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(From Ruins of Many Lands)
WHITE as hot steel the broad sun mounts the skies, | |
| The burning vapors quivering as they rise. | |
| No beast, no wandering bird, doth hither come, | |
| Not e’en an insect wakes her drowsy hum. | |
| But lo! the hills on which some dark curse rests, | 5 |
| Barren their sides, all rocks their dreary crests, | |
| Approach with frowns, and form a savage dell, | |
| Where snakes retreat, and vultures love to dwell. | |
| Silent and strange along this craggy way, | |
| Rise countless towers that brave thy hand, Decay! | 10 |
| Did busy men once live, and flourish here, | |
| Their palaces yon piles so old and drear? | |
| Draw nearer,—scan each building’s dark recess; | |
| What mean those crumbling bones, that mouldered dress? | |
| Yes, these are tombs, as many a mummy shows, | 15 |
| Where man in distant ages found repose; | |
| The street of graves! where kings laid down their pride, | |
| And many a restless phantom yet may glide: | |
| Murdered Longinus here may wander still, | |
| And she whose dust was laid by Tibur’s hill, | 20 |
| Far-famed Zenobia, for her kingdom wail, | |
| Sweeping with viewless form the desert gale. * * * * * | |
| Deserted Tadmor! queen of Syria’s wild! | |
| Well mayst thou fill with rapture Fancy’s child; | |
| Yet not by day—too garish, harsh, and rude— | 25 |
| The eye should scan thy fairy solitude; | |
| But when the still moon pours her hallowing beam, | |
| And crumbling shrine and palace whitely gleam, | |
| Then pause beneath the lofty arch, and there | |
| Survey the mouldings rich and sculptures fair; | 30 |
| See how like spectral giants columns stand, | |
| And cast long shadows o’er the yellow sand; | |
| How the soft light on marble tracery plays, | |
| And busts look life-like through that silvery haze! | |
| Tread the long colonnade, where Traffic’s throng, | 35 |
| And chief and sage were wont to sweep along; | |
| Ruin on ruin mouldering, still and lone, | |
| Arch following arch, fane, massy wall o’erthrown, | |
| And still beyond, some line of columns gray, | |
| In long perspective stretching far away,— | 40 |
| These will the stars in desolation show, | |
| Shedding o’er all a soft ethereal glow, | |
| Till beauty scarce of earth around us beams, | |
| And like the home of spirits, Tadmor seems. * * * * * | |
| And are no dwellers here?—no beings found | 45 |
| Within Palmyra’s wide and haunted bound? | |
| Yes, come and see—where Beauty, in old days, | |
| Touched her sweet harp, and blushed at her own praise; | |
| There rears the desert-bird her callow brood, | |
| And shrieks along the untrodden solitude. | 50 |
| Yes, come and see—where kings in council sate | |
| On ivory thrones, mid all the pomp of state; | |
| There mopes the owl with shining sleepless eye, | |
| And growls the hyena, stealing slowly by. | |
| Commerce in Tadmor fixed her gorgeous seat; | 55 |
| Her voice was heard through every busy street: | |
| The caravan brought gems from Persia’s shore, | |
| Tyre sent her cloths, and Ind her golden store; | |
| And this long ages saw, till Syria’s mart | |
| Drew and poured forth wealth’s streams,—a mighty heart! | 60 |
| Now come and see—within yon pillared walls, | |
| Mid tottering shafts and broken capitals, | |
| Squalid and lorn, cut off from all mankind, | |
| In tattered garbs, to wretchedness consigned, | |
| A few poor Arabs crouch,—with senseless stare | 65 |
| They view the pomp and beauty lingering there, | |
| Tend their lean goats, to Mecca idly bow, | |
| The only merchants, only princes now! * * * * * | |
| City of Solomon! whose fame and power, | |
| And wondrous wealth, began in earth’s young hour; | 70 |
| How, mid her fallen pomp, thought wanders back | |
| O’er vanished days,—a sad yet dazzling track. | |
| Arabia’s fierce and desolating horde, | |
| Rome’s conquering eagle, Babylonia’s sword, | |
| All we behold, but chief one form appears, | 75 |
| Rising all radiant from the gulf of years: | |
| Proud is her step, her dark eye varying oft, | |
| Now flashing fire, now languishingly soft; | |
| The jewelled crown well suits that brow serene,— | |
| ’T is great Zenobia, Tadmor’s glorious queen. | 80 |
