warmth as good breeding would allow: the mayor retorted with downright anger, swearing that he would not be choused by the bravest colonel in his Majesty's service." Mr Mayor," said the colonel," there is no necessity for displaying any vulgar passion on this occasion. Permit me to shew you, that I have here your obliging card of invitation.”—“ Nay, Mr Colonel, here is no opportunity for bantering, there is your card."

Upon examining the cards, it was observed, that notwithstanding an at

tempt to disguise it, both cards were written in the same hand by some person, who had designed to make fools of them all. Every eye of the corporation turned spontaneously upon the attorney, who, of course attended all public meetings. His impudence suddenly gave way, he faltered and betrayed himself so fully by his confusion, that the colonel, in a fit of summary justice, threw him out of the window. For this Sr Francis Delaval was charged five bendred pounds.-Whether he paid the money or not, I forget."

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From the Literary Gazette.
THE FALL OF JERUSALEM.*

a

POEM by the author of Fazio and of Samor, cannot fail to raise a strong feeling of curiosity in the literary world; and we hasten to gratify as much of that feeling as we can by this early contribution to a general knowledge of "The Fall of Jerusalem." "The Fall of Jerusalem" is,indeed, noble poem, far surpassing, in our opinion, the preceding works of Mr. Milman. Meeting, as of necessity it must, a comparison with the noblest language of divine inspiration ;-set side by side with the Book of Job, or Prophesy of Isaiah,-it seems to us, if less sublime than the latter, to be equally beautiful; and if less deeply pathetic than the former, to be equally tender and affecting. And let it remembered that we are here speaking of analogies between human and inspired writings; between the conceptions of modern genius and the most splendid effusions of gifted antiquity.

The groundwork of the drama is in Josephus, who is one of its interlocutors. The events of the siege of the Holy City by the Romans under Titus, are compressed into a period of about thirty six hours; and to the historical characters of Simon the assassin, John the tyrant, and Eleazar the zeal. ot, among the Jews are added (for the sake of dramatic interest,) several ficti

Si

tious personages, namely, Miriam and Salone, daughters of Simon, and Amariah, son of John. Great skill is displayed in marking and contrasting, not only the circumstances embraced by the action, but the peculiar traits and babits of the prominent individuals. mon, a stern and strict Pharisee, obstinately blinded in expectation of supernatural interference to save them, and fancying himself prophetic in his visions of coming succour, is opposed to John, a sensual Sadducee, who believes that death is "the be-all and the end-all here.” Miriam, a secret Christian, sweet, devout, loving, and melancholy, is the contrast to her sister Salone, a creature, of force and passion, participating in her father's fierceness, zeal, and superstition.

en meetings of Miriam with the amiaThe touching loves and stolble Javan, at the fountain of Siloe, counterpoise the stormy and unblessed union of Salone with the warrior Amariah; and forms a delightful episode and relief to the general horror. In like manner does the construction of the piece combine the highest poetical excellences with the finest opposition in situations, and much of the truth of his tory, as well as prophetic fulfilment. The bridal songs for Salone, mingling with the sack of Jerusalem, are an example of this, and produce a grand and

* The Fall of Jerusalem: a Drama tic Poem. By the Rev. H. H. Milman. London, 1820.

terrible effect.
We are unwilling to
detain readers from our extracts, and
shall therefore abstain from further
comment; only noticing another sub-
ject for admiration, which struck us as
conferring much spirit and originality
upon the poem. We allude to the
novelty of the motives, sentiments, and
grounds of action peculiar to the Jewish
nation! this gives a freshness and raci-
ness to the whole, which has conspired
to augment exceedingly our enjoyment
in the contemplation of "The Fall of
Jerusalem."

earliest description of Javan by the waters of Siloe, waiting for Miriam

Javan. Sweet fountain, once again I visit thee!
And thou art flowing on, and freshening still
The green moss, and the flowers that bend to thee,
Modestly with a soft unboastful murmur,
Rejoicing at the blessings that thou bearest.
Pure, stainless, thou art flowing on; the stars
Make thee their mirror, and the moonlight beams
Course one another o'er thy silver bosom :

And yet thy flowing is through fields of blood,
And armed men their hot and weary brows
Slake with thy limpid and perennial coolness.
Even with such rare and singular purity
Mov'st thou, oh Miriam, in yon cruel city.
Men's eyes, o'erwearied with the sights of war,
With tumult and with grief, repose on thee
As on a refuge and a sweet refreshment.

