The Sun.
London, England, 1822-10-23 00:00:00

POETRY.

PALMYRA :—A POEM,
Which obtained the Chancellor's Medal at the late Cambridge
Commencement, 1822.
By J ()RN HENRY BRIGHT, St. John's College.

__,......_
TIME, like a mighty river, deep and strong,
In sullen silence rolls his tide along ;
And all that now upborne upon the wave
Ride swiftly on—the monarch and the slave,
Shall sink at last beneath the whelming stream,
And all that once was life become a dream!

Go—look on Greece ! her glories long have fled,
Her ancient spirit slumbers with the dead;
Deaf to the call of freedom and of fame
Her sons are Greeks in nothing but the name !*
On Tiber's banks beneath their native sky
The sad remains of Roman greatness lie;
No longer there the lisening crowds admire
The swelling tones of Virgil's epic lyre.
Nor conq'ring Cwsar holds resistless sway
O'er realms extended to the rising day.
Yet still to these shall fancy fondly turn;
Still bid the laurel bloom on Maro's urn ;
From Brutus' dagger sweep the gath'ring rust,
And call his spirit from it's aged dust ;
What tho' each busy scene has ceas'd to live,
It has the charms poetic numbers give ;
And ever fresh asages roll along,
Revives and brightens in the light of song—
At summer eve when every sound is still,
And day-light fades upon the western hill,
And o'er the blue unfathomable way
Heav'n's starry host in cloudless beauty stray ;
What holy joys enamour'd fancy feels
As all the past upon the mem'ry steals !
How soft the tints, how pensive, how sublime,
Each image borrows from the touch of time !
Such winning grace the beauteous vision wears
Seen through the twilight of a thousand years !
Then welcome thou, the subject of my song,
Since to the past such heav'nly charms belong ;
Won by the scenes, from all that now appears
My Muse shall turn, and dream of other years
Turn from the sad realities of fate,
The past revive, the present uncreate,
And from thy modern learn thine ancient state.
What boundless charms thy lovely features grace,
O thou the mother of the human race,
Majestic Asia! to the straining eye
Ten thousand prospects far extended lie ;
Thine ample plains with varied beauty please,
Once the bright seats of opulence and ease;
Thy mountain-heights with striking grandeur rise,
Veiled in dark clouds or lost in amber skies,
While bursting floods from, thund'ring caverns pour
Their foaming tides with loud and angry roar ;
Then lost in distance lave the sunny plains
IVhere beauty smiles, and peaceful pleasure reigns.
Full in the centre, tow'ring through the storm,
See cloudy Taurus lift his rugged form,
Monarch of mountains ! nature's awful throne,
Where grandeur frowns in terrors all his own;
Deep-rooted there unnumber'd cedars throw
Their giant shadows on the plains below;
There loudly gushing from the mountain's side
Euphrates rolls his dark and rapid tide,
Then tar beneath glides silently away
Through groves of palm and champaigns everigay.
But as these scenes of sunny calm delight
Recede at length and vanish from the sight,
What barren solitudes of scorching sand
Deform and desolate the fainting land !
No fresh'ning breeze revives the lifeless air,
No living waters sweetly murmur there,
Dry fevers kindle pestilential tires
All nature droops, and with'ring life expires !
But deep embosoin'd in that sandy plain,
Like distant isles emerging from the main,
A radiant spot with loveliest beauty crown'd
Once blouni'd in contrast with the scenes around,
By nature's lavish hand profusely grac'd,
The blessed Eden of the joyless waste.
On ev'ry side luxuriant palm-trees grew,
And hence it's name the rising city drew,
And tho' their loveliness has pass'd away,
The name still lives, and triumphs o'er decay.
Two shelt'ring hills precipitously swell
On either hand, and form a narrow dell :
Thence to the east? with undulating bend,
Wide and more wide their spreading arms extend,
Then sink at last with slow retiring sweep,
Like distant head-lands sloping to the deep.—
Outstretcht within upon the silent plains
Lies the sad wreck of Tadmor's last remains,
Outliving still through each succeeding age
The tempest's fury, and the bigot's rage.
He wants no written record who surveys
But one short hour this scene of other days.
These mould'ring piles that sink in slow decay,
In stronger characters the tale convey,
Than e'er were trac'd by man's divinest art,
These speak in simple language to the heart.
Far to the south what scenes of ruin lie,
What sad confusion opens on the eye !
There shatter'd columns swell, a giant train,
Line after line along the crowded plain,
'The loosen'd arch, the roofless colonnade
Where mil-day crowds iinbib'd the cooling shade.
"Pis sweet at eve to climb some rocky steep
Around whose base the peaceful billows sleep,
And view a summer's sun sink down to rest
Behind the mountains of the gorgeous west,
One maze of dazzling glory ; while below
The ocean-waves with trembling radiance glow.
But sweeter far at ev'ning's solemn hour
From the dun battlements of yon rude tow'r
To see his parting splendours sadly blaze
Around this grave of long-forgotten days !
Mark those bright beams ! how mourntblly they shine
Through the still courts of yon deserted shrine,
The sun's proud temple once, whose aged piles
Still fondly catch his first and latest smiles !
Here Desolation cease—thy task is done
Palmyra yields--thy triumph is begun.
O'er prostrate sculpture raise thy giant throne,
Build here at length an empire all thine own.
Swept by the might of thy destroying arm
Her noblest work is reft of ev'ry charm,
Save that alone whose transitory gleam
Gilds the soft scenes of Fancy's pictur'd dream.
At her command from dark oblivion's gloom
Past scenes return and brighter shapes assume ;
Things that have ceas'd to be she moulds anew
And pours her own creation on the view ;
In rapid train her fleeting visions rise,
As lights that gleam in Hyperborean skies,
E'en as she dwells on this deserted fane
It's pomp revives, it's glories live again ;
The victim bleeds, the golden altars blaze,
Symphonious voices swell the note of praise;
Hark ! what loud tumult rends the echoing skies ?
" Awake--awake, lead up the sacrifice ;
" The hour is come—the dim nocturnal fires
" Are fading in the blue—lo, night expires !
" The morning star with pale and dewy ray
" Proclaims the triumph of the King of Day.
" Awake—away—ye slumb'ring crowds; arise,
" Come forth, and join the pomp of sacrifice."
And 10, he comes ! triumphant in his might
One blazing orb of unexhausted light.
Ten thousand glories all around him wait,
His ever-flaming Ministers of State;

