 | Rehearsals (1870) |  |
47
A HEBREW LAMENT AFTER DEFEAT.
Thou hast thrust us away to a corner
As refuse beneath.
Thou hast given our cheek to the scorner,
And broken our teeth.
As refuse beneath.
Thou hast given our cheek to the scorner,
And broken our teeth.
Thou hast hired us to death without wages,
Because of our sins.
Thou hast fastened our feet into cages,
And trapped them in gins.
Because of our sins.
Thou hast fastened our feet into cages,
And trapped them in gins.
Thou hast shattered the joints of our harness
And loosened our greaves.
Thou hast made us light dross in the furnace,
Gray blight in the leaves.
And loosened our greaves.
Thou hast made us light dross in the furnace,
Gray blight in the leaves.
48
Thou hast altered our marvellous places
To pasture for cranes.
Thou hast broken the flesh of our faces
With leprosy stains.
To pasture for cranes.
Thou hast broken the flesh of our faces
With leprosy stains.
Thou hast wrought us reproof with thine arrow,
Dismay with thy spear.
Thou hast probed all our bones to the marrow,
And slain us with fear.
Dismay with thy spear.
Thou hast probed all our bones to the marrow,
And slain us with fear.
The rebuke of thy wasting is grievous
As death on our tribe.
Our glory and excellence leave us;
Fools mutter and gibe.
As death on our tribe.
Our glory and excellence leave us;
Fools mutter and gibe.
The beam of our sun's way is broken;
Our moon bows her head.
In the core of our sunset thy token
Is darkness for red.
Our moon bows her head.
In the core of our sunset thy token
Is darkness for red.
49
To the field we ran under thy mantle,
Arrayed in thy name.
Behold us a fragment, a cantle,
A city of shame.
Arrayed in thy name.
Behold us a fragment, a cantle,
A city of shame.
They are slain, who arose in thy shelter,
They lie gray in sleep.
In the plash of the vine-hills they welter,
Like plague-eaten sheep.
They lie gray in sleep.
In the plash of the vine-hills they welter,
Like plague-eaten sheep.
They are snared in their trust. They are weaker
Than sleep, who were strong.
Will they sit with the lute-string and beaker
At feasting or song?
Than sleep, who were strong.
Will they sit with the lute-string and beaker
At feasting or song?
Will they rise and reach lips to their spouses,
And govern their hinds?
Will they rule with delight in their houses?
Weak are they as winds.
And govern their hinds?
Will they rule with delight in their houses?
Weak are they as winds.
50
Will they whine to the snow that she spare them,
Or harbour in rain?
Can they tell thee the mother that bare them,
Or pleasure from pain?
Or harbour in rain?
Can they tell thee the mother that bare them,
Or pleasure from pain?
All these have inherited silence,
Past favour, past light;
Thou hast sold them away to the islands,
Whose ocean is night.
Past favour, past light;
Thou hast sold them away to the islands,
Whose ocean is night.
Out of mind in the desolate porches
And precinct of shade,
They, desiring in dimness no torches,
Forget they were made.
And precinct of shade,
They, desiring in dimness no torches,
Forget they were made.
Shall they smite with the sword, or be smitten,
Bring spoil or be spoiled?
They are past as a dream; who has written
In books how they toiled?
Bring spoil or be spoiled?
They are past as a dream; who has written
In books how they toiled?
51
They were sleek in all fulness of treasure,
Sweet wine and soft bread;
They shone, till a tyrannous measure
Was dealt to them dead.
Sweet wine and soft bread;
They shone, till a tyrannous measure
Was dealt to them dead.
Wilt thou speak? We are melted with trouble;
They sleep, we remain;
Wilt thou save, and restore to us double
The blood of our slain?
They sleep, we remain;
Wilt thou save, and restore to us double
The blood of our slain?
Bring again thine own flock to their feeding
In sweet pasture ways.
In thine hand there is fulness exceeding,
All fatness of days.
In sweet pasture ways.
In thine hand there is fulness exceeding,
All fatness of days.
Thou hast broken thy vineyard in anger
And wasted its shoots;
Thou hast said to the son of the stranger,
‘Go, trample the fruits.’
And wasted its shoots;
Thou hast said to the son of the stranger,
‘Go, trample the fruits.’
52
In rush-pits and reed-beds uncertain
We wander till morn.
We are clothed round with death as a curtain,
Our raiment is scorn.
We wander till morn.
We are clothed round with death as a curtain,
Our raiment is scorn.
Our slain people lie in each gate-way.
Our city for shroud
Has the smoke of her burning a great way
Seen yellow in cloud.
Our city for shroud
Has the smoke of her burning a great way
Seen yellow in cloud.
Remove as keen hoar-frost thine evil,
Refresh drought with dew.
Restore our brave summers thy weevil
And canker-worm slew.
Refresh drought with dew.
Restore our brave summers thy weevil
And canker-worm slew.
Bring delight in our desolate garden;
Slay these whom we hate.
Sprinkle ash in their eyes; give us pardon;
Sow grass in their gate.
Slay these whom we hate.
Sprinkle ash in their eyes; give us pardon;
Sow grass in their gate.
| Rehearsals (1870) | |