University of Virginia Library

I.

The gloom and gathering of a night
That heralds in the storm!
On ancient gate, and terraced height,
And bulwarks towering in their might,
And, in the eve's last radiance bright,
Each massy idol form,
To whom, in days of old, as now,
Chaldæa's children love to bow;—
To whom, in hymns of praise, ascribe
Their victories o'er each warrior-tribe,
O'er Sepharvaim's distant shore,
Henah and Ivah, names of yore:
And all the city's toil and strife
Is blending into rest:
As droops Day's brightness and its life
Amid the dark'ning West.

II.

More lone and dark, more grey and grim,
Each temple sinks in silence dim:
The shades a deeper awe diffuse
Amidst those awful avenues,
Where wingëd forms of giant height
Stretch out to distance infinite:
And where, while evening's softer balm
Descends 'midst intervening palm,
And bids its feathery branches wave
O'er frieze and vault and architrave,—
Each monster mass of storied stone
Seems more unearthly and more lone:
Each idol-vista, South and North,
Glooms more interminably forth,
And points, in ever-narrowing Aisle,
Towards the Temple's central pile.
Yes:—even in very ruin, vast,
Such relics of the Assyrian past,
Midst desolation, drought, and sand,
Startle and awe the pilgrim band.
The pomp and revelry of yore,
The music and the mirth are o'er:
The halls that flashed with gems and gold
In one decay are blent;
No shepherd there will pen his fold,
Nor Arab pitch his tent:
No sight to bid the heart rejoice,
No scene of pomp and pride:
Hushed is the feast, and stilled the voice
Of bridegroom and of bride:
Those memories of a victor-race
Are all arrayed in gloom:
There finds the owl her dwelling-place,
There bitterns build and boom:
Such was the lot denounced of yore
By masters of prophetic lore,
And such Assyria's doom.

III.

But now, as daylight dies away,
And eve turns purple into grey,
Tier over tier, in dizzy height,
The palace flashes into light;
The halls glow out more fiercely bright,
The courts more wildly blaze:
And deeper yet, and deader shades
O'erwhelm the silent colonnades,
Amidst whose dim and vast arcades
No venturous footstep strays.
The mansion of imperial state,
With light and shade reticulate,
Lifts up her blazing head on high,
And glares against the midnight sky:
The trumpet bids her brazen throat
Above the feast resound,
And dulcimers with gentler note,
And flutes make airier music float
The vaulted roof around.

IV.

Then went the royal edict forth,
(That lordly gathering's end,)
—“Thus saith the Lord of all the earth,—
Let all the earth attend:
Each race and tribe that owns our sway
From the great Sea to far Cathay,
From where the twilight dies away,
To where the morn dawns, freshly grey,—
Our will receive,—our law obey;—
And this shall be the sign:
Our chiefs and squadrons, issuing out
With pomp of war and battle shout,
To every land and realm shall go,—
—Or parched by summer's fiercest glow,
Or girt with everlasting snow,
Or decked with oil and wine:
From each receiving, at their feet,
Water and earth, the tribute meet
That marks us this world's monarch throned,
The Lord, by all his vassals owned;
In token of our royal right
And Nabuchodonosor's might.”

V.

As once on Egypt's evil day
The locust-swarm arose;
So, in its terrible array,
O'er lands that tremble and obey,
The endless torrent flows.
All have one courage, all one vow:
In meet array they muster now,
Marshalled for war, and charged with death,
On the green plain of Bectileth:
For every realm hath armed her best,
And sent them to the fight:
And North and South, and East and West,
Their varying sons unite:
They leave the jungles, wild and far,
That choke the vales of Malabar:
They leave the shores where pearlfish lie
Midst seas that seem another sky:
From Tartary's steppes they pour amain;
And Beloochistan's arid plain:
They leave the mango-woods that rise
Beneath the glare of Indian skies,
And the sweet palm-groves and the rest
Whence Araby hath name, the Blest:
Yea, where he mats, with sand and weed,
His hut, the starveling Samoyede,
They gather, in unwarlike shew,
With the rude pike and ruder bow:
They come, convened by spell and ban,
The nomad tribes of Turkistan:
And Lydia's women-hearts are there,
And Phrygia's sons their falchions bare.
For Nabuchodonosor's yoke
The whole wide world must sway:
The Lord of all the earth hath spoke,—
Let all the earth obey!

VI.

Where is the God of Israel now?
And where is Israel's Trust?
And shall His ransomed yield to bow
Before an arm of dust?
Westward and westward rolls the storm;
Beyond Palmyra's walls they swarm:
Damascus' harvest-fields were white
When morning kindled into light;
Damascus' harvest-fields, at night,
Were bare, and black and seer:
No more the merchant-craft shall ply
Among the cities, walled and high,
That, in the crystal Arbonai,
Are mirrored fair and clear:
And Midian's sheepcotes, wrapped in flame,
Shall speak of Midian's woe and shame,
To many a coming year.
As Eden smiles the land before;
Their sheaves the peasants bind;
And, like Gehenna's very door,
The wreck that glares behind.
Ho, all! your closest squadrons form!
Westward and westward rolls the storm.