' This elegant and animated Poem was obviously written
before the present race of Greeks had so nobly endeavoured to
throw off the chains of Turkish Despotism, and risen in a
cause which the civilized world must anxiously hope to see
finally rewarded with triumphant success. We sincerely re-
gret, that we had not an earlier opportunity of`mating this
beautiful and interesting effusion of taste, learning, and genius.
Reading this admirable Poem, we cannot but tkel.surprize,
that the name of the Author has not arisen high4r.tliari that of
many modern Bards, who have attained an eXtraeaixiary share
of extraordinary popularity.

Ten thousand nations hail him with delight
Bath'd in the golden tide of ever-flowing light.
Hark ! as he rises o'er the middle way
Thron'd in the fulness of unclouded day,
What sounds of joy, what echoing clamours rise
Peal after peal, and rattle in the skies !
" Give way, ye crowds—unbar the gates of brass—
" Give way, ye crowds, and let the triumph pass."
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 ;—as 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 !
It could not be ! those accents long have fled, •
Joy, feeling, language dwell not with the dead,
Here undisturb'd upon the voiceless plains
The long dull calm of desolation reigns.
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 intervals sonic falling block
Sinks on the plain with harsh-resounding shock,
The slumb'ring desart feels the hollow sound
And startled echoes answer all around. _

Is this the scene, so 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 butt
Descend and mingle with their native dust ;
No half-disfigured line remains to tell
How much lamented merit liv'd and felt!
Once lovely scene ! along thy mould'ring piles
Though ruin frowns, yet beauty sadly smiles ;
Some rays of former glory linger yet
In twilight radiance, though thy sun is set !
But say, 0 say, who rightly may disclose
From what first cause thine infant greatness rose ;
Who first begun, by what contrivance plac'd
These splendid piles amid a desart waste ?
One little stream, around whose bubbling head
Umbrageous palms refreshing coolness shed,
First gave thd cause from which their glory came,
Palmyra's strength, magnificence, and fame.
A thousand tribes by distant commerce led
Soon pour'd their treasures round that fountain-head,
Pass'd and repass'd through all the sandy plain
From broad Euphrates to the western main,—
The rising mart to strength and splendour 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
Forget 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'er 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 li. av'nly fire,
Bade thy free sons to worthiest hopes aspire,
Live unsubdued, and equally disdain
To wear the victor's as the despot's chain.
Such were the souls that o'er the proud array
Of banner'd Persia scatter'd wild dismay.
Far 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 his ignominious flight.
Then, lovely city, what rejoicing roves,
What songs of triumph from thy palmy groves—
What altar's 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 proud triumph slowly moved along ! !
Such was thy glory once ! a transient gleam
Of brightest sunshine—a delusive dream !
Most like the pageant of thy festal day
It charmed a little while ; then pass'd away !
Or like those varying tints of living light
That gild at eve the portals of the night ;
Alps pil'd on Alps, a glorious prospect rise
Ten thouiand phantoms skirt the glowing skies,
But as we gaze the splendid vision fades,
Lost in the gloom of night's obscurer shades—
() doom'd to fall ! while yet indulgent fate
A few bright years prolongs thy fleeting 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 loveliest light
Gild the dark clouds of thine approaching night.
For tho' the beams of truth's historic page
But faintly gleam through each successive age ;
Though her recording annals briefly tell
How Tadnior rose, by what disaster fell,
One name at least survives the wreck of time
From age to age extends, from clime to clime.
Oh if departed glory 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 emblazon'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 along 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 prevailed.
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 splendours round her sinking head.
Where was Zenobia then ?—what inward pow'r
Rul'd all her spirit in that awful hour?
Could Rome, tithe 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'd in 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 queen—let deepest silence tell ! !
Ye who the faults of others mildly scan,
Who know perfection was not made for man,
In pity pause-0 be not too severe,
But o'er Zenobia's wgakness drop a tear.
Turn from the scene of her disastrous fate,
The wrongs that mark'd her last embitter'd state,
Anti 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.

