CCXL. Jeremiah, Chap. XXXIX.
Jerusalem taken by the Babylonians. The
Temple burnt. Zedekiah brought to
Nebuchadnezzar. His Eyes put out, &c.
An
obstinate Defence the Hebrews made,
For two long Years in vain their Fate delay'd:
Without, the Babylonian Army press'd,
Within they're by a stronger Foe distress'd,
Expos'd to Famine's keen insatiate Rage,
Th'impartial Conqu'ror spares nor Sex nor Age:
Like Ghosts the Warriors to the Ramparts goe,
The Laughter and the Horror of the Foe,
When e're they strike they tumble with the Blow:
So feeble grown they can't the Breach repair,
But with their Bodies fill, and drop with Hunger there.
This saw the Foe who from their Works look'd down.
And unresisted storm the famish'd Town:
The Chaldee Chiefs of dreadful Face and Name,
Triumphant from their proud Pavilions came:
Nergal-Sharezer, Shamgar-Nebo sate,
With Rabsaris, and Rabmag in the Gate:
A half-starv'd Warder to the Palace flies,
All, all is lost, my Liege! he faintly cries,
Then at his Sovereign's Feet he drops and dies.
Thro' secret winding Ways the Monarch fled,
His small Reserve of Guards he with him led:
Swift, as Revenge cou'd urge, his Foes pursue,
And soon their Royal Quarry had in view:
Broke and dispers'd his heartless Troops with ease
Around the Plain, th'unhappy King they seize;
At once he saw himself a Captive made,
And turning saw the Flames the Town invade;
Above the Gates, above the Walls aspire,
The Palace and the Temple shine with Fire.
Behold him thence the haughty Victor's Scorn
To Babel's angry King at Riblah born:
Before his Throne he with his Sons appears,
And something worse than Death the Father fears:
Ah! how unlike himself when lately crown'd,
His splendid Court and Guards attending round!
Behold him with unseemly Fetters bound:
Too weak his Change of Fortune to sustain,
And scarce the Tracks of Majesty remain:
See the Chaldean Monarch sternly stand
On his proud Throne, his Scepter in his Hand,
The trembling Captives brought at his Command:
The Fathers Eyes his Children's Slaughter view,
The last sad Office they must ever do;
Then roll'd in Blood their Orbs forsake the Light,
And set in Darkness and eternal Night:
From thence they to a Dungeon him convey,
Now equal with the brightest Noon of Day:
His Life the Victor's cruel Mercy spares,
His hated Life he there in hopeless Thraldom wears.
