1822.] 
So when around some bold and rocky shore, 
Old Ocean beats with unrelenting roar ; 
Onward and onward roll the length’ning waves, 
Then, swelling, dash upon the yawning caves, 
far, far away, the cavern’d cliffs resound, 
And mountain-echoes thunder back the sound. 
The day moves on jas ev’ning shades advance, 
Some weave the song, while others lead the dance ; 
From hill and vale resounding through the sky, 
Breaks the full chorus of harmonious joy. 
Those thrilling notes! they seem to linger still— 
Then sweetly die away o’er yon deserted hill. 
Itcould not be! those accents long have fled,— 
Joy, feeling, language, dwell not with the dead. 
Here, undisturb’d, upun the voiceless plains 
The long dull calin of desolation reizns. 
Here ruin builds her adamantine throne, 
And silence slumbers on each mould’ring stone. 
Where once the hum of thronging nations rose, 
No sound disturbs the solemn deep repose, 
Save the lone Arab, idly passing by, 
With reckless soul and unregarding eye ; 
Save when at intervalssome falling block 
Sinks onthe plain with harsh-resounding shock, 
The slumb’ring desart drinks the hollow sound, 
And startled echoes answer all around. 
Is this the scene, su desolate and wild, 
Where noblest arts in bright perfection smil’d ! 
Where Commerce emptied all her richest stores, 
The nameless treasures of a thousand shores? 
Is this the scene where Freedom’s purest flame 
Led toiling nations in the path of fame? 
Their strife has ceas’d, their noise has died away, 
Their very tombs are sinking in decay : 
The sculptur’d monument, the marble bust, 
Descend and mingle with their native dust ; 
No half-disfigur’d line remains to tell 
How much lamented merit liv’d and fell. 
Once lovely scene! along thy mould’ring piles 
Tho’ ruin frowns, yet beauty sadly smiles; 
Some rays of former glory linger yet 
In twilight radiance, tho’ thy sun isset. 
But say, O say, who rightly may disclose 
From what first cause thine infant greatness rose; 
Who first begun, by whatcontrivance plac’d, 
These splendid piles amid a desert waste? 
One little 'stream,—around whose bubbling head 
Umbrageous palms refreshing coolness shed, 
First gave the cause from which their glory caine, 
Palmyra’s strength, magnificence,and fame. 
A thousand tribes, by distant commerce led, : 
Soon Herta their treasures round that fountain- 
ead ; 
Pass’d and Tepass’d through all the sandy plain, 
From broad Euphrates to the western main,— 
The rising mart to strength and splendor came, 
Tho’ small at first,and grew a mighty name. 
Thence o’er the Roman world, with swelling sail, 
Proud commerce sprung before the fresh’ning gale, 
And Tyrian ships to ev’ry port convey’d 
The boundless treasures of Assyrian trade, 
E’en Rome herself, at sight of Eastern gold, 
Forgot the lessons taught her sons of old ; 
Plung’d in the gulph of ostentatious pride, 
She deeply drank th’ intoxicating tide ; 
Through ev’ry nerve the vital poison ran, 
And Goths achiev’d what luxury began. 
Thou Eden of the desert! lovely smil’d 
Thy matchless beauty o’er the lonely wild; 
’Mid barren solitudes securely plac’d, 
Thy native bulwark the surrounding waste, 
Tho’ loud and harsh the tumult roar’d without 
Of Rome triumphant and the Parthian: rout, 
Peace o’et thy plains her downy pinions spread, 
And twin’d the olive for thy blooming head; 
Taste, learning, genius, triumph’d in her reign, 
And guardian Freedom bless’d the sister train. 
Thrice glorious Freedom! on whose hallow’d shrine 
Burns ever bright the patriot flame divine, 
She, great preceptress, warm with heavenly fire, 
Bade thy free sons to worthiest hopes aspire, 
Live unsubdued, and equally disdain 
To wear the victor’s as the despot’s chain, 
Sach were the souls thato’er the proud array 
Of banner’d Persia seatter’d wild dismay. 
Par in the East, with loud redoubled roll, 
The tumult burst upon the tyrant’s soul. 
Confusion seiz’d his host, and pallid fright 
Mark’d with disgrace hisignominious flight. 
Then, lovely city, what rejoicings rose— 
What songs of triumph from thy palmy groves— 
Mr. Bright's Cambridge Prize Poem. 
