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81
JEPHTHAH'S DAUGHTER.
The sword of the Lord for His people hath beamed,
Its flash in the eyes of the heathen hath gleamed,
And the army of Ammon, once Israel's alarm,
Is broken and scattered like smoke in the storm.
Its flash in the eyes of the heathen hath gleamed,
And the army of Ammon, once Israel's alarm,
Is broken and scattered like smoke in the storm.
Destruction hath passed o'er the country in haste,
The city's a ruin, the vineyard a waste,
And the valiant of Israel return from war's toil,
Elated with victory and burdened with spoil.
The city's a ruin, the vineyard a waste,
And the valiant of Israel return from war's toil,
Elated with victory and burdened with spoil.
Behold where the raven-tressed virgins advance
With joy-sounding timbrel and welcoming dance,
While gratitude swells up in song to the Lord
For father and brother and neighbour restored.
With joy-sounding timbrel and welcoming dance,
While gratitude swells up in song to the Lord
For father and brother and neighbour restored.
82
See! Queen of the dancers, the daughter of him
Whose valour fills Israel's joy-cup to the brim,
Trips on with a heart full of love's filial fire
To yield her white brow to the lips of her sire.
Whose valour fills Israel's joy-cup to the brim,
Trips on with a heart full of love's filial fire
To yield her white brow to the lips of her sire.
But why heaves with anguish the breast of the chief?
And why on his cheek sits the pale hue of grief?
Doth some deed of valour remain yet undone—
A wrong unavenged or a city unwon?
And why on his cheek sits the pale hue of grief?
Doth some deed of valour remain yet undone—
A wrong unavenged or a city unwon?
Ah, no! but the chieftain too rashly hath sworn,
And the blithe tripping daughter, as fair as the morn,
Already bound close on the altar he sees,
With the smoke of her torture borne off on the breeze.
And the blithe tripping daughter, as fair as the morn,
Already bound close on the altar he sees,
With the smoke of her torture borne off on the breeze.
“Oh, daughter! my soul is much troubled for thee,
For the words of my vow ever sacred must be;
And, daughter, the dreadful fulfilment once o'er,
Thy father may live, but my daughter no more.”
For the words of my vow ever sacred must be;
And, daughter, the dreadful fulfilment once o'er,
Thy father may live, but my daughter no more.”
83
Pale, pale grew her cheek as the snow, and as cold,
Ere all the sad father's fixed purpose was told;
But the white heaving breast had no room for despair,
For brave as her sire's was the heart beating there.
Ere all the sad father's fixed purpose was told;
But the white heaving breast had no room for despair,
For brave as her sire's was the heart beating there.
“My father, thy soul must not sorrow for me;
Is Ammon not conquered—is Israel not free?
Be sacred the words thou hast vowed unto Heaven—
For this holy purpose thy daughter was given.”
Is Ammon not conquered—is Israel not free?
Be sacred the words thou hast vowed unto Heaven—
For this holy purpose thy daughter was given.”
Till thrice the full moon o'er the night-gloom prevailed,
Her lot on the mountains the virgin bewailed;
Returned—a white speck in the blue arch of day,
Up, up from the altar she circled away.
Her lot on the mountains the virgin bewailed;
Returned—a white speck in the blue arch of day,
Up, up from the altar she circled away.
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