THE FALL OF JERUSALEM;

A Poem.

IN THREE PARTS.

By J. CHURCH, Jun.

“My God will cast them away because they did not hearken unto him, and they shall be wanderers among the nations.”—Hosea, c ix. v. 17.

LONDON:

PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR BY R. O. WESTON, CROSBY-ROW, SOUTHWARK.

1823

Price Three Shillings.

p. iiiTO MRS. J. REVETT, OF BRANDESTON HALL, SUFFOLK.

Dear Madam,

The particular kindness and regard with which you have ever honored our family, the liberality with which you have received my father’s works, and a knowledge of your native goodness, embolden me to sue for your patronage and attention to this my first (and probably the last) essay, which, though it has no claim to merit, may afford p. ivyou a few moments amusement in your solitude; where, being surrounded by Nature, and free from the noise and bustle of the town, you have leisure to survey the wonders of Creation, and admire the incomprehensible power of the Creator;

“To look thro’ nature up to nature’s God;”

to look back at the revolutions of nations, and bless Him who has placed you in peace, and given you a longing for his heavenly rest.

It is customary with authors, either from the expectation of a fee, their knowledge of the weakness of those to whom they present their works, or some interested motives, to fill their dedications with the most ridiculous applause and fulsome adulation; but as I have no such motives or ideas, I shall not be under the painful necessity of saying any p. vthing foreign to my heart, or drawing a blush from the cheek of injured sensibility, which, though conscious of superiority, must ever feel insulted when attacked by flattery.—Reposing therefore in your friendship, and generosity to protect the humble effort of a young author, I beg leave to subscribe myself,

Dear Madam,

Your most obliged and very humble Servant, J. CHURCH, Jun.

Tabernacle House, April 22nd, 1823.

p. viiTO THE READER.

Courteous Reader,

(I MUST begin in the old style.) In laying these sheets before a criticising public, the author has perhaps overstepped the bounds of decorum, and may be thought by some to impose upon the generosity of his friends—be it so—but, reader, you are aware that there is a spark of ambition in all; some to gain a name—some to rise in the state, and range at large the patriot and statesmen—some (far happier they) to rise in business, and retire to spend the remainder p. viiiof their lives in a snug little box a few miles from town: but none of these will suit the author—his education is too confined ever to expect publicity, his disposition too peaceful for political exaltation, and his imagination too boundless to look for pleasure or contentment in a mercantile gradation. What then is his ambition? To please his friends—at whose request he has ventured to bring forth this Poem, for whose commendation his gratitude is ever flowing, to whose reproof his heart is always open; then frown not, reader, while perusing the following, nor smile when looking over the handful of

subscribers;—there are as many as the author wishes for, who is proud to say, that out of all those whose names he has sued for, but two have refused him, and those only from peculiar circumstances; is not this sufficient excuse p. ixfor his audacity,—enough to raise the vanity of a minor poet? But say you,—What does the author expect in return for his courage and condescension? merely, that when preparing to read the Fall of Jerusalem, you will lay the poets on the shelf, and criticism on the fire—descend from sublimity to plain jingling, and fancy yourself in company with John Church, who is repeating the tale in his homely style for your entertainment; by these means you will perhaps be led on with the subject to the scene he attempts to describe, and find a portion of that satisfaction he ever feels in trusting to the generosity of his friends.

A young lady, whose name as a subscriber does me much honor, once observed (when speaking of this work), she expected it would be sublimity itself; if my friend meant p. xit, I already tremble for my credit; but if sarcastically said, as no doubt it was, I shall feel delighted in hearing of her disappointment, and feel double pleasure in subscribing myself

THE AUTHOR.

p. xiLIST OF SUBSCRIBERS.

