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127
JEPHTHAH'S RASH VOW.
The battle had ceas'd, and the victory was won,
The wild cry of horror was o'er.—
Now arose in his glory the bright beaming sun,
And with him, his journey the war-chief begun,
With a soul breathing vengeance no more.
The wild cry of horror was o'er.—
Now arose in his glory the bright beaming sun,
And with him, his journey the war-chief begun,
With a soul breathing vengeance no more.
The foes of his country lay strew'd on the plain—
A tear stole its course to his eye,
But the warrior disdain'd every semblance of pain,
He thought of his child, of his country again,
And suppress'd, while 't was forming, a sigh.
A tear stole its course to his eye,
But the warrior disdain'd every semblance of pain,
He thought of his child, of his country again,
And suppress'd, while 't was forming, a sigh.
“Oh, Father of light!” said the conquering chief,
“The vow which I made, I renew;
'T was thy powerful arm gave the welcome relief,
When I call'd on thy name in the fulness of grief,
And my hopes were but cheerless and few.
“The vow which I made, I renew;
'T was thy powerful arm gave the welcome relief,
When I call'd on thy name in the fulness of grief,
And my hopes were but cheerless and few.
128
“An off'ring of love will I pay at thy fane,
An off'ring thou canst not despise:
The first being I meet, when I welcome again
The land of my fathers, I left not in vain,
With the flames on thy altar shall rise.”
An off'ring thou canst not despise:
The first being I meet, when I welcome again
The land of my fathers, I left not in vain,
With the flames on thy altar shall rise.”
Now hush'd were his words, thro' the far spreading bands,
Nought was heard but the foot-fall around—
Till his feet in glad tread press his own native lands,
And to heav'n are uplifted his conquering hands
Not a voice breaks the silence profound.
Nought was heard but the foot-fall around—
Till his feet in glad tread press his own native lands,
And to heav'n are uplifted his conquering hands
Not a voice breaks the silence profound.
O, listen! at distance what harmonies sound,
And at distance, what maiden appears?
See, forward she comes with a light springing bound,
And casts her mild eye in fond ecstasy round
For a parent is seen through her tears!
And at distance, what maiden appears?
See, forward she comes with a light springing bound,
And casts her mild eye in fond ecstasy round
For a parent is seen through her tears!
Her harp's wildest chord gives a strain of delight;
A moment—she springs to his arms!
“My daughter, Oh God!”—Not the horrors of fight,
While legion on legion against him unite,
Could bring to his soul such alarms.
A moment—she springs to his arms!
“My daughter, Oh God!”—Not the horrors of fight,
While legion on legion against him unite,
Could bring to his soul such alarms.
129
In horror he starts, as a fiend had appear'd,
His eyes in mute agony close;
His sword o'er his age-frosted forehead is rear'd,
Which with scars from his many fought battles is sear'd;
Nor country nor daughter he knows.
His eyes in mute agony close;
His sword o'er his age-frosted forehead is rear'd,
Which with scars from his many fought battles is sear'd;
Nor country nor daughter he knows.
But sudden conviction in quick flashes told,
That that daughter was destined to die;
No longer could nature the hard struggle hold,
His grief issued forth unrestrain'd, uncontroll'd
And glaz'd was his time-sunken eye.
That that daughter was destined to die;
No longer could nature the hard struggle hold,
His grief issued forth unrestrain'd, uncontroll'd
And glaz'd was his time-sunken eye.
His daughter is kneeling, and clasping that form
She ne'er touch'd but with transport before;
His daughter is watching the thundering storm,
Whose quick flashing lightnings so madly deform
A face, beaming sunshine no more.
She ne'er touch'd but with transport before;
His daughter is watching the thundering storm,
Whose quick flashing lightnings so madly deform
A face, beaming sunshine no more.
But how did that daughter, so gentle and fair,
Hear the sentence that doom'd her to die?
For a moment was heard a shrill cry of despair—
For a moment her eye gave a heart-moving glare—
For a moment her bosom heav'd high.
Hear the sentence that doom'd her to die?
For a moment was heard a shrill cry of despair—
For a moment her eye gave a heart-moving glare—
For a moment her bosom heav'd high.
130
It was but a moment—the frenzy was past,
She trustingly rush'd to his arms,
And there, as a flower when chill'd by the blast,
Reclines on an oak while its fury may last,
On his bosom she hush'd her alarms.
She trustingly rush'd to his arms,
And there, as a flower when chill'd by the blast,
Reclines on an oak while its fury may last,
On his bosom she hush'd her alarms.
Not an eye saw that scene but was moistened in woe,
Not a voice could a sentence command;
Down the soldier's rough cheek tears of agony flow,
The sobs of the maidens rose mournful and low,
Sad pity wept over the band.
Not a voice could a sentence command;
Down the soldier's rough cheek tears of agony flow,
The sobs of the maidens rose mournful and low,
Sad pity wept over the band.
But fled was the hope in the fair maiden's breast,
From her father's fond bosom she rose;
Stern virtue appear'd in her manner confest,
She look'd like a saint from the realms of the blest,
Not a mortal encircled with woes.
From her father's fond bosom she rose;
Stern virtue appear'd in her manner confest,
She look'd like a saint from the realms of the blest,
Not a mortal encircled with woes.
She turn'd from the group and can I declare
The hope and the fortitude given,
As she sunk on her knees with a soul breathing prayer,
That her father might flourish, of angels the care,
Till with glory he blossom'd in heaven?
The hope and the fortitude given,
As she sunk on her knees with a soul breathing prayer,
That her father might flourish, of angels the care,
Till with glory he blossom'd in heaven?
131
“Oh, comfort him, heaven, when low in the dust
My limbs are inactively laid!
Oh, comfort him, heaven, and let him then trust,
That free and immortal the souls of the just
Are in beauty and glory array'd.”
My limbs are inactively laid!
Oh, comfort him, heaven, and let him then trust,
That free and immortal the souls of the just
Are in beauty and glory array'd.”
The maiden arose,—oh! I cannot portray
The devotion that glow'd in her eye;
Religion's sweet self in its light seem'd to play
With the mildness of night, with the glory of day—
But 't was pity that prompted her sigh.
The devotion that glow'd in her eye;
Religion's sweet self in its light seem'd to play
With the mildness of night, with the glory of day—
But 't was pity that prompted her sigh.
“My father!”—the chief rais'd his agoniz'd head
With a gesture of settled despair—
“My father!”—the words she would utter had fled,
But the sobs that she heav'd, and the tears that she shed,
Told more than those words could declare.
With a gesture of settled despair—
“My father!”—the words she would utter had fled,
But the sobs that she heav'd, and the tears that she shed,
Told more than those words could declare.
That weakness past o'er, and the maiden could say,
“My father, for thee I can die.”
The hands slowly mov'd on their sorrowful way,
But never again from that heart-breaking day,
Was a smile known to force its enlivening ray
On the old chieftain's grief-stricken eye.
“My father, for thee I can die.”
The hands slowly mov'd on their sorrowful way,
But never again from that heart-breaking day,
Was a smile known to force its enlivening ray
On the old chieftain's grief-stricken eye.
Watertown, Mass. 1810.
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