47 
What altars blaz’d—what clouds of incense roll’d 
Their rich perfume around thy shrines of gold— 
What bursts of rapture echoed from the throng 
As the proudtriumph slowly moved along. 
Such was thy glory once! a transjent gleam 
Of brightest sunshine—a delusive dream, 
Most like the pageant of thy festal day, 
It charm’d a little while; then pass’d away, 
Or like those varying-tints of living lighf 
That gild at eve the portals of the night; 
Alps poe on Alps, 2 glorious prospect rise, 
Ten thousand phantoms skirt the glowing skies : 
But as we gaze the splendid vision fades, 
Lost in the gloom of night’s obscurer shades. 
O doom’d to fall! while yetindulgent fate 
A few bright years prolongs thy flceting date, 
Thy name shall triumph, and thy laurels bloom, 
Ere yet they languish in sepulchral gloom. 
And as the breathless pause that oft portends 
The rising tempest ere the storm descends, 
Thus at the close shall glory’s loveliestlight — 
Gild the dark clouds of thine approaching night. 
For tho’ the beams of truth’s historic page 
But faintly gleam through each successive age, 
Tho’ her recording annais briefly tell 
How Tadmor rose, by what disaster fell, 
One name at least survives the wreck of time, 
From age to age extends, from clime toclime. 
Oh! if departed g'ory claims a tear, 
Let mem’ry pause, and kindly drop it here. 
If fond reflection ever loves to dwell 
On those last scenes where royal greatness fell, 
Thy reign, Zenobia, and thy deathless name, 
Shall live embiazon’d on the roll of fame; 
Adorn the poet’s most romantic dream, 
Fire all his soul, and be his moral theme. 
At length drew nigh th’ inexorable hour 
Charg’d with the stroke of Rome’s destroying pow’r; 
In dread array aleng the Syrian coast 
Mov’d the full strength of her invading host, 
Wide o’er the champaign, like a baleful star, 
Blaz’d the proud standard of imperial war; 
Perch’d.on the top, the bird of conquest shone, 
With glittering wings expanded to the sun. 
Yet all undaunted stood the warrior-queen, 
Foremost and bravest in the battle-scene. 
Quick at her word, fast binding man with man, 
Through ev’ry rank electric vigour ran. 
Not such the valour of the beauteous maid, 
Whose conq’ring steel proud Ilion’s fate delay’d; 
Not such in arms the virgin warriors shone, 
Who drank thy waters, limpid Thermodon. 
Fair idol of the virtuous and the brave, 
Great were thine efforts—but they could not save. 
Twice on the plain the dubious conflict burn’d, 
Twice to the charge the struggling hosts return’d, 
’Till at the close, where open valour fail’d, 
Art won the day, and stratagem prevail’d. 
Thus the proud seat of science and of arms, 
In the full promise of her rip’ning charms, 
Palmyra fell !—art, glory, freedom shed 
Their dying splendors round her sinking head. 
Where was Zenobia tlien ?—what inward pow’r 
Rul’d all herspiritin that awfulhour? 
Could Rome, fierce Rome, the fire of valour tame, 
Shake the firm soul, or quench the patriot flame? 
Say, when destruction, black’ning all the air, 
Let loose the vulture-demons of despair, 
When Rome and havock swept the'sadd’ning plain, 
And Tadmor fell, when valour toil’din vain, 
Did she not then the gath’ring tempest brave, 
And with her country share one common grave? 
Oh,sad reverse! what future fate befel 
The captive queeh—let déepest silence tell. 
Ye who the faults of others mildly scan, 
Who know perfection was not made for man, 
In pity pause O be not too severe, 
But o’er Zenobia’s weakness dropa tear. 
Turn from the scene of her disastrous fate, 
The wrongs that matk’d her last embitter’d state, 
And see Longinus in his dying hour 
Spurn the fierce Roman, and defy his pow’r. 
In vain the tyrant roll’d his redd’ning eye, 
It aw’d not him who trembled not to die. 
To his sad friends he breath’d a last farewell, 
And Freedom triumph’d as her martyr fell, 
His daring soul, in death serenely great, 
Smil’d on the scene, and glory’d in her fate, 
Spread her glad wings, and steer’d her flight sublime 
Beyond the storms of nature and of time. a 
MODERN 