VII.

O gods of many an ancient fane,
Gods of the mountain and the plain!
Are hecatombs of victims slain,
Are magic spells and rites in vain
One little hour of peace to gain,
One little hour of right retain,
Before the invader's host?
O shrines, with human blood-drops dyed,
Proved then most false, when sorest tried!
Have all your thousand prophets lied,—
Was falsehood all their boast?
What! in this great and fearful hour,
Hath Baalzebub's arm no power?
Hath Dagon ceased to save?
Must suppliant hands in vain embrace
Their Nisroch of the eagle-face?
Finds Tyre from Tyre's own god no grace,
That lady of the wave?
Yes! perish all the impostors' swarm!—
Westward and westward rolls the storm.

VIII.

O Israel, once the Lord's elect!
Can Israel's God no more protect?
O Thou, their glory and their song,
Why standest Thou far off so long?
Where are the mercies shed of old
Upon the sheep of Thine own fold?
Look, how Thy ransomed people bow
In sackcloth and in ashes now
Around Thy holy shrine;
And still Thou answerest not their vow,
And still Thou giv'st no sign.
Not one is there, from shore to shore,
That understandeth any more;
Not one that, skilled in prophet-lore,
May speak to Abraham's line.
Awake, and manifest Thy praise
To those assembled nations;
Awake, as in the ancient days
Of former generations!
Yea, for Thy loving-mercy's sake,
Arm of the Lord, awake! awake!

IX.

Keep the hill-passages up from the plain;
Westward and westward they hurry amain:
Strengthen the battlement! burnish the brass!
Stop ye the fountain, and scarp ye the pass!
Men of Bethulia, mark from afar
All the long line of the oncoming war:
See, how the horizon is heaving in life!
Multitudes, multitudes rush to the strife!
Squadron on squadron are battleward rolled:
Elephants stalk in their trappings of gold:
Steeds, in their madness of joy to engage,
Swallow the ground in their fierceness and rage:
Battle-axe, battle-bow, scymetar, lance,
Flash out around them the armies advance:
Water and earth ye have sworn to refuse,—
Vengeance they vow on the land of the Jews:
None shall escape me, the great or the small,
Saith Holofernes, the Lord of them all.
Men of Bethulia! gallant and true!
Judah and Benjamin lean upon you.

X.

Of all most fearful woes to try,
Of all most dreadful deaths to die,
In the dark crew of suffering first,
Now is thy time to rule, O Thirst!
No water from the living well;
Nowater from the pool;
No drop, from Heaven's own blessed cell,
To comfort and to cool!
Once happy childhood, day by day,
Now moans its tiny life away;
The little tongue no more can speak;
Death's greyness shades the little cheek;
The frame is stretched on misery's rack;
The eyes grow glazed, the tongue grows black:
The big unconscious tear-drops fall
Whose end shall be that Heavenly Hall
Where tears are wiped away:
And the strong man is brooding nigh
In voiceless, matchless agony,
To watch, with dim and fever'd eye,
His darling's slow decay.
With death, and such a death, in view,
A single heart is good and true,
And from the city one great wail
Goes up to God above;
And man's resolve and courage fail,
But never woman's love.
Then wakes the murmur fierce and strong,
But hushed at first, and low;
“How long, O Lord of Hosts, how long
Must we resist the foe?
What thought of hope? what use to wait?
Give up the keys and ope the gate!”
—And gathering tone, and winning strength,
It swells amidst the crowd at length:
“Assyria's Chiefs have scaled the pass,
Assyria's hosts environ;
The Heaven above our heads is brass,
The Earth beneath is iron:
Better, where every choice seems worst,
To die by sword, than die by thirst.
Yield then the city, ere too late:
Give up the keys, and ope the gate!”

XI.

“Have courage, brethren! five days still
For patience and for prayer;
Those past and over, have your will,
If then no succour in our ill
Proclaim Jehovah's care.”
—Resolved against the Assyrian yoke
Ozias thus, and Charmis spoke.
“Meanwhile, send up one earnest cry
To Abraham's God, Who dwells on high,
To hear us from His Sanctuary,
And work deliverance there.”

XII.

Hast thou not seen the evening star,
When, victor o'er the midnight war
Of thunder-clouds on high,
It glitters from their darksome breast,
Impressing on their fierce unrest
Its own serenity?
Thus, as debate grew high and loud,
And wild division rent the crowd,
Forth, as they spake such words of shame,
In all her beauty, Judith came.
Heav'n gave the far-off star its beam:
Earth's vapours feel and own its gleam:
Heav'n sent amidst the angry press
A vision of such loveliness,
With skill to guide, with hope to bless,
To be their comfort in distress,
And bring them to the port.
And thus she stood amidst the strife,
As one that came with words of life
From God's celestial court.

XIII.

