Graham's Magazine Vol XXXIII No. 4 October 1848

Under her rule Palmyra's fortunes rose
To an unequalled altitude, and wealth
Flowed in upon her like a golden sea,
Her wide dominion, stretching from the Nile
To the far Euxine and Euphrates' flood —
Her active commerce, whose expanded range
Monopolized the trade of all the East —
Her stately capital, whose towers and domes
Vied with proud Rome in architectural grace —
Her own aspiring aims and high renown —
All breathed around the Asiatic queen
An atmosphere of greatness, and betrayed
Her bold ambition, and her rivalry
With the imperial mistress of the world.

But 't is the gaudiest flower is soonest plucked;
The sturdiest oak first feels the builder's axe.
Palmyra's rising greatness had awaked
The jealousy of Rome, and Fortune looked
On her prosperity with envious eye.
Under the golden eagles of the empire,
Aurelian's soldiers swept the thirsty sands,
And poured into Palmyra's palmy plains,
A mighty host hot for the battle-field.
Borne on her gallant steed, the warrior queen
The conflict sought, and led her eager troops
Into the stern encounter. Like the storm
Of their own desert plain, innumerable,
They rushed upon the foe, and courted danger.
Amid the serried ranks, whose steel array
Glowed in the noonday sun, and threw a flood
Of wavy sheen into the fragrant air,
Zenobia rode; and, like an angry spirit,
Commissioned from above to chastise men,
Where'er she moved was death. There was a flash
Of scorn that lighted up her fiery eye,
A glance of wrath upon her countenance —
There was a terror in her frenzied arm
That struck dismay into the boldest heart.
Alas for her, Fortune was unpropitious!
Her fearless valor found an overmatch
In the experienced prudence of Aurelian;
And scarcely could the desert's hardy sons
Cope with the practiced legions of the empire.
The battle gained, Palmyra taken, sacked —
Its queen a captive, hurled from off a throne,
Stripped of her wide possessions, forced to sue
In humblest attitude for even life —
The haughty victor led his weary legions
Back to Italia's shores, and in his train
His fallen rival, loaded with chains of gold,
Forged from the bullion of her treasury.

'Twas holyday in Rome. The morning sun,
Emerging from the palace-crested hills
Of the Campagna, poured a flood of light
Upon the slumbering city, summoning
Its teeming thousands to the festival.
A playful breeze, rich-laden with perfume
From groves of orange, gently stirred the leaves,
And curled the ripples on the Tiber's breast,
Bearing to seaward o'er the flowery plain
The rising peans' joyful melodies.
Flung to the wind, high from the swelling dome
That crowned the Capitol, the imperial banner,
Broidered with gold and glittering with gems,
Unfurled its azure field; and, as it caught
The sunbeams and flashed down upon the throng
That filled the forum, there arose a shout
Deep as the murmur of the cataract.
In that spontaneous outburst of applause
Rome spoke; and as the echo smote the hills
It woke the slumbering memory of a time
When Rome was free.

A trumpet from the walls
Proclaimed the day's festivities begun.
Preceded by musicians and sweet singers,
A long procession passed the city-gate,
And, traversing the winding maze of streets,
Climbed to the Capitol. Choice victims, dressed
With pictured ornaments and wreaths of flowers,
An offering to the tutelary gods,
Led the advance. Then followed spoils immense,
Baskets of jewels, vases of wrought gold,
Paintings and statuary, cloths and wares,
Of costliest manufacture, close succeeded
By the rich symbols of Palmyra's glory,
Torn from her temples and her palaces,
To grace a triumph in the streets of Rome.
With toilsome step next walked the captive queen;
And then the victor, in his car of state,
With milk-white horses of Thessalian breed,
And in his retinue a splendid train
Of Rome's nobility. In one long line
The army last appeared in bright array,
With banners high displayed, filling the air
With songs of victory. The pageant proud
Quickened remembrance of departed days,
And warmed the bosoms of the multitude