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*

*

*

*

But ah! why com'st thou not? these two long nights

I've watch'd for thee in vain, and have not felt

The scene opens on the Mount of Olives: Titus and his army advancing the seige: the conqueror reasoning on the "Stoic philosophy," intimates that his mercy, and desire to spare the city, are overborne by the influence of a superior power, whose workings he cannot expound. He answers those who persuade him to avert the "abomina- And enviously delays its tender sounds tion of desolation."

It must be

And yet it moves me, Romans! it confounds
The counsels of say firm philosophy,
That Ruin's merciless ploughshare must pass o'er,
And barren salt be sown on yon proud city.
As on our olive-crowned-hill we stand,
Where Kedron at our feet its scanty waters
Distils from stone to stone with gentle motion,
As through a valley sacred to sweet peace,
How boldly doth it front us! how majestically!
Like a luxurious vineyard, the hill side
Is hung with marble fabrics, line o'er line,
Terrace o'er terrace, nearer still, and nearer

To the blue heavens. Here bright and sumptuous
palaces,

With cool and verdant gardens interspersed ;
Here towers of war that frown in massy strength,
While over all hangs the rich purple eve,
As conscious of its being her last farewell
Of light and glory to that fated city.
And, as our clouds of battle, dust, and smoke
Are melted into air, behold the Temple,
In undisturb'd and lone serenity
Finding itself a solemn sanctuary

In the profound of heaven! It stands before us
A mount of snow fretted with golden pinnacles!
The very sun, as though he worshipp'd there,
Lingers upon the gilded cedar roofs;
And down the long and branching porticoes,
On every flowery-sculptured capital,
Glitters the homage of his parting beams

By Hercules! the sight might almost win

The offended majesty of Rome to mercy.

The music of thy footsteps on my spirit--
Voice at a distance.

Javan!

Javan. It is her voice! the air is fond of it,

From the ear that thirsteth for them.-Miriam !
Nay, stand thus in thy timid breathlessness,
That I may gaze on thee, and thou not chide me
Because I gaze too fondly.

I have enough at home of thoughts like these,
Thoughts horrible, that freeze the blood, and make
A heavier burthen of this weary life. *

I hoped with thee t' have pass'd a tranquil hour,

This glorious poetical picture at the A brief, a hurried, yet still tranquil hour!

commencement prepares us for the horror of the catastrophe; as does also the

-But thou art like them all! the miserable
Have only Heaven, where they can rest in peace,
Without being mock'd and taunted with their misery.

The character of Simon is potently drawn by himself in the ensuing collo-ling witness. She thus briefly, but excombatants. quisitely pourtrays her lover among the

Bend o'er you with their huge and lowering shadows, dle graces of the poem: the consum

Oh! fair and favour'd city, where of old
The balmy airs were rich with melody,
That led her pomp beneath the cloudless sky,
In vestments flaming with the orient gold;
Her gold is dim, and mute her music's voice,
The Heathen o'er her perish'd pomp rejoice.

How stately then was every palm-deck'd street,
Down which the maidens danced with tinkling feet;
How proud the elders in the lofty gate!
How crowded all her nation's solemn feasts
With white-rob'd Levites and high-mitred Priests;
How gorgeous all her temple's sacred state!
Her streets are razed, her maidens sold for slaves,
Her gates thrown down, her elders in their graves;
Her feasts are holden 'mid the Gentile's scorn,
By stealth her priesthood's holy garments worn ;
And where her temple crown'd the glittering rock,
The wandering shepherd folds his evening flock.
When shall the work, the work of death begin?
When come th' avengers of proud Judah's sin ?
Aceidara! accurs'd and guilty ground,
Gird well the city in thy dismai bound,

Her price is paid, and she is sold like thou;
Let every ancient monument and tomb
Enlarge the border of its vaulted gloom,
Their spacious chambers all are wanted now.

