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The Cities of Old.
By Harriet Annie Wilkins
Cities and men, and nations, have passed by,
Like leaves upon an autumn's dreary sky;
Like chaff upon the ocean billow proud,
Like drops of rain on summer's fleecy cloud;
Like flowers of a wilderness,
Vanished into forgetfulness.
O! Nineveh, thou city of young Ashur's pride,
With thy strong towers, and thy bulwarks wide;
Ah! while upon thee splashed the Tigris' waters,
How little thought thy wealth-stored sons and daughters,
That Cyaxerses and his troops should wait
Three long years before thy massive gate;
Then Medes and Persians, by the torches' light,
Should ride triumphantly thy streets by night;
And from creation banish thee,
O! Nineveh. O! Nineveh.
And country of the pride of Mizriam's heart,
With pyramids that speak thy wealth and art,
Why is it that no minstrel comes, who sings
Of all the glory of thy shepherd kings?
Tyre, why are thy walls in ruins thus?
Why is thy name so seldom spoke by us?
Sidon, among the nations thou art fled,
Thy joy departed and thy glory dead;
Far gone ere all thy generations,
Fallen nations! Fallen nations!
And Babylon, with all thy thronging bands,
The glory of Chaldea's ancient lands;
Thy temple, where a numerous host was seen,
Thy gardens hung to please the Midian queen;
Where beauteous flowers smiled on their terrace beds,
Proud kings have passed through thee, and crowned heads;
And grandeur and magnificence could view
In thee a resting place--thy stores not few;
Why is it thou art all alone?
O! Babylon. O! Babylon.
And Greece, who shone in literature and might,
When Marathon's broad plains saw sword and fight;
Thy monumental ruins stand alone,
Decay has breathed upon thy sculptured stone
And desolation walks thy princely halls,
The green branch twines around thy olden walls;
And ye who stood the ten years' siege of Troy,
Time's fingers now your battlements annoy;
Why is it that thy glories cease?
O! Classic Greece. O! Classic Greece!
And thou, best city of olden time,
O! we might weep for thee, once chosen clime.
City, where Solomon his temple reared,
City, where gold and silver stores appeared;
City, where priest and prophet lowly knelt,
City, where God in mortal flesh once dwelt.
Titus, and Roman soldiers, laid thee low,
The music in thy streets has ceased to flow;
Yet wilt thou not return in joy once more,
And Lebanon give up her cedar store?
And vines and olives smile as now they smile,
Yet not upon the ruin of a holy pile;
Wilt thou Destruction's flood not stem?
Jerusalem! Jerusalem!
Cities and men, and nations, have gone by,
Like leaves upon an Autumn's dreary sky;
Like chaff upon the ocean billow proud,
Like drops upon the summer's passing cloud;
Like flowers of a wilderness,
Vanished into forgetfulness.
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