Classic Poem

How is our gold grown dim! of all the most
Refin'd and pure hath now his lustre lost!
That marble, which the temple beautified,
Torn down by impious rage, and cast aside.
The wretched sons of Sion, ah! behold,
Of late so precious, more esteem'd than gold,
How slighted! to how low a value brought!
Like earthen vessels by the potter wrought!
The monsters of the sea, and savage beasts,
Their young ones gently foster at their breasts:
My daughters, ah! more cruel are than these,
Or than the desert-haunting estriches.
Their children cry for bread, but none receive,
Whose thirsty tongues to their hot palates cleave.
Who fed deliciously, now sit forlorn;
And those who scarlet wore, on dung-hills mourn.
The punishments, as did their sins, excell
That which from heav'n on wicked Sodom fell,
Devour'd with sudden flames. No creature found
To whom His wrath could add another wound.
Her Nazarites, late pure as falling snow,
More white than streams which from stretch'd udders flow;
Not rubies of the rock such red inspher'd,
Nor polish'd sapphires like their veins appear'd;
Their faces now more black than cinders grown,
To such as meet them in the streets unknown;
Whose wither'd skins, more dry than sapless wood,
Cleave to their fleshless bones for want of food.
O far less wretched they, whose parting breath
Breaks through their wounds, than those who starve to death!
For they in ling'ring torments pine away,
And find not death so cruel as delay.
Soft-hearted mothers live by horrid spoil,
And their belovéd babes in cauldrons boil.
On these with weeping eyes, and hearts that bleed,
The famish'd daughters of my people feed.
The Lord His vengeance now accomplish'd hath,
And pouréd forth the vials of His wrath;
Forsaken Sion sets on fire, whose tow'rs
And palaces the hungry flame devours.
You kings that sway the many-peopl'd earth,
All who from groaning mothers take your birth,
O would you have believ'd that thus the foe
Should have triumph'd in her sad overthrow?
Her priests' and prophets' sins, who should have taught
By their example, have her ruin wrought;
With human flesh her flaming altars fed,
And blood of innocents profusely shed.
Who blindly wander, so defil'd with gore,
That none would touch the garments which they wore.
Depart, they cried, depart, and touch us not,
Depart, O you whom foul pollutions spot.
Thus chid, they stray'd, and to the Gentiles fled,
Yet said, ere long we shall from hence be led.
For this, the Lord hath scatter'd in His ire,
Nor ever shall they to their homes retire:
Their unregarded priests slain by the foe,
Who would no pity to the aged show.
Yet vainly we, in these our miseries,
With expectation have consum'd our eyes,
And foster'd flatt'ring hopes; built on their word,
Who can no aid to our extremes afford.
Like cruel hunters, they our steps pursue,
While we in corners lurk from public view.
That fatal day draws near, wherein we must
Descend to death and mingle with the dust.
Not eagles fearful doves so swiftly chase,
As they with wingéd feet our footsteps trace,
Pursue o'er mountains, watch at ev'ry strait,
And to entrap us in the desert wait.
The Lord's anointed, ev'n our nostrils' breath,
They have ensnar'd, and render'd up to death.
Of whom we said: Among the heathen we,
Beneath his wings, shall live in exile free.
Daughter of Edom, thou that dwell'st in Hus,
Exalt thy joy: this cup to thee from us
Shall swiftly pass; thy brains inebriate so,
As thou thy nakedness shalt boldly show.
Yet when thy sins' deservéd punishment,
O wretched Sion's daughter, shall be spent,
Jehovah will thy banishment repeal,
Foment thy wounds, and all thy bruises heal.
Then He on Edom's issue shall impose
Our yoke, and her deformity disclose.