Classic Poem

Ne did I waken from my drowsy fit,
Till stars had kindled heav'n's refulgent blue;
An icy cold my bruised members smit,
Death spread around his wings of pallid hue,
And scant could life the ghastly fiend eschew.
At length upon my limbs myself I rear'd,
But horrour and distraction were the view;
Jerusalem enwrapp'd in flames appear'd,
And melancholy groans of dying men I heard.