Arnold, Mr. Brown, Mr. R. Bloodworth, Mr. Bloodworth, Miss Barns, Mrs. Borrows, Mr. Borrows, Mr. G. Bonner, Mr. Bonner, Mrs. Bentley, Mr. Brain, Mr. J. Bayliss, Miss. Bulman, Mr. Church, Rev. J. 4 copies. Clark, Mr. Church, Miss. p. xiiClark, Mr. Crapley, Mr. Cranbrook, Miss. Cadman, Mr. Candler, Mrs. C. Mr. Davis, Miss. Don, Miss. Darby, Mrs. Elvin, Mr. Elbro, Mrs. Edmonds, Mr. H. Farely, Miss. Fielder, Mrs. Francis, Miss. Gower, Mr. Greenland, Mr. Granger, Mr. Green, Mr. G. Gittos, Mrs. Greening, Mr. Green, Mr. W. Goddard, Miss. Harriss, Miss. p. xiiiHarriss, Miss J. Hart, Mr. Henderson, Miss E. Hayes, Mr. Hall, Mr. Ingle, Mr. R. Jenks, Mr. Johnson, Mrs. Johnson, Mr. Kent, Miss. Lamb, Mr. C. Lamb, Mrs. Latimer, Mr. T. Latimer, Miss. Lucas, Miss. Locke, Mr. London, Mrs. Love, Miss. Millington, Mrs. Millington, Miss M. Millington, Miss S. Millington, Miss F. Mannin, J. Esq. Morris, Miss. p. xivMiller, Miss E. Mellers, Mr. H. Moulton, Miss. Napier, Mrs. Newsome, Mr. Osborne, Miss E. Pattison, Mr. Pratt, Mr. Perrin, Mrs. Painter, Mrs. Revett, J. Esq. Rayment, Mr. J. Rumney, Miss.

Reed, Mrs. Robertson, Mrs. Smith, Miss. Summers, Mr. Smart, Miss. Stevens, Mrs. Sandell, Mr. Simpson, Miss. Stringer, Miss. Trent, Mr. Thorne, Miss. p. xvTyrer, Miss. Westlake, Mr. Weston, Mr. R. O. 2 copies, Watts, Miss. Warner, Mr. Ward, Mrs. Williams, Mrs.

From the continual call for this Poem’s publication, the Author has not had opportunity to attend to many of his friends, who, no doubt, would have become Subscribers; he therefore hopes they will not think him disrespectful, and should another edition be necessary, he will feel proud to insert their names, and convince them of his gratitude.

p. 1PART I.

p. 2ARGUMENT.

Approach of the Romans—Their procession—Omens of the city’s downfall—The Romans’ song—Raising the tents—Titus addresses the army—Hymn—An evening scene—Digression—Titus summons a council—His speech—Trajan’s address—Placidus—His motive in joining the army—His advice—Titus’s return—His promise—The officers regale themselves—Placidus retires to his tent—His wish—His slave’s attention—Morning—The army assembled—Placidus approaches to the walls—The priest—His death—Treachery of the Jews—Retreat of Placidus—Discovery and death of Paulina—Placidus’s justification to his comrades, and woeful end.

p. 3Jerusalem! no more above thy plains Shall feather’d warblers echo forth their strains, No more around thy lordly turrets fly, E’en now they haste, and skin the lowering sky: For now, like clouds, the armies shine afar, And speak the horrors of approaching war; In phalanx strong they move in firm array, And burn with ardor for the coming fray; p. 4With double speed towards the town they haste, Resolv’d to die, or yon proud city waste. Before the army, stately Titus speeds, Surrounded by a thousand ambling steeds, Moves like a god, and high above the rest Superior exalts his golden crest; His noble courser, of unequall’d height, Rears his broad front, and glories in the weight. Then come twelve thousand of great Rome’s allies, Who view with joy th’ already conquer’d prize; Without one fear of death, they hail the town, And see before them plunder and renown; Their lofty forms, encas’d in shining mail, Their native standards swelling in the gale. Next, forty thousand pikemen march’d along, Behind—their horse, eleven thousand strong.

Destructive engines then came rattling slow, To hurl the stone, or bend the fatal bow. p. 5And see (as if aspiring to the sky) The Roman eagles mounted ride on high; Their golden wings, resplendent in the sun, Seem but to boast the murders they have done; (So the great master bird, whose form they bear, Unconquer’d flies, and all devoid of fear, With iron pinions pounces on his prey, And bears it bleeding on his homeward way; Where in full shares he tears the murder’d food, And proudly spreads it to his eager brood; Then claps his wings, and vaunting of his force, Full at the sun he drives his headstrong course.) Then came of trumpeters a spreading row, Their lofty strains bid ev’ry bosom glow; While e’en the coursers feel the welcome sound, And dance aloft, or paw the dusty ground. Next Roman squadrons, press’d by squadrons still, O’erspread the vale, and stretch the distant hill; p. 6Battalion to battalion still succeeds, Yet others rise, and steeds still follow steeds; Till, like the corn on which they heedless tread, In countless numbers o’er the plains they spread.

Grand was the view, but to the trembling foe It shew’d but conquest, slavery, and woe. Jerusalem! thy fatal hour is near, In vain alike your courage and your fear, These are the armies long foreseen of old, And this the end thy prophets e’er foretold.

