The voices of the worshippers are suddenly hushed, for upon yon distant hills, to the northward, is the glitter of armor; and see, the heights are now all covered with a dense array of the legions of Rome. Their leader comes here to reconnoitre, and from this mountain looks down upon the glorious city.
“It must be—
And yet it moves me, Romans! it confounds
The counsels of my firm philosophy,
That Ruin’s merciless ploughshare must pass o’er,
And barren salt be sown on yon proud city.
As on our olive-crowned hill we stand,
Where Kedron at our feet its scanty waters
Distils from stone to stone with gentle motion,
As through a valley sacred to sweet Peace.