 | Flower o' the thorn |  |
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XV. JOAB.
FORTH of the mists of Israel's fable-tide,Towering from Hell to Heaven, before mine eyes,
I see the giant ghost of Joab rise.
Wan through the battle-blaze I watch thee ride,
With fire and steel and slaughter, far and wide,
Hagen of the Hebrew Heldenlied, God-wise,
Graving, for all eternity's comprize,
Thy red renown on History's steep hill-side.
—Ill though thou wast as great, harrower of hosts,
Yet with dimmed eyes I read how, rended from
The very altar's horns, at the control
Of the cur Solomon, by the vengeful ghosts
Of Abner, Amasa and Absalom
Goaded, thou gavest up thy strenuous soul.
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