The Works of Mr. John Oldham :: :: University of Virginia Library

Ah wretched Israel! once a bless'd, and happy State,
The Darling of the Stars, and Heavens Care,
Then all the bord'ring world thy Vassals were,
And thou at once their Envy and their Fear,
How soon art thou (alas!) by the sad turn of Fate

Become abandon'd and forlorn?
How art thou now become their Pity, and their scorn?
Thy Lustre all is vanish'd, all thy Glory fled,
Thy Sun himself set in a bloud red,
Too sure Prognostick! which does ill portend
Approaching Storms on thy unhappy Land,
Left naked, and defenceless now to each invading Hand.
A fatal Battel, lately fought,
Has all these Mis'ries, and Misfortunes brought,
Has thy quick Ruine, and Destruction wrought:
There fell we by a mighty Overthrow
A Prey to an enrag'd, relentless Foe,
The toil and labour of their wearied Cruelty,
Till they no more could kill, and we no longer die:
Vast slaughter all around th' enlarged Mountain swells,
And numerous Deaths increase its former Hills.

II.

In Gath let not the mournful News be known,
Nor publish'd in the streets of Askalon;
May Fame it self be quite struck dumb!
Oh may it never to Philistia come,
Nor any live to bear the cursed Tidings home!
Lest the proud Enemies new Trophies raise,
And loudly triumph in our fresh Disgrace:
No captive Israelite their pompous Joy adorn,
Nor in sad Bondage his lost Country mourn:
No Spoils of ours be in their Temples hung,
No Hymns to Ashdod's Idol sung,
Nor thankful Sacrifice on his glad Altars burn,
Kind Heav'n forbid! lest the base Heathen Slaves blaspheme
Thy sacred and unutterable Name,
And above thine extol their Dagon's Fame.
Lest the vile Fish's Worship spread abroad,
Who fell a prostrate-Victim once before our conqu'ring God:

And you, who the great Deeds of Kings and Kingdoms write,
Who all their Actions to succeeding Age transmit,
Conceal the blushing Story, ah! conceal
Our Nations loss, and our dread Monarch's fall:
Conceal the Journal of this bloudy Day,
When both by the ill Play of Fate were thrown away:
Nor let our wretched Infamy, and Fortune's Crime
Be ever mention'd in the Registers of future Time.

III.

For ever, Gilboa, be curs'd thy hated Name,
Th' eternal Monument of our Disgrace, and shame!
For ever curss'd be that unhappy Scene,
Where Slaughter, Bloud, and Death did lately reign!
No Clouds henceforth above thy barren top appear.
But what may make thee mourning wear:

Let them ne're shake their dewy Fleeces there,
But only once a year
On the sad Anniverse drop a remembring Tear:
No Flocks of Off'rings on thy Hills be known,
Which may by Sacrifice our Guilt and thine attone
No Sheep, nor any of the gentler kind hereafter stay
On thee, but Bears, and Wolves, and Beasts of prey,
Or men more savage, wild, and fierce than they;
A Desart may'st thou prove, and lonely wast,
Like that, our sinful, stubborn Fathers past,
Where they the Penance trod for all, they there transgress'd:
Too dearly wast thou drench'd with precious Bloud
Of many a Jewish Worthy, spilt of late,
Who suffer'd there by an ignoble Fate,
And purchas'd foul Dishonour at too high a rate:
Great Saul's ran there amongst the common Flood,
His Royal self mixt with the baser Crowd:

He, whom Heav'ns high and open suffrage chose,
The Bulwark of our Nation to oppose
The Pow'r and Malice of our Foes;
Ev'n He, on whom the Sacred Oyl was shed,
Whose mystick drops enlarg'd his hallow'd Head,
Lies now (oh Fate, impartial still to Kings!)
Huddled, and undistinguish'd in the heap of meaner Things.

IV.

