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George Gordon Byron - From The Last Hill That Looks On Thy Once Holy Dome
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I.
From the last hill that looks on thy once holy dome, 
I beheld thee, Oh Sion! when rendered to Rome: 
`Twas thy last sun went down, and the flames of thy fall 
Flash`d back on the last glance I gave to thy wall. 

II.
I look`d for thy temple, I look`d for my home, 
And forgot for a moment my bondage to come; 
I beheld but the death-fire that fed on thy fane, 
And the fast-fetter`d hands that made vengeance in vain. 

III.
Oh many an eve, the high spot whence I gazed 
Had reflected the last beam of day as it blazed; 
While I stood on the height, and beheld the decline 
Of the rays from the mountain that shone on thy shrine. 

IV.
And now on that mountain I stood on that day, 
But I marked not the twilight beam melting away; 
Oh! would that the lightning had glared in its stead, 
And the thunderbolt burst on the conqueror`s head! 

V.
But the Gods of the Pagan shall never profane 
The shrine where Jehovah disdain`d not to reign; 
And scattered and scorn`d as thy people may be, 
Our worship, oh Father! is only for thee.
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