 | Poems, on various subjects |  |
131
ON JEPHTHAH'S VOW,
TAKEN IN A LITERAL SENSE.
What sudden impulse rushes thro' the mind,
And gives that momentary wild resolve
Which seals the binding vow? Alas, poor man!
Blind to a dark futurity, yet rash
To mad extreme; why thus, with impious soul,
Throw up to Heav'n the edict of thy will;
Erase humility, and madly call
Events thy own, which may be born in woe?
And gives that momentary wild resolve
Which seals the binding vow? Alas, poor man!
Blind to a dark futurity, yet rash
To mad extreme; why thus, with impious soul,
Throw up to Heav'n the edict of thy will;
Erase humility, and madly call
Events thy own, which may be born in woe?
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Or what sad wretch dare lift th'accusing eye
To an insulted Deity, when torn
By dire effect, recoiling Nature feels
Those horrors he with loud presumption claim'd?
To an insulted Deity, when torn
By dire effect, recoiling Nature feels
Those horrors he with loud presumption claim'd?
O, Jephthah! the soft bosom melts for thee;
When stung with ardour 'mid the din of war,
Thy spirit panted for the wreath of glory,
Trembling, and eager, lest her trophies crown
The brow of Ammon's King. In blind despair
Thou bargain'dst with thy God. Ah, yet retract!
In vain! the vow is breath'd, and, awful, borne
Most rapidly to Heaven! Now the deep groan
Of dying foes reverb'rate on the ear
With pleasing horror. Israel's hero feels
Fresh inspiration from his ill-tim'd faith.
Dealing each stroke with death, the thirsty plain
Drinks deep of Ammonitish blood: their Chiefs
Yield with reluctance to the chance of war,
And murm'ring kiss the ground. The tawny slave,
With faithful arm, supports his dying Lord,
Heedless, in grief; while whizzing thro' the air
The arrow flies, which soon shall meet his heart.
'Tis come! See how it revels in the flood
That carries life away. Jephthah returns
With vict'ry nodding on his gaudy plume;
While his exulting troops, with ruthless foot,
Press out the soul, yet quiv'ring on the lip
Of Ammon's sons, disfigur'd in the dust.
When stung with ardour 'mid the din of war,
Thy spirit panted for the wreath of glory,
Trembling, and eager, lest her trophies crown
The brow of Ammon's King. In blind despair
Thou bargain'dst with thy God. Ah, yet retract!
In vain! the vow is breath'd, and, awful, borne
Most rapidly to Heaven! Now the deep groan
Of dying foes reverb'rate on the ear
With pleasing horror. Israel's hero feels
Fresh inspiration from his ill-tim'd faith.
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Drinks deep of Ammonitish blood: their Chiefs
Yield with reluctance to the chance of war,
And murm'ring kiss the ground. The tawny slave,
With faithful arm, supports his dying Lord,
Heedless, in grief; while whizzing thro' the air
The arrow flies, which soon shall meet his heart.
'Tis come! See how it revels in the flood
That carries life away. Jephthah returns
With vict'ry nodding on his gaudy plume;
While his exulting troops, with ruthless foot,
Press out the soul, yet quiv'ring on the lip
Of Ammon's sons, disfigur'd in the dust.
Hark! babb'ling Echo, riding on the blast,
Bears far the plaudit. Ammon, sunk in death,
Heeds not the sound: hush'd as the infant babe,
The Warriour slumbers in eternal rest.
Bears far the plaudit. Ammon, sunk in death,
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The Warriour slumbers in eternal rest.
Now Mizpeh's native spires salute the eye;
While Jephthah's bosom swells with glowing thought,
The soft parental rapture, fond embrace,
Kind gratulation, smile of filial love,
All form a deep impression; quick his soul
Dissolves in pleasing imag'ry. Arriv'd!
Behold his gates are widely thrown; the song
Of joy is louder, with the clarion shrill,
The cymbal, psalter, and the fav'rite harp.
While Jephthah's bosom swells with glowing thought,
The soft parental rapture, fond embrace,
Kind gratulation, smile of filial love,
All form a deep impression; quick his soul
Dissolves in pleasing imag'ry. Arriv'd!
Behold his gates are widely thrown; the song
Of joy is louder, with the clarion shrill,
The cymbal, psalter, and the fav'rite harp.
Hence, Jephthah! turn thine eye;—yet, yet prolong
The hour of Fate! for lo! thy daughter comes
Rich in the sweets of Innocence: ah, turn!
Nor meet the blooming maid. Unconscious she,
With fatal haste, now rushes to thy arms.