Lo! there the mighty Warriour lies,
With all his Lawrels, all his Victories,
To ravenous Fowls, or worse, to his proud Foes, a Prize:
How chang'd from that great Saul! whose generous Aid,
A conqu'ring Army to distressed Jabesh led,
At whose approach Ammon's proud Tyrant fled:
How chang'd from that great Saul! whom we saw bring
From vanquish'd Amalek their captive Spoils, and King;

When unbid Pity made him Agag spare;
Ah Pity! more can Cruelty found guilty there:
Oft has he made these conquer'd Enemies bow,
By whom himself lies conquer'd now:
At Micmash his great-Might they felt, and knew,
The same they felt at Dammin too:
Well I remember, when from Helah's Plain
He came in triumph, met by a numerous Crowd,
Who with glad shouts proclaim'd their Joy aloud;
A dance of beauteous Virgins led the solemn Train,
And sung, and prais'd the man that had his thousands slain.
Seir, Moab, Zobah felt him, and where e'er
He did his glorious Standards bear,
Officious Vict'ry follow'd in the rere:
Success attended still his brandish'd Sword,
And, like the Grave, the gluttonous Blade devour'd:
Slaughter upon its point in triumph sate,
And scatter'd Death, as quick, and wide as Fate.

V.

Nor less in high Repute, and Worth was his great Son,
Sole Heir of all his Valour, and Renown,
Heir too (if cruel Fate had suffer'd) of his Throne:
The matchless Jonathan 'twas, whom loud tongu'd Fame
Amongst her chiefest Heroes joys to name,
E're since the wond'rous Deeds of Seneh done,
Where he, himself an Host, o'recame a War alone:
The trembling Enemies fled, they try'd to fly,
But fix'd amazement stopt, and made them die.
Great Archer he! to whom our dreadful skill me owe,
Dreaded by all, who Israel's warlike Prowess know;
As many Shafts, as his full Quiver held,
So many Fates he drew, so many kill'd:
Quick, and unerring they, as darted Eye-beams, flew,
As if he gave 'em sight, and swiftness too.
Death took her Aim from his, and by't her Arrows threw.

VI.

Both excellent they were, both equally alli'd
On Nature, and on Valour's side:
Great Saul, who scorn'd a Rival in Renown,
Yet envied not the Fame of's greater Son,
By him endur'd to be surpass'd alone:
He gallant Prince, did his whole Father shew,
And fast, as he could set, the well-writ Copies drew
And blush'd, that Duty bid him not out-go:
Together they did both the paths to Glory trace,
Together hunted in the noble Chace,
Together finish'd their united Race:
There only did they prove unfortunate,
Never till then unbless'd by Fate,
Yet there they ceas'd not to be great;
Fearless they met, and brav'd their threaten'd fall,
And fought when Heav'n revolted, Fortune durst rebel.

When publick safety, and their Countries care
Requir'd their Aid, and call'd them to the toils of War;
As Parent-Eagles, summon'd by their Infants cries
Whom some rude hands would make a Prize,
Haste to Relief, and with their Wings out-fly their eyes;
So swift did they their speedy succour bear,
So swift the bold Aggressors seize,
So swift attack, so swift pursue the vanquish'd enemies:
The vanquish'd enemies with all the wings of Fear
Mov'd not so quick as they,
Scarce could their souls fly fast enough away.
Bolder than Lions, they thick Dangers met,
Through Fields with armed Troops, and pointed Harvests set,
Nothing could tame their Rage, or quench their Generous Heat:

Like those, they march'd undaunted, and like those,
Secure of Wounds, and all that durst oppose,
So to Resisters fierce, so gentle to their prostrate Foes.

VII.

Mourn, wretched Israel, mourn thy Monarch's fall,
And all thy plenteous stock of sorrow call,
T'attend his pompous Funeral:
Mourn each, who in this loss an int'rest shares,
Lavish your Grief, exhaust it all in Tears:
You Hebrew Virgins too,
Who once in lofty strains did his glad Triumphs sing,
Bring all your Artful Notes, and skilful Measures now,
Each charming air of Breath and string,
Bring all to grace the Obsequies of your dead King,
And high, as then your Joy, let now your Sorrow flow.

