And swell with frantic grief thy funeral wail;

They kneel for mercy, but they sue in vain;

Their beauty withers on the gore-dyed plain;

With fathers, lovers, brothers, meet their doom,

And 'mid thy blackened ruins find a tomb.

Of fear unconscious, in soft slumbers blest,

The infant dies upon its mother's breast,

[Pg 68]

Unpitied e'en by her—the hand that gave

The blow has sent the parent to the grave.

Queen of the East! all desolate and lone,

No more shall nations bow before thy throne.

Low in the dust thy boasted beauty lies;

Loud through thy princely domes the bittern cries,

And the night wind in mournful cadence sighs.

The step of man and childhood's joyous voice

Are heard no more, and never shall rejoice

Thy lonely echoes; savage beasts shall come

And find among thy palaces a home.

The dragon there shall rear her scaly brood,

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