Page:Poems Sigourney 1827.pdf/168

The dazzling hopes that lured his youthful view,
The constant friend, in all his sorrows true,
And as his lonely heart amid its pain,
Would throbbing leap to share those joys again,
A traveller came, whose brow was pale with dread,
Rent were his robes, and dust defiled his head.
—"I saw the battle on Gilboa's height,
Where Israel proudly urged her men of might,
Before the spear of Gath those legions fled,
Her king is slain,—her godlike prince is dead,
I saw their robes distain'd,"—he scarcely said,
And paused,—for sorrow shook the exile's frame,
Tears o'er his brow in rushing torrents came,
While on his trembling harp he breath'd his wo
With broken cadence, and in murmurs low.
—"Who, on those high and lonely cliffs shall save
The uncover'd ashes of the fallen brave?
Who from their summits cleanse the fatal stain
Of royal strength, and manly beauty slain?—
—O wounded Israel! hide thy tears that flow.
Lest proud Philistia triumph in thy wo,
Lest list'ning Gath should taunt thy mourning train,
Or haughty Ekron revel in thy pain.
—And ye Gilboa's mountains, stern and rude,
Whose guilty cliffs received the royal blood,
Who saw remorseless on the battle day
The shield from God's anointed torn away,
Raise not your brows, the dews of heaven to taste,
Let no kind shower refresh your parching waste,
No purifying stream for you be spilt,
Nor sacred offerings expiate your guilt.
—In the dire contest, in the glorious fight,
How bold were they, who now lie wrapt in night!—