High in the heav’ns, above the temple’s spire, Is seen a two edg’d sword of glowing fire: Dark clouds surround, the sun withdraws his light, A blazing comet, beautiful and bright, Rides thro’ the sky, and o’er the fated town Contrasts the darkness of Jehovah’s frown. p. 7And hark! the foe with fearless haste draws nigh, With martial songs they rend the cloudy sky; Thus ran the strain, while each, as if by choice, To aid the song, uplifts his manly voice.

Freedom is the Roman’s word, Freedom draws the Roman’s sword, Freedom leads him to the fight, Freedom bids him shun the flight.

Freedom is the Roman’s boast, Freedom is the Roman’s toast, Freedom ’tis for which we stand, Freedom and our native land.

Rome o’er all the world shall reign, Or our bodies strew the plain; Unto death ourselves we give, But oar children free shall live.

p. 8Nothing shall our arms impede, Onward spur each foaming steed; Banish ev’ry thought of love, And to glory swiftly move.

Lame was the verse, but ev’ry bosom join’d, And look’d on death and victory combin’d; They rear their walls, the well-form’d camp they fix, Whilst all the troops together toiling mix. Full in their view the mant’ling towers rise, Well stock’d with foes, to guard against surprise; They see the Romans mow their rip’ning grain, Their forests levell’d, and their cattle slain. But now the trumpets sound, the task is done, The loosen’d coursers neighing, gaily run; Again the trumpets sound—the chiefs obey, The summon’d army stands in bright array. p. 9Now Titus comes—around each legion hies, His ready joy stands glist’ning in his eyes— “Aye, this looks well (he cries), it glads my heart To see each Roman stedfast to his part; Yon frowning walls, impregnable to view, Must fall and crumble, if you still are true; And that great God! whose wond’rous work we are, [9] Can end, at once, our labour and the war. Though thousands here believe in fabled tales, All other gods to Him are creeping snails By his great power form’d—and at a thrust

He hurls them, moulder’d, to their native dust; Then to His throne alone our vows we’ll pay, And raise to heav’n our grateful ardent lay.” p. 10Amidst the noisy din of clanking steel, The wond’ring army as by instinct kneel, And with their leader thus their vows reveal.

Only mighty, good, and great, Who, enthron’d in matchless state, Now reigns on high, And thro’ the sky Deals with unerring hand thy peace or curse, Attend our pray’r, Banish our care, And we will e’er thy wond’rous deeds rehearse.

God of heaven! God of earth! Without ending, without birth, Our victory Must come from thee, From thee alone we have our life and breath. p. 11Oh! hear us now, To thee we bow, Now give us victory, or give us death.

Pour thine anger on the foe, Give our armies all to know, It is by thee That we are free; And if we here must end our mortal race, Permit us then To die like men, Oh! save our rising offspring from disgrace.

’Tis finish’d, (and the sun from out the west Sheds his bright rays on ev’ry plated breast.) Still prostrate on the ground, in doubting awe, ’Till waken’d by the thrilling trump of war: p. 12Then starting up, each draws his eager blade, And pass before the king [12] in grand parade, Who, like a god, in burnish’d glory stands, And calmly issues forth his just commands. Yet still the sun, as joyful at the sight, Gleams on their mail, and shames the coming night; E’en Titus sees his long protracted stay, And tells his fortunes by the ling’ring day. The troops, their martial exercises o’er, Expend their tales, or sing of days of yore, Lay by their arms, and, careless of their ends, Speak of their wives, their babes, or distant friends; Short-sighted fools!—but wherefore should ye learn That thousands here shall never more return? p. 13Why should a fatal foresight damp our peace, And all our short-liv’d miseries increase? No—Providence has clos’d the book of fate, And sight of future only comes too late: We see not half the woes with which we cope—

They come, they overwhelm us—still we hope— Yet woes come on, we drain the bitter cup; But still we hope, and hoping bears us up. So the poor trav’ller, o’er the dreary way, Dark night o’erspreads—yet still he looks for day; The forked lightnings flash before his eyes, And torrents pour upon him from the skies; The thunder rolls, the clouds are bursting fast, Yet on he plods, and thinks it will not last; He slips—he falls—amidst the tang’ling brake, But not e’en this his hoping soul can shake; Torn, wet, bespatter’d, out again he creeps, And, weary’d on the bank, succumbent sleeps. p. 14But to return—a council Titus calls, To talk of peace, or fell the hardy walls. First, Titus rises from his gilded throne, And with a careless greatness all his own, Bespeaks him thus: “Brave princes, Romans, men, Who dare e’en brave the tyger in his den, Your persevering courage meets my praise; And could my words your well-known value raise, The wond’ring world should echo with your names, Old mew respect you, and the Jewish dames,