THE ARMY.

MILITARY RECORD
OE LIEUTENANT-GENERAL WILLIAM T. LEGER.
Late Lieut.-Colonel of the 24th Dragoon:.

This Officer entered the service in 1775, at the age of 16, and
sailed soon after in the Triton frigate, for Boston, which, after
encountering very tempestuous weather for several weeks, and
losing 40 seamen, by a putrid fever, was obliged to put back,
with the loss of all her masts, to Plymouth.
He sailed a second time in 1776, for America, joined the
17th Light Dragoons as Cornet,. and served with his regiment
the five following campaigns, under the commanl of Sir IV.
Howe and Sir H. Clinton.

After serving in the expedition to Danbury, in New Eng-
land, under the command of Major-General Tyron and Sir
W. Erskine, whose joint approbation he received ; having re-
peatedly charged the enemy with the small detachment which,
as Cornet, he commanded,--he obtained, by purchase, on 13th
April, 1779, a Lieutenantcy in the 17th Light Dragoons.
He was promoted, in 1780, to a Company in the 86th (or
Royal County Down) Regiment of Foot, and proceeded im-
mediately to join his Regiment in the West Indies, where he
remained for three years. When peace with France was con-
cluded, he then returned to England, and purchased a Troop
in his former Regiment, the 17th Light Dragoons.
Captain St. Leger purchased, in 1789, a Majority in the 6th
Dragoon Guards, which had been so converted from one of the
Regiments of Horse then in Ireland.
He was appointed Lieutenant-Colonel of the 93d (Highland)
Regiment in 1793; and, in 1794, the Earl of Westmoreland,
then Lord lieutenant of Ireland, who had witnessed the exer-
tions of Major St. Leger with the 6th Dragoon Guards, granted
him a letter of service, under which he raised a Dragoon Regi-
ment (the late 31st), in little more than three months, without
levy money; and, on the reduction of that Regiment, he was
appointed to the) Lieutenant-Colonelcy of the 2,th (now 24th)
Light Dragoons, which he joined eight maths after, in the
East Indies.

The public records in that country speak highly of his ser-
vices, particularly under the command of the late Lord Lake,
where he commanded the British and Native Cavalry for a con-
siderable length of time—in the affairs of Coel and Allyghur,
and at the taking of Agra. After the battle of Delhi, Colonel
St. Leger received the particular thanks, in public orders, of
the Commander-in-Chief, Lord Lake, in consequence of having
repeatedly charged the enemy at the head of his own brigade,
and lost in killed and wounded 100 men, and 200 horses.—
The loss, however, of the enemy by our cavalry was very con-
siderable.

Colonel St. Leger commanded the cavalry at the sieges of
Sarsney, Cachoura, and Bidgaghur and remained in the coni-
mand of it till his return to England in 1804.
He was appointed a Major-General on the 25th September,
1803, and placed on the Staff in this country in 1804.
In 1307 he returned to India, where he also served on the
Staff as Major-General, and remained in that situation till his
return to Europe in 1811 as Lieutenant-General (which Com-
mission was dated 25th Oct:. 1809), having commanded the army
in the field during the time of his stay, and the army of Ben-
gal for ten months, during the absence of the Commander-in-
Chief. He died in 1818.

The Ist division of the 26th (Cameronian) Re-
giment of Foot, under the command of Lieut.-Colonel H. Og-
lander, arrived on the 17th instant at the Cove of Cork, on
board the Success transport, from Gibraltar.
The 43d (or Monmouthshire) Regiment of Foot, General
J. F. Lord Howden, G. C. B. and K.C. Colonel, sailed lately
from Cork for Gibraltar, for the purpose of relieving the 26th
Regiment.

The Zephyr transport has been ordered to convey the DepOt
of the 26th Regiment from Cowes to Cork, and to bring
back the DepOt of the 43d Regiment from Cork to the Isle of
Wight. _ _ _

Asquadron of the Ist Regiment of Life Guards will arrive
to-day at Brighton, from Windsor, from which latter place it
marched on Monday last, the 21st instant.
Two squadrons and the Head-quarters of the 3d Light Dra-
goons will arrive to-day and to-morrow, at Chichester Barracks
from Brighton.
The above two squadrons will be replaced at Brighton by
two squadrons of the Ist Regiment of Life Guards.
One troop of the 14th Light Dragoons arrived at Coventry
from Loughborough, on Saturday last, the 19th instant.

Commissions in the Leicestershire Yeomanry Cavalry, signed
by the Lord Lieutenant of the County of Leicester.
Cornet John Sherrard Coleman, to be Lieutenant. Edward
Basil Farnham, Gent. to be Cornet.