of pain,
 Our Friends and Relatives are slain;
 Nothing but Ruins round us see,
 Nothing but Desolation, Woe, and Misery! 
Nay, while we thus with bleeding Hearts complain,
 Our Enemies without, prepare
 Their direful Engines to pursue the War;
 And you must slavishly preserve your Breath,
 Or seek for Freedom in the Arms of Death. 

VII.

Thus then resolve, nor tremble at the thought,
 Can Glory be too dearly bought? 
Since the Almighty Wisdom has decreed
 That we, and all our Progeny, should bleed,
 It shall be after such a noble way,
 Succeeding Ages will with wonder view,
 What brave Despair compell'd us to:
 No, we will ne'er survive another Day. 
Bring then your Wives, your Children, all
 That's valuable, good, or dear,
 With ready Hands, and place 'em here;
 They shall unite in one vast Funeral. 
I know your Courages are truly brave,
 And dare do any thing, but ill;
 Who would an aged Father save,
 That he may live in Chains, and be a Slave,
 Or for remorsless Enemies to kill? 
Let your bold Hands then give the fatal Blow;
 For what at any other time would be
 The dire Effect of Rage and Cruelty,
 Is Mercy, Tenderness, and Pity now,
 This then perform'd, we'll to the Battle fly,
 And there amidst our slaughter'd Foes expire. 
If 'tis Revenge and Glory you desire,
 Now you may have them, if you dare but die;
 Nay more, ev'n Freedom, and Eternity.