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Rich in the sweets of Innocence: ah, turn!
Nor meet the blooming maid. Unconscious she,
With fatal haste, now rushes to thy arms.
He droops! the soft sensation instant dies,
And awful terrors shake his inmost soul.
Swift from his brow, in anguish torn, he hurls
The laurel dearly won; yet, in his arms,
For one fond moment, clasps the tender maid.
And awful terrors shake his inmost soul.
Swift from his brow, in anguish torn, he hurls
The laurel dearly won; yet, in his arms,
For one fond moment, clasps the tender maid.
Short transport! Recollection blasts the scene.
He holds her from him; and with looks of woe,
In which the pangs of Pity, Love, and Death,
Alternately appear. He murmurs loud
Against assiduous Duty; wildly asks,
Why She, the first, to welcome Jephthah home?
He holds her from him; and with looks of woe,
In which the pangs of Pity, Love, and Death,
Alternately appear. He murmurs loud
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Why She, the first, to welcome Jephthah home?
Alas! the question freezes; these are sounds
Stern and unusual to her list'ning ear,
Which oft had hung on accents breath'd in love.
She stands amaz'd: her sire, with sighs, exclaims,
“Oh, thou hast brought me low! my soul desponds,
For I have pledg'd thee to the Lord of Hosts,
A victim to my conquest and ambition;
Yes, thou must die: the registers of Heav'n
Are ope'd, nor dare I trifle with my God.”
Stern and unusual to her list'ning ear,
Which oft had hung on accents breath'd in love.
She stands amaz'd: her sire, with sighs, exclaims,
“Oh, thou hast brought me low! my soul desponds,
For I have pledg'd thee to the Lord of Hosts,
A victim to my conquest and ambition;
Yes, thou must die: the registers of Heav'n
Are ope'd, nor dare I trifle with my God.”
The blush in haste forsook her lovely cheek
At the too rigid sentence: yet resign'd
To all a father ow'd, or Heav'n would ask,
She meekly cry'd, “Thy will was ever mine.”
An off'ring chearful on the altar laid,
This frame shall soon consume; my soul to God
Shall fly with speed; yet will I slowly rove
O'er yon high mountain, till the moon hath spent
Two portions of her light. Ye Virgins, come!
Let your soft notes the fatal vow deplore,
Without accusing Jephthah.” On she goes,
Leaving her father fix'd in speechless grief.
At the too rigid sentence: yet resign'd
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She meekly cry'd, “Thy will was ever mine.”
An off'ring chearful on the altar laid,
This frame shall soon consume; my soul to God
Shall fly with speed; yet will I slowly rove
O'er yon high mountain, till the moon hath spent
Two portions of her light. Ye Virgins, come!
Let your soft notes the fatal vow deplore,
Without accusing Jephthah.” On she goes,
Leaving her father fix'd in speechless grief.
Bright Cynthia twice had fill'd her wasted horn:
When the sad hour approach'd, she quits the hills,
And Israel's priests lead on the charming maid.
When the sad hour approach'd, she quits the hills,
And Israel's priests lead on the charming maid.
The fillet, censer, frankincense, and myrrh,
Are all prepar'd; the altar's blaze ascends
In curling flame; while bigots dare pronounce
The sacrifice acceptable to Heaven.
Are all prepar'd; the altar's blaze ascends
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The sacrifice acceptable to Heaven.
Hence, dupes! nor make a Moloch of your God.
Tear not your Infants from the tender breast,
Nor throw your Virgins to consuming fires.
He asks it not; and say, what boasting fool,
To great Omnipotence a debt can owe?
Or owing, can repay it? Would'st thou dare
Barter upon equality! Oh, man!
Thy notion of a Deity is poor,
Contracted, curb'd, within a narrow space,
Which must on finite rest. Hark! Jephthah groans!
And 'tis the groan of horror. Virgins, sigh
For the fair victim: vain the melting tear!
She's gone, while Jewish records hold the vow
To future ages, penn'd with cruel pride.
Tear not your Infants from the tender breast,
Nor throw your Virgins to consuming fires.
He asks it not; and say, what boasting fool,
To great Omnipotence a debt can owe?
Or owing, can repay it? Would'st thou dare
Barter upon equality! Oh, man!
Thy notion of a Deity is poor,
Contracted, curb'd, within a narrow space,
Which must on finite rest. Hark! Jephthah groans!
And 'tis the groan of horror. Virgins, sigh
For the fair victim: vain the melting tear!
She's gone, while Jewish records hold the vow
To future ages, penn'd with cruel pride.
| Poems, on various subjects | |