| |
| THY beauty, Israel, is fled, | |
| Sunk to the dead; | |
| How are the valiant fallen! the slain | |
| Thy mountains stain. | |
| O, let it not in Gath be known, | 5 |
| Nor in the streets of Ashkelon. | |
| |
| Lest that sad story should excite | |
| Their dire delight! | |
| Lest in the torrent of our woe | |
| Their pleasure flow; | 10 |
| Lest their triumphant daughters ring | |
| Their cymbals, and their pæans sing. | |
| |
| Yon hills of Gilboa, never may | |
| You offerings pay; | |
| No morning dew, nor fruitful showers, | 15 |
| Clothe you with flowers: | |
| Saul and his arms there made a spoil, | |
| As if untouched with sacred oil. | |
| |
| The bow of noble Jonathan | |
| Great battles won; | 20 |
| His arrows on the mighty fed, | |
| With slaughter red. | |
| Saul never raised his arm in vain, | |
| His sword still glutted with the slain. | |
| |
| How lovely! O, how pleasant! when | 25 |
| They lived with men! | |
| Than eagles swifter, stronger far | |
| Than lions are; | |
| Whom love in life so strongly tied, | |
| The stroke of death could not divide. | 30 |
| |
| Sad Israel’s daughters, weep for Saul; | |
| Lament his fall, | |
| Who fed you with the earth’s increase, | |
| And crowned with peace; | |
| With robes of Tyrian purple decked, | 35 |
| And gems which sparkling light reflect. | |
| |
| How are thy worthies by the sword | |
| Of war devoured! | |
| O Jonathan! the better part | |
| Of my torn heart! | 40 |
| The savage rocks have drunk thy blood: | |
| My brother! O, how kind! how good! | |
| |
| Thy love was great; O, never more | |
| To man man bore! | |
| No woman when most passionate | 45 |
| Loved at that rate! | |
| How are the mighty fallen in fight! | |
| They and their glory, set in night! | |
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