 | Poems |  |
83
LAMENTATIONS, ch. i. v. 1–7.
How lies the city solitary, lone,
Once with the throngs of countless numbers teeming!
How sits she as a widow, woe-begone,
She of great nations once the greatest seeming,
The diadem upon her queenly brow,—
Ah woe! a tributary captive now!
She weepeth sore at night;
Her tears are on her cheeks;
For many lovers loved her fame's delight—
Alas! of all there is not one who speaks
To her of comfort: all her many friends
For their past love with hatred make amends.
Far off, far off, a captive in distress,
Trailing her chain for very weariness,
Judah into captivity hath gone!
Among the heathen dwelling, pale and wan,
She findeth there no rest,
Unpitied, unbefriended, and unblest.
Once with the throngs of countless numbers teeming!
How sits she as a widow, woe-begone,
She of great nations once the greatest seeming,
The diadem upon her queenly brow,—
Ah woe! a tributary captive now!
She weepeth sore at night;
Her tears are on her cheeks;
For many lovers loved her fame's delight—
Alas! of all there is not one who speaks
To her of comfort: all her many friends
For their past love with hatred make amends.
Far off, far off, a captive in distress,
Trailing her chain for very weariness,
Judah into captivity hath gone!
Among the heathen dwelling, pale and wan,
84
Unpitied, unbefriended, and unblest.
Ah, woe for Salem! in the straits of ruin
Her fierce pursuers fiercest then pursuing.
Her fierce pursuers fiercest then pursuing.
The ways of Zion mourn,
For none attend her solemn festivals;
Her gates in desolation lie forlorn;
Her priests heave sighs in answer when she calls;
Her virgins grieve, and grieve without control;
And she lies low in bitterness of soul.
In proud pre-eminence she sees
Her scoffing, taunting enemies;
For her transgressions great and grievous were,
And therefore hath the Lord afflicted her.—
And now, the crowning woe of all her woes,
Her tender little ones,
Her maidens and her sons,
Are driven into captivity before her foes.
For none attend her solemn festivals;
Her gates in desolation lie forlorn;
Her priests heave sighs in answer when she calls;
Her virgins grieve, and grieve without control;
And she lies low in bitterness of soul.
In proud pre-eminence she sees
Her scoffing, taunting enemies;
For her transgressions great and grievous were,
And therefore hath the Lord afflicted her.—
And now, the crowning woe of all her woes,
Her tender little ones,
Her maidens and her sons,
Are driven into captivity before her foes.
Oh, weep for Sion's daugther! broken-hearted,
Her beauty and her bloom hath all departed.
Her princes have become like stricken deer,
Who seek for pastures in the wilderness—
And as the fell pursuer draweth near,
Still start and flee exhausted, spiritless.
Jerusalem, she weepeth sore,
For now her sorrow and her anguish brings
Back to her mind those bright and pleasant things
That once were hers; but can be hers no more—
Her foes have triumph'd, she hath fallen low;
Of all her friends that were,
Not one hath holpen her,
A widow weeping tears of irrepressible woe.
Her beauty and her bloom hath all departed.
85
Who seek for pastures in the wilderness—
And as the fell pursuer draweth near,
Still start and flee exhausted, spiritless.
Jerusalem, she weepeth sore,
For now her sorrow and her anguish brings
Back to her mind those bright and pleasant things
That once were hers; but can be hers no more—
Her foes have triumph'd, she hath fallen low;
Of all her friends that were,
Not one hath holpen her,
A widow weeping tears of irrepressible woe.
1848.
| Poems | |