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which shone dazzlingly in the wild light of the flames; they supposed that incalculable treasures were laid up in 50 the sanctuary. A soldier, unperceived, thrust a lighted torch between the hinges of the door; the whole building was in flames in an instant. The blinding smoke and fire forced the officers to retreat; and the noble edifice was left to its fate.


It was an appalling spectacle to the Roman-what was it to the Jew? The whole summit of the hill, which commanded the city, blazed like a volcano. One after another the buildings fell in, with a tremendous crash, 5 and were swallowed up in the fiery abyss. The roofs of cedar were like sheets of flame; the gilded pinnacles shone like spikes of red light; the gate towers sent up tall columns of flame and smoke. The neighbouring hills were lighted up; and dark groups of people were 10 seen watching in horrible anxiety the progress of the destruction: the walls and heights of the upper city were crowded with faces, some pale with the agony of despair, others scowling unavailing vengeance. The shouts of the Roman soldiery, as they ran to and fro, and the 15 howlings of the insurgents who were perishing in the flames, mingled with the roaring of the conflagration and the thundering sound of falling timbers. The echoes of the mountains replied, or brought back the shrieks of the people on the heights: all along the walls, resounded 20 screams and wailings; men, who were expiring with famine, rallied their remaining strength to utter a cry of anguish and desolation.

The slaughter within was even more dreadful than the spectacle from without. Men and women, old and 25 young, insurgents and priests, those who fought and those who intreated mercy were hewn down in indiscriminate carnage. The numbers of the slain exceeded that of the slayers. The legionaries had to clamber over heaps of dead, to carry on the work of extermina80 tion. John, at the head of some of his troops, cut his way through, first into the outer court of the temple; afterwards into the upper city. Some of the priests upon the roof wrenched off the gilded spikes, with their sockets of lead, and used them as missiles against the

35 Romans below. Afterwards they fled to a part of the wall, about fourteen feet wide: they were summoned to surrender; but two of them, Mair, son of Belgo, and Joseph son of Dalia, plunged headlong into the flames. No part escaped the fury of the Romans. The treas40 uries, with all their wealth of money, jewels, and costly robes the plunder which the zealots had laid up—were totally destroyed. Nothing remained but a small part of the outer cloister, in which 6000 unarmed and defenceless people, with women and children, had taken refuge. 45 These poor wretches, like multitudes of others, had been led up to the temple by a false prophet, who had proclaimed that God commanded all the Jews to go up to the temple, where he would display his Almighty power to save his people. The soldiers set fire to the building, 50 and every soul perished.



1 The night-the long dark night at last
Passed fearfully away.

'Mid crashing ice, and howling blast,
They hailed the dawn of day,-
Which broke to cheer the whaler's crew,
And wide around its gray light threw.

2 The storm had ceased-its wrath had rent
The icy wall asunder-

And many a piercing glance they sent
Around in awe and wonder-

And sailor hearts their rude praise gave,
To God, that morn, from o'er the wave.

3 The breeze blew freshly, and the Sun
Pour'd his full radiance far,

On heaps of icy fragments won

Sad trophies-in the past night's war
Of winds and waters-and in piles,
Now drifted by, bright shining Isles.

4 But lo!-still farther off appears
A form more dim and dark;

And anxious eyes, and hópes, and fèars,

Its slow, strange progress mark;
As it moves tow'rds them by the breeze
Borne onward from more Northern Seas.

5 Near, and more near-and can it be,
(More vent'rous than their own)
A Ship, whose seeming ghost they see,
Among those Icebergs thrown;
With broken masts, dismantled all,
And dark sails, like a funeral pall?

6 ()" God of the Màriner! protèct
Her inmates as she moves along,

Through perils which, ere now, had wrèck'd-
But that thine arm is strong.

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(°) Ha! she has struck-she gròunds—she stànds ·· Still as if held by giant hands.

7 "Quick, man the boat!"-away they sprang,
The stranger ship to aid;

And loud their hailing voices rang,
And rapid speed they made:
But all in silence, deep, unbroke,

The vessel stood-none answering spoke.

8 'Twas fearful-not a sound arose-
No moving thing was there,
To interrupt the dread repose

Which filled each heart with fear;
On deck they silent stepped, and sought,
"Till one, a man, their sad sight caught

9 He was alone-the damp, chill mould
Of years hung on his cheek;


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pen in his hand had meekly told
The tale no voice might speak:

Seventy days," the record stood,

"Had they been in the ice, and wanted food."

10 They took his book, and turned away,
But soon discovered where

The wife, in her death-sleep, gently lay,
Near him, in life most dear-

Who, seated beside his young heart's pride,
Long years before had calmly died.

11 Oh, wedded love! how beautiful,

How pure a thing thou art:

Whose influence even in dèath can rule,
And triumph o'er the heart;

Can cheer life's roughest walk, and shed
A holy light around the dead.

12 There was a solemn, sacred feeling
Kindled in every breast;

And softly from the cabin stealing,
They left them to their rèst-
The fair, the yoúng, the constant pair,
They left them with a blessing there;

13 And to their boat returning, each
With thoughtful brows and haste,
And o'ercharged hearts, too full for speech,
Left 'midst the frozen waste,

That Charnel Ship, which years before,
Had sail'd from distant Albion's shore.

14 They left her in the ìcebergs, where
Few venture to intrude;

A monument of death and fear,
'Mid Ocean's solitude!

And, grateful for their own release,
Thanked God, and sought their homes in peace


Life.-A Spanish Poem.-EDINBURGH REVIEW.

1 Oh! while we eye the rolling tide,
Down which our flowing minutes glide
Away so fast;

Let us the present hour employ,
And deem each future dream a joy
Already past.

2 Let no vain hope deceive the mind-
No happier let us hope to find,
To-morrow than to-day;

Our golden dreams of yore were bright,
Like them the present shall delight-
Like them decay.

3 Our lives like hasting streams must be, That into one ingulfing sea,

Are doomed to fall

The sea of death, whose waves roll on,
O'er king and kingdom, crown and throne,
And swallow all.

4 Alike the river's lordly tide,
Alike the humble riv'let's glide
To that sad wave;

Death levels poverty and pride,
And rich and poor sleep side by side

Within the


5 Our birth is but a starting place;
Life is the running of the race:
And death the goal;

There all those glittering toys are bought,
That path alone, of all unsought,
Is found of all.

6 Say then how poor and little worth
Are all those glittering toys of earth,
That lure us here?

Dreams of a sleep that death must break,
Alas! before it bids us wake,
Ye disappear!


Death and the Drunkard.-ANONYMOUS.

1 His form was fair, his cheek was health;
His word a bond, his purse was wealth;
With wheat his field was covered o'er,
Plenty sat smiling at his door.

His wife the fount of ceaseless joy;

How laughed his daughter, played his boy;
His library, though large, was read,

Till half its contents decked his head.
At morn 'twas health, wealth, pure delight,
'Twas health, wealth, peace and bliss at night;
I wished not to disturb his bliss-

'Tis gone! but all the fault was his.

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