| |
| THE SUN of the morning looked forth from his throne | |
| And beamed on the face of the dead and the dying, | |
| For the yell and the strife, like the thunder, had flown, | |
| And red on Gilboa the carnage was lying. | |
| |
| And there lay the husband that lately was prest | 5 |
| To the beautiful cheek that was tearless and ruddy, | |
| But the claws of the eagle were fixed in his breast | |
| And the beak of the vulture was busy and bloody. | |
| |
| And there lay the son of the widowed and sad, | |
| Who yesterday went from her dwelling forever, | 10 |
| Now the wolf of the hills a sweet carnival had | |
| On the delicate limbs that had ceased not to quiver. | |
| |
| And there came the daughter, a delicate child, | |
| To hold up the head that was breathless and hoary, | |
| And there came the maiden, all frantic and wild | 15 |
| To kiss the loved lips that were gasping and gory. | |
| |
| And there came the consort that struggled in vain | |
| To stem the red tide of a spouse that bereft her, | |
| And there came a mother that sunk ’mid the slain | |
| To weep o’er the last human stay that was left her. | 20 |
| |
| Oh! bloody Gilboa, a curse ever lie | |
| Where the king and his people were slaughtered together, | |
| May the dew and the rain leave thy herbage to die, | |
| Thy flocks to decay and thy forests to wither. | |
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