Saul, your great Saul is dead,
Who you with Natures choicest Dainties fed,
Who you with Natures gayest Wardrobe clad,
By whom you all her Pride, and all her Pleasures had:
For you the precious Worm his Bowels spun,
For you the Tyrian Fish did Purple run,
For you the bless'd Arabia's Spices grew,
And Eastern Quarries harden'd Pearly dew;
The Sun himself turn'd Labourer for you:
For you he hatch'd his golden Births alone,
Wherewith you were array'ed, whereby you him out-shone.
All this and more you did to Saul's great Conduct owe,
All this you lost in his unhappy overthrow.

VIII.

Oh Death! how vast an Harvest hast thou reap'd of late!
Never before hadst thou so great,

Ne'er drunk'st before so deep of Jewish Bloud,
Ne're since th' embattled Hosts at Gibeah stood;
When three whole days took up the work of Fate,
When a large Tribe enter'd at once thy Bill,
Ane threescore thousand Victims to thy Fury fell.
Upon the fatal Mountains Head,
Lo! how the mighty Chiefs lie dead:
There my beloved Jonathan was slain,
The best of Princes, and the best of Men;
Cold Death hangs on his Cheeks like an untimely Frost
On early Fruit, there sits, and smiles a sullen Boast,
And yet looks pale at the great Captive, she has ta'en.
My Jonathan is dead! (oh dreadful'st word of Fame!
Oh grief! that I can speak't, and not become the same!)
He's dead, and with him all our blooming Hopes are gone,
And many a wonder, which he must have done,
And many a Conquest which he must have won.

They're all to the dark Grave, and Silence fled
And never now in story shall be read,
And never now shall take their date,
Snatch'd hence by the preventing hand of envious Fate.

IX.

Ah worthy Prince! would I for thee had died!
Ah, would I had thy fatal place supplied!
I'd then repaid a Life, which to thy gift I owe,
Repaid a Crown, which Friendship taught thee to forgo;
Both Debts, I ne'er can cancel now:
Oh, dearer than my Soul! if I can call it mine,
For sure we had the same, 'twas very thine,
Dearer than Light, or Life, or Fame,
Or Crowns, or any thing, that I can wish, or think, or name:
Brother thou wast, but wast my Friend before,
And that new Title then could add no more:

Mine more than Bloud, Alliance, Natures self could make,
Than I, or Fame it self can speak:
Not yearning Mothers, when first Throes they feel
To their young Babes in looks a softer Passion tell:
Nor artless undissembling Maids express
In their last dying sighs such Tenderness:
Not thy fair Sister, whom strict Duty bids me wear
First in my Brest, whom holy Vows make mine,
Tho all the Virtues of a loyal Wife she bare,
Could boast an Union so near,
Could boast a Love so firm, so lasting, so Divine.
So pure is that which we in Angels find
To Mortals here, in Heav'n to their own kind:
So pure, but not more great must that blest Friendship prove
(Could, ah, could I to that wish'd Place, and Thee remove)
Which shall for ever joyn our mingled Souls above,

X.

Ah wretched Israel! ah unhappy state!
Expos'd to all the Bolts of angry Fate!
Expos'd to all thy Enemies revengeful hate!
Who is there left their fury to withstand?
What Champions now to guard thy helpless Land?
Who is there left in listed Fields to head
Thy valiant Youth, and lead them on to Victory?
Alas! thy valiant Youth are dead,
And all thy brave Commanders too:
Lo! how the Glut, and Riot of the Grave they lie,
And none survive the fatal Overthrow,
To right their injur'd Ghosts upon the barbarous Foe!
Rest, ye bless'd shades, in everlasting Peace,
Who fell your Country's bloudy Sacrifice:
For ever Sacred be your Memories,
And may e're long some dread Avenger rise
To wipe of Heav'ns and your Disgrace:

May then these proud insulting Foes
Wash off our stains of Honour with their Bloud.
May they ten thousand fold repay our loss.
For every Life a Myriad, every Drop a Floud.