But nevermore shall yon lost city need
Those secret places for her future dead ;
Of all her children, when this night is pass'd,
Devoted Salem's darkest, and her last,
Of all her children none is left to her,
Save those whose house is in the sepulchre.
Yet, guilty city, who shall mourn for thee?
Shall Christian voices wail thy devastation?
Look down! look down, avenged Calvary,

Upon thy late yet dreadful expiation.
Oh! long foretold, tho' slow accomplish'd fate,
"Her house is left unto her desolate ;"
Proud Cæsar's ploughshare o'er her ruins driven,
Fulfils at length the tardy doom of heaven;
The wrathful vial's drops at length are pour'd
On the rebellious race that crucified their Lord!

Voice within. Woe! woe! woe!
First Jew. Alas!

The son of Hannaniah! is't not he?
Third Jew. Whom said'st?

Second Jew. Art thou a stranger in Jerusalem,
That thou rememberest not that fearful man!
Fourth Jew. Speak! speak! we know not all.
Second Jew. Why thus it was:

A rude and homely dresser of the vine,
He had come up to the Feast of Tabernacles,
When suddenly a spirit fell upon him,
Evil or good we know not. Ever since,
(And now seven years are past since it befel,
Our city then being prosperous and at peace),
He hath gone wandering through the darkling

streets

At midnight, under the cold quiet stars;
He hath gone wandering through the crowded
market

At noonday under the bright blazing sun,
With that one ominous cry of "Woe ! woe! woe !"
Some scoff'd and mock'd him, some would give

him food;

He neither curs'd the one, nor thank'd the other.
The Sanhedrim bade scourge him, and myself
Beheld him lash'd, till the bare bones stood out
Through the maim'd flesh, still, still he only cried,
Woe to the City, till his patience wearied
The angry persecutors. When they freed him,
'Twas still the same, the incessant Woe, woe, woe.
But when our siege began, awhile he ceased,
As though his prophecy were fulfilled; till now
We had not heard his dire and boding voice.
Within. Woe! woe! woe!

Joshua, the Son of Hannaniah. Woe! woe!
A voice from the East! a voice from the West!
From the four winds a voice against Jerusalem!
A voice against the Temple of the Lord!
A voice against the Bridegrooms and the Brides!
A voice against all people of the land!
Woe! woe! woe!

Second Jew. They are the very words, the very

voice

Which we have heard so long. And yet, methinks,
There is a mournful triumph in the tone
Ne'er heard before. His eyes, that were of old
Fixed on the earth, now wander all abroad,
As though the tardy consummation

Chorus of Maidens.

We now approach the closing scene; and here Mr. Milman has expended all his strength. The portentous and pro- Afflicted him with wonder.-Hark! again. digious night which witnesses the destruction of Jerusalem, is rendered more ghastly and appalling by the untimely marriage of Amariah and Salone. The "Terror wantoning with man's perplexity," is made a thousand-fold more hideous by the unnatural festivity. We shall best consult the genius of this part of the poem, by transcribing alternately (as indeed they occur) bridal stave* and agony of suffering, or prediction of vengeance

For his fine ideas of these wedding ceremonies, the author is indebted to Calmet, Harmer, and other illustrators of Scripture.

Now the jocund song is thine,
Bride of David's kingly line!
How thy dove-like bosom trembleth,
And thy shrouded eye resembleth
Violets, when the dews of eve
A moist and tremulous glitter leave
On the bashful sealed lid!
Close within the bride-veil hid
Motionless thou sitt'st and mute;
Save that at the soft salute
Of each entering maiden friend
Thou dost rise and softly bend.
Hark! a brisker, merrier glee!
The door unfolds,-'tis he, 'tis he.
Thus we lift our lamps to meet him,
Thus we touch our lutes to greet him,
Thou shalt give a fonder meeting,
Thou shalt give a tenderer greeting.