University of Virginia Library

And Israel again before the Lord
Did evil, that he sold them to the hand
Of him who reigned in Hazor, Canaan's king;
And Sisera, the captain of his host,
Which lay with all his might of barbèd horse,
Footmen, and bows, and iron chariots hung
On scythèd axles, thrice three hundred strong,
In Harosheth of the Gentiles.
Loud and long
Went up the clamorous and plaintive cry
Of the people to their God, for twenty years
Scourged by the heathen grievously.
But now
Was Deborah, a prophetess, the wife
Of Lapidoth, who judged Israel,
Dwelling beneath the palm-tree's shade, which grew
Alone nigh Ramah, half way to Bethel,
In Ephraim's Mount; and all the people came
To her for judgment; and the Lord of Hosts,
The God of Abraham and Isaac, spoke
Out of her lips his oracles sublime,
True and eternal, that she sent and called
From Kedesh-Naphtali Abinoam's son,
Barak, and said unto him,
“Go, and draw
Toward Mount Tabor!—hath not the Lord God
Of Israel commanded, ‘Go and take
Ten thousand men—ten thousand of the Tribes
Of Naphtali and Zebulun, and I
Will draw unto thee, to the river's brink,
The river Kishon, Sisera and his host,
His chariots and his multitudes, to be
A spoil into thine hand’?”
And Barak said,
“If thou wilt go with me, then will I go;
But if thou wilt not, neither then will I.”
And she replied, “Surely I go with thee.
But for this journey that thou takest, lo!
Its glory shall not be to thee; nor thine
Its honor, who hast doubted: for the Lord
Into a woman's hand shall sell the might
Of Sisera.”
And Deborah arose,
And Barak; and he summoned to Kedesh
Ten thousand men: and Zebulun went up,
And Naphtali, ten thousand men of war.
Thy princes, Issachar, were in the field
With Deborah, all-armed with shields of brass
And brazen casques, and on their banners broad
A bounding stag for Issachar: on foot
Went Issachar, with Barak—all on foot
Into the valley.
Reuben was afar,
Abiding in the sheepfolds, pleased to hear
The bleating of the flocks, the pastoral reed,
The songs of tuneful damsels in the shade,
But deaf to the clear trumpet.
Gilead lay
Safe beyond Jordan, and his guarded ships
Held Dan in shameful peace; and, miles aloof,
On the sea-shore sat Asher, at his ease,
Abiding in his breaches.
But not so
Did Zebulun or Naphtali—not so!
They were a people on that fearful day
Who jeoparded their lives unto the death
In the high places of the field.
The kings
Came down and fought: the kings of Canaan fought
In Taanach, beside Megiddo's wave.
They fought—on earth they fought—and took no gain
Of money.
Yea, they fought from heaven. The stars
Fought in their courses against Sisera;
And the Lord smote him before Barak—him
And all his host, and all his cars of steel,
With the sword's edge. The river Kishon swept
Their mighty ones away—that river old,
The river Kishon! There their horses' hoofs
Were broken by their prancings, that they fled—
With fiery Barak thundering on their rear,
Crushing their chariots, trampling down their strength,
Riders and horses, in his hot pursuit,
To Harosheth of the Gentiles; with the sword
Smiting relentless, till of all the host
No man was left alive, but he alone,
Their leader. For he 'lighted down, and fled,
Leaving his chariot broken on the way,
And his proud steeds, that wont their lord to greet
With ear erect, and shrill triumphant joy
Of tremulous neighings, soiled with dust and gore,
Crestfallen and subdued, and ne'er again
With toss and tramp to hail the welcome step
Of him who fed them.
On his feet he fled
Toward Jael's tent, Heber the Kenite's wife,
Which pitched his tent nigh Kedesh in the plain
Of Zaanaim—for there was peace of old
Between the King of Hazor and the House
Of Heber.
And the woman saw him come,
Fleeing, bareheaded, in the scorching noon,
Gory, and grim with dust, and spent with toil,
And cried unto him,
“Turn, my lord, turn in
Unto thy servant, and fear not!”
And he
Was very weary; and his spirit was sick,
And his heart fainting: so he entered in
Into the tent, and laid him sadly down,
Trusting in her. And o'er his arms of price
She spread a mantle, as he lay at length
Painfully breathing.
And he said to her,
“Give me, I pray thee now, that I may drink,
A little water.”
And she gave him milk,
Opening a leathern bottle; and he drank
A deep, deep draught, for he was sore athirst,
And nigh to fainting.
And he laid him down,
And thanked her, and besought her,
“Stand awhile
In the tent door, and when they come and ask
Is any one within, see thou say ‘No.’”
And Heber's wife arose, and stood awhile
Silently watching, till the rise and fall
Of the dark mantle, regular and calm,
And the soft placid murmur of his breath,
Told that he slept.
Then stretched she out her hand,
And took a nail of the tent, and in her left
A workman's iron hammer, and knelt down,
Pale, but exceeding beautiful, yet stern
In her exceeding beauty, at his side.
There was a wild light in her large dark eye,
And on her soft red lips a fearful smile,
A curl in her proud nostril—terrible,
Unwomanly, unnatural! She knelt,
And listened with her ear beside his lip.
Soft as a child he slept,—his fair broad brow,
Whereon of late the beaded sweat-drops stood,
Troubled, and ominous of strife within,
Calm as the river's breast, when, far below
The thundering cataract, it sinks to rest,
Aweary of convulsion. His firm lips,
Parted a little, glittered with a smile,
Full of mild meaning; and anon a sound
Came feebly murmured forth—that woman's name,
Coupled with epithets of love, who knelt,
With murder glaring from her wolfish eye,
And the steel ready in her delicate hand,
Athirst to slay.
She tarried not for that,
But set the nail's keen point against his brow
Softly, and raised the hammer-head on high,
And smote—smote once! And through it went, and through,
Piercing the ground beneath him—needed not
A second!
At her feet he bowed him, and
Lay down, and fell; and where he bowed he died.
One strong, short spasm fluttered through his frame—
Proud frame, that had defied a banded host,
Prostrate before a woman. All was calm.
One sharp sigh struggled through his lips, and all
Was silent.
Long his mother watched on high;
Long looked she from her window, and cried out
From the tall lattice, “Wherefore tarry they,
His chariot wheels? and why be they so long,
His iron cars, in coming?”
And her dames
Made answer,—yea, she answered to herself,—
“Have they not sped? have they not gained a prey?
And have they not divided?—to each man
A blooming damsel, lovely as the morn,
And two to Sisera?—and glorious spoil
Of divers colors, vestures wrought about
In needle-work, fit for the necks of who
Fight valiantly, and make their foes their prey?”

But he came not, nor yet his cars of steel;
Nor brought they damsels, or the broidered wealth
Of raiments, who lay swart with blood and dust,
Parched by the sun, and torn by teeth obscene
Of the wild dog, and beak of carrion fowl,
Or weltering, tost on the ensanguined tide
Of Kishon, that old river.
But he lay—
The spoiled and not the spoiler; but he fell,
Ignobly slaughtered by a woman's hand!

So let thine enemies all perish, Lord;
But those who love thee, let them still increase
All glorious as the sun, when in his might
He goeth forth.
And blessed be Heber's wife,
The Kenite, above women! yea, above
All women in the tent! For though her deed
Seem harsh to human eyes, bloody and bold,
The Lord it was who ordered it, and He
Errs not—nor they who do his bidding straight
In innocent obedience, free from hate.