| Beauty hath oft put War’s dread helmet on, | |
| Since her who ruled earth-conquering Babylon; | |
| Yet not Semiramis, who boasts her bays, | |
| Nor Gaul’s bold maid, who graced these later days, | |
| Swayed the rough hearts of men with wilder power, | 85 |
| Or met more bravely battle’s dreadful hour, | |
| Than she on whom pleased fame and fortune smiled, | |
| The dark-haired mistress of the Syrian wild. | |
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| But now the conqueror’s brighter hour has passed, | |
| And fair Zenobia’s star goes down at last. | 90 |
| The Roman comes,—his legions file around | |
| Doomed Tadmor’s walls, to deafening trumpets’ sound. | |
| Aurelian bids the desert princess yield, | |
| But hark! her answer—clashing sword and shield! | |
| Girt by her chiefs, her proud plumed head she rears, | 95 |
| Defies the foe, and each faint spirit cheers; | |
| Her milk-white courser prances round the wall, | |
| Her gestures, looks, and words inspiring all. | |
| Through opened gates her troops are sallying now, | |
| Still in their front appears that dauntless brow; | 100 |
| Where’er her silver wand is seen to wave, | |
| There rush the boldest, and there fall the brave, | |
| And when borne back by Rome’s immense array, | |
| She fights retreating, pauses still to slay. | |
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| But ceaseless war, and famine’s tortures slow, | 105 |
| Wear bravery out, and bring Palmyra low. | |
| ’T was then the Queen, to crush the despot’s might, | |
| Passed from the gates beneath the veil of night, | |
| Hers still the hope from Persia aid to call, | |
| Save her loved land, and stay Palmyra’s fall. | 110 |
| With fluttering heart, but calm and fearless eye, | |
| Across the trackless desert see her fly! | |
| On swept the camel with unflagging speed, | |
| As though he knew that hour of deadly need; | |
| Her Syrian guards o’er Arab steeds might lean, | 115 |
| But not keep pace with her, their flying Queen. | |
| What recked she drifting sand or scorching sun? | |
| What recked she pain or toil, that mission done? | |
| Come hunger, thirst,—on, on her course must be, | |
| Each swift-winged hour brought, Tadmor, doom to thee! | 120 |
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| Lo! on their track, through clouds of rising sand, | |
| Bright helms were seen, now glittered spear and brand; | |
| Then horsemen forward dashed,—a long-drawn row,— | |
| ’T was Rome’s dread troops, the fierce pursuing foe! | |
| They saw, and hailed,—across the waste was borne | 125 |
| The hoarse, deep note of many a trumpet-horn; | |
| And on they came, like winds careering fast, | |
| Not half so fearful sweeps the simoom blast; | |
| They brought for her who scoured those desert plains, | |
| Woe and disgrace, captivity and chains. | 130 |
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| But still Zenobia flew; the steeds that bore | |
| Her guards had sunk,—those chiefs could aid no more; | |
| And now that camel shaped his course alone,— | |
| He reared his head as louder blasts were blown, | |
| And strained each nerve, his soft black drooping eye | 135 |
| Telling of suffering, fear, and agony; | |
| Unhappy, faithful thing! that still would brave | |
| Toil, peril, death, his royal charge to save. | |
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| ’T was vain: as hounds at length chase down the deer, | |
| The Roman horsemen drew more near and near; | 140 |
| Though some fell back, or sank upon the way, | |
| Yet others, slowly gaining, reached the prey. | |
| They halted, wheeled,—their armor’s dazzling sheen | |
| Formed a dread wall round Syria’s fated queen; | |
| Hope fled her breast,—she yielded,—ruined now, | 145 |
| But still majestic shone that high-born brow. | |
| Ah! as they led their prisoner o’er the plain, | |
| No more to rule, but grace a tyrant’s train, | |
| And, exiled, pine where wooded Anio sweeps, | |
| Far from her desert home and palmy steeps, | 150 |
| The sun of Syria’s power went down in night, | |
| On Freedom’s tree there rained a withering blight, | |
| Glory to proud Palmyra sighed adieu, | |
| And o’er her shrines Destruction’s angel flew. | |
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