Whose spouses fall by you, your wrath approve, Forget their wrongs, and only think to love; All future ages will your deeds enroll, And tell our victories from pole to pole. But to our subject—Certain headstrong Jews Have leap’d to power, and that pow’r abuse; From conquer’d cities hither have they fled, And threat to pour destruction on our head. p. 15But let them threat, our armies, void of fear, Grown great by conquest, challenge them e’en here: Then princes say, shall we proceed with war, Or make a peace, and so our arms withdraw? What thinks my brother? he is cool tho’ brave, Speak, Trajan, speak, your counsel let us have!” Trajan arose:—“Do we or not love Rome? We do, and punish all who dare presume To mock that love, or of vain greatness boast: Our conq’ring deeds are spread along each coast, Our cheerful squadrons for the field prepare, And willing all to die, they greatly dare. Then think, my comrades, what would be their woe If they return, and leave the vaunting foe; Think how we all should lose our well-got fame,

And Jews and Romans join to tell our shame. Observe, my friends, within the city’s verge Dark clouds surround, and suck the tinted surge; p. 16The thunders burst, whilst famine hoarsely sings, And dark oppression claps his iron wings. He who would sue for peace from such as these, Or wish return to foul dishonor’d ease, A coward I pronounce, and doubly base, Will gain but hatred, and to Rome disgrace.” So spake they round, till all but one had said, Who, ’midst the numbers, hid his drooping head; By name Placidus, Roman, brave and young, Of noble mien, fair face, and gentle tongue. Within his heart, young Cupid held his reign, He lov’d a maid, and was belov’d again; But ah! her parents would their love divide, In vain she strove her rising love to hide, They saw—and to another made her bride: But bride alone she was, for on that day, When all beside herself was free and gay, p. 17The marriage rites scarce finish’d by the priest, And vassals bustled for the promis’d feast, The maiden fled, and to her what befell, No one could dare suppose, no one could tell.

The fond Placidus wip’d his tearful eye, Join’d in the war, and only sought to die; To die with glory as a Roman ought, For this he conquer’d and for this he fought. And yet the fates denied him even this, He wish’d for death, but death was too much bliss: In vain he singly fac’d a line of foes, In vain he fell—his faithful servant rose, And sav’d a life, which yielded nought but woes.

Within the tent he heedless stands aloof, Entranc’d from all but Titus’s reproof: “Great sir (he cries) the world is nought to me, And I’m content, if native Rome be free: p. 18These are our foes; and ’tis a Roman’s pride (For which what thousands of our friends have died) To strive with all who would our pow’r withstand, Or mar die honor of our native land. Then let us on, and quell these daring fools, Nor talking stand, nor calmly wait for rules; I, with my band, will call them to the fight, And hilt to hilt will quickly prove our right: But if, like cowards, they the combat shun, Or beaten by our army basely run, Pursue them to the walls, our fortune try, And nobly enter, or as nobly die. There raise our banners in their very jaws, Or fall together in the common cause.” Each breast with double fury feels inspir’d, No tongue but with Placidus’ praise is fir’d; Titus himself with noble envy swells, The man gives way, but yet the king rebels, p. 19And thus he speaks: “Thy words and deeds are great, But we are men, then wherefore tempt our fate:

He is but fool who of his lot complains, Yet greater far is he who life disdains; They only noble are whose deeds are good, Whose virtues have the shocks of fate withstood, Who fight their country’s battles as their own, And die to gain them victory alone. If such thy wish, and such thy pious thought, If with such Roman aims thy breast is fraught, Thy daring soul the giddy height shall soar, Till, fully cloy’d, it drops to mount no more. Yet if you meet that death you wildly seek, And with bright honor’s scars thy frame grows weak, Remember Titus, call him to thy side, (He will not mock thy zeal, nor proudly chide,) Pour in his friendly bosom all thy wrongs, The fatal cause that now thy woe prolongs; p. 20Repose in him, as friend, thy last request, Or aught to give thy parting spirit rest; And here he swears in face of all—of thee To ’tend thy wish, whatever it may be.” With heart o’erfill’d the lone Placidus bow’d, And silent mix’d among the list’ning crowd.

Now round the tent the flowing goblet moves, Some pledge their friends, and some their distant loves; Nought but full pleasure can their hearts approach, While flask by flask the sparkling wine they broach; Glee, mirth, and laughter, with each bowl increase, And ev’ry thought of bloodshed feels release.