XLVI.

But, ah, the town Isaiah’s voice recals When mourned the awful prophet Zion’s doom, With battering nations camped around her walls, Till flames devouring chase the midnight gloom. Wo to thee, Ariel, wo, gigantic tomb! The Lord of Hosts shall visit thee with storm And thunder;--vengeful fires thy pride consume, In gory dust is laid thy beauteous form, And as a dream of night thy agonies shall swarm!