Part of the Fifth Scene in the Second Act of Athalia , a Tragedy , written in French by Monsieur Racine . Enter , as in the Temple of Jerusalem , ATHALIA , MATHAN , ABNER . Mathan . WHY , to our Wonder , in this Place is seen , Thus discompos'd , and alter'd , Juda's Queen ? May we demand , what Terrors seize your Breast , Or , why your Steps are to this House addrest , Where your unguarded Person stands expos'd To secret Foes , within its Walls inclos'd ? Can it be thought that you remit that Hate ? Athalia . No more ! but Both observe what I relate : Not , that I mean ( recalling Times of Blood ) To make you Judges of the Paths I trod , When to the empty'd Throne I boldly rose , Treating all Intercepters as my Foes . 'Twas Heav'ns Decree , that I should thus succeed , Whose following Favour justifies the Deed , Extending my unlimited Command From Sea to Sea o'er the obedient Land : Whilst your Jerusalem all Peace enjoys , Nor now th' encroaching Philistine destroys , Nor wandring Arab his Pavilion spreads , Near Jordan's Banks , nor wastes his flow'ry Meads . The great Assyrian , Terror of your Kings , Who bought his Friendship with their holiest Things , Yields that a Sister , of his pow'rful Race , Should sway these Realms , and dignify the Place . Nor need we add the late insulting Foe , The furious Jehu does this Sceptre know , And sinks beneath the Load of conscious Fears , When in Samaria he my Actions hears . Distrest by Foes , which I've against him rais'd , He sees me unmolested , six'd , and pleas'd ; At least , till now thus glorious was my State ; But something's threatned from relaxing Fate , And the last Night , which shou'd have brought me Rest , Has all these great Ideas dispossest . A Dream , a Vision , an apparent View Of what , methinks , does still my Steps pursue , Hangs on my pensive Heart , and bears it down More than the weight of an objected Crown , My Mother ( be the Name with Rev'rence spoke ! ) Ere chearful Day thro' horrid Shades had broke , Approach'd my Bed , magnificent her Dress , Her Shape , her Air did Jesabel confess : Nor seem'd her Face to have refus'd that Art , Which , in despight of Age , does Youth impart , And which she practis'd , scorning to decay , Or to be vanquish'd ev'n in Nature's way . Thus all array'd , in such defying Pride As when th' injurious Conqu'ror she descry'd , And did in height of Pow'r for ill-got Pow'r deride . To me she spake , these Accents to me came : " Thou worthy Daughter of my soaring Fame , " Tho' with a more transcendent Spirit fill'd , " Tho' struggling Pow'rs attempt thy Life to shield , " The Hebrew's God ( Oh , tremble at the sound ! ) " Shall Thee and Them , and all their Rights confound . A pitying Groan concludes , no Word of Aid . My Arms I thought to throw about the Shade Of that lov'd Parent , but my troubled Sight No more directed them to aim aright , Nor ought presented , but a heap of Bones , For which fierce Dogs contended on the Stones , With Flakes of mangled Flesh , that quiv'ring still Proclaim'd the Freshness of the suffer'd Ill ; Distain'd with Blood the Pavement , and the Wall , Appear'd as in that memorable Fall — Abner . [ aside . Oh ! just avenging Heaven ! — Mathan . Sure , Dreams like these , are for Prevention given .