From the last hill that looks on thy once holy dome, <br />I beheld thee, oh Sion! when render'd to Rome: <br />'Twas thy last sun went down, and the flames of thy fall <br />Flash'd back on the last glance I gave to thy wall. <br /> <br />I look'd for thy temple, I look'd for my home, <br />And forgot for a moment my bondage to come; <br />I beheld but the death-fire that fed on thy fane, <br />And the fast-fetter'd hands that made vengeance in vain. <br /> <br />Oh many an eve, the high spot whence I gazed <br />Had reflected the last beam of day as it blazed; <br />While I stood on the height, and beheld the decline <br />Of the rays from the mountain that shone on thy shrine. <br /> <br />And now on that mountain I stood on that day, <br />But I mark'd not the twilight beam melting away; <br />Oh! would that the lightning had glared in its stead, <br />And the thunderbolt burst on the conqueror's head! <br /> <br />But the gods of the Pagan shall never profane <br />The shrine where Jehovah disdain'd not to reign; <br />And scatter'd and scorn'd as thy people may be, <br />Our worship, oh Father! is only for thee.<br /><br />George Gordon Byron<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-the-day-of-the-destruction-of-jerusalem-by-titus/