“And is it thus ye bind,” she cried,
“His strength, Who dwells on high?
Thus mete His power to guard and guide,
Who made the earth and sky?
Wherefore should He accept the term
Of this world's child, the dust and worm,
And save you when ye will?
Is it not His, to-day, to-morrow,
To fix the period of your sorrow,
And turn to bliss your ill?
O slow of heart! O dull of hope!
Five little days your utmost scope?
Five days His sovereign power to tie,
Whose own is all eternity?
Hear me: by me shall come the blow
That lays the Assyrian tyrant low
In all his fierce array:
Hear me: God's strength shall be my lamp,
His Wisdom be my stay;
And thus amidst the alien camp
His light shall guide my way.
In Him confiding, let me go,
And ye shall find, and Israel know,
One woman's arm can quell the foe,
One woman's hand can deal the blow
That sets Bethulia free.—
And wilt Thou not, O Lord, be just
To crush the mighty in the dust,
And to lift up the hearts that trust
And make their boast in Thee?”

XIV.

Now are her widow's robes laid by,
Her joyous garb put on;
And thus, apart, with tearful eye,
She makes her orison:
“Thou Who—and Thou art still the same—
Did'st arm with righteous brand,
Avenger of a deed of shame,
My father Simeon's hand;
Such courage now on me confer,
Thine own avenging minister:
And nerve my arm and steel my heart,
That, though I win by woman's art,
My hand may play no woman's part
In retribution's hour.
So Assur's chiefs and serfs shall own
That Thou art Lord, and Thou alone;
And all their gods of wood and stone
Shall tremble at Thy power.”

XV.

Now, in the camp, the watch-fires' light
Was smouldering to decay,
As, through the stillness of the night,
To where the tents gleamed ghostly white,
Two women bent their way.
The mirth was high, and loud the song
In Holofernes and his throng:
The silver lamps soft radiance poured;
With gold and jewels flashed the board:
And silken hangings waved on high
That blazed in Sidon's deepest dye,
Where, 'neath that priceless canopy,
Assyria's chieftain lay.
In vaunting high, in frenzied hope,
With Israel's God he dares to cope,
And laugh at Israel's stay.
She came, Bethulia's fairest form,
As dawns the rainbow on the storm:
She came the chieftain's eyes to bless
And conquer with the loveliness
That, in his hour of joy and mirth,
Promised a Paradise on earth.
With words to comfort and secure,
The tale she wove, she framed the lure;
How Israel's God would soon forsake
The people of His rest,
Because His holy tithes they take,
By famine sore distrest.
“That done, Bethulia's towers shall be,
Lord Holofernes, given to thee:
And thou and I shall work a deed
Whereof the years to come shall read:
Shall raise the power, and swell the fame
Of Nabuchodonosor's name.
Such is the task that He ordains,
The God Who over Israel reigns;
I am His servant, as ye see:
He hath a work to do by me.”

XVI.

Five days of fear, five days of woe,
Five days of triumph to the foe,
And still no help is here;
The shadows lengthen out upon
The giant plain of Esdrelon,
Another eve is near.
Then had ye seen, if mortal eye
Might pierce the shades that hide
Those portals of eternity
Where future things abide—
Then had ye seen, midst evening's ray,
Death's Angel speed his bidden way:
To no mean man his course is bent;
He comes not for the old;
He hath an errand to a tent
That flames with gems and gold:
He hath an errand to the strong,
The high of heart and pride:
For vengeance, though it tarry long,
Shall not be turned aside.
Vain, Holofernes, now to flee;
He hath a message unto thee!

XVII.

Night hath come down in its gloom and its state:
Hark! in the stillness a voice at the gate:
“Open the portal, assemble the crowd,
God the Avenger hath smitten the proud;
Tell ye the tidings to far and to near;
Conquering Judah, away with your fear!
Spite of his rage, and his threats, and his lust,
Great Holofernes is stretched in the dust;
He at a woman's feet bowed him and fell;
Him his own falchion hath hurried to hell:
He that o'er kindreds and nations had sway,
He, whom the wide world had learned to obey,
Found in the beauty of woman his lure,—
Found it and perished,—and yet she is pure.
Nineveh now shall have wailing for mirth,
Now shall her idols be bowed to the earth:
Send ye the tidings to Salem with speed;
Incense shall glimmer and victims shall bleed.
Own Him, Who trust in His goodness rewards,
King of all kings, own Him Lord of all lords!

XVIII.

Those scenes are past—but past is not
The faith and hope they tell;
That raised a Judith's victor lot,
That consecrates the mountain spot
Where Holofernes fell.
The deed is o'er, the faith remains:
The faith that through all toils and pains
Shall win her conquering way;
That scorns her light affliction here,
And sees in vision bright and clear
The things that last for aye:
The faith that rather chooses now
The mockery of her foes,
And to her God persists to bow
Though all the world oppose:
The faith that for her Captain's sake
Hath braved the scaffold and the stake;
The faith that, spite of care and fear,
God guard and strengthen in us here,
Although its vision must be dim,
Until He take us Home to Him!