SONG OF VICTORY FOR GOLIATH'S DEATH 121
SONG OF VICTORY FOR THE DEATH OF GOLIATH
Strike with joy the wild harp's string,
God, O Israel, is your King!
We have slain our deadliest foe;
David's arm hath laid him low.
Saul hath oft his thousands slain,
His trophies have bedecked the plain;
But David's tens of thousands lie
On fields of battle, mounted high.
Sound the trumpet, strike the string,
Loud let the song of victory ring;
Wreathe with glory David's brow,-
He hath laid Goliath low.
Mark him on yon crimson plain;
He is conquered, he is slain;
He who lately rose so high,—
Scoffed at man, and braved the sky.
Strike with joy the wild harp's string,
God, O Israel, is your King!
We have slain our deadliest foe;
David's arm hath laid him low.
LUCRETIA DAVIDSON
THE MEETING OF DAVID AND JONATHAN
All day the battle raged. Ere eventide.
Came Abner to the tent of Saul, and cried:
"Would'st thou this eve, O king, behold the boy
Whose single arm turned Israel's grief to joy?"
"Yea," spake the king. So Abner bowed and went
Forth to the sunlight from the shadowy tent;
And on his spear leaned Jonathan to greet,
With Saul, the coming of victorious feet.
A little space was silence, while the king
Bowed his huge forehead black and pondering;
But Jonathan, with eager eyes, afire
Because of this great deed, in strong desire
Gazed at the tent-door. Then a sound was heard
Of one who swiftly ran, yet scarcely stirred
The withered grass on the parched sward without:
And far away thundered the people's shout.
The curtain rose: in poured the ruddy sun
Sphering a slender stripling, dim and dun
Amid that glory, like an olive-tree
High on a hilltop you can hardly see
For all the fire behind it. Round his hair,
Flaming like gold, God set the golden glare-
A coronal whereof the radiance smote
Saul's eyes; and in the centre, like a mote,
Swam the sweet boy's face, marvellously wan
With wonder and with awe for thinking on
MEETING OF DAVID AND JONATHAN 123
The miracle his sling and stone had wrought;
Since now the deed was grown a thing for thought
To feed on, much he pondered how the Lord
Had stayed him, trusting not to spear or sword.
Yea, in his hand the hideous bulk he swung,
With shattered forehead, and with stiffening tongue
Thrust through those spasm-tortured lips of death,
Seemed like a shape of dreams that vanisheth
When we awake, and lo, the morn is new
O'er field and forest in the birth of dew.
The curtain fell behind him. Then he stood
In twilight at the knees of Saul, whose mood
Was troubled. Next he knelt, and laid the head,
Tawny with tangled hair, with death-drops red,
Prone neath the monarch's stool; then raised his
eyes.
Like stars forth-leaning from the western skies
That still hold daylight, wonderful and dim,
They caught the souls of those that gazed at him.
Saul loved him: but in Jonathan was stirred
More love than Saul's soul held; yet not one word
As yet was spoken. Then the monarch cried,
Whose son art thou, thou young man?" He replied,
"I am thy servant Jesse's son, who dwell
At Bethlehem."-As some still mountain well
Is silvered on its surface by the slow
Arising of the full moon orbed and low,
From star-set peaks impendent, so the tone
Of that melodious voice, thrilling alone
Through the tent's stillness, changed the yearning
Within the breast of Jonathan, and sleep
Fell from his soul. A man by love new-made,
His every hope upon the heart was laid.
Of Jesse's son. Then, as he bent and burned,
The eyes of David on his eyes were turned;
And in that moment their twin lives became
The single splendor of one fiery flame,
Shooting from sundered brands to blend the might
Of married fires, and leap aloft with light.
JOHN ADDINGTON SYMONDS
Let the voice of the mourner be heard on the mountain,
And woe breathe her sigh over Besor's blue wave; Upon Gilboa's hill there is opened a fountain,
And its fast-flowing stream is the blood of the
Oh! dry be that hill from the rains of the morning,
On its brow may no dew of the evening fall,
But the warriors of Israel, from conquest returning,
View herbless and withered the death-place of
From the borders of Judah let gladness be banished,
Ye maidens of Israel, be deep in your woe;
For the pride of the mighty in battle is vanished,
The chief of the sword, and the lord of the bow.
And long shall the chieftains of Gilead deplore them, And mourn the dark fate of the high and the brave;
The song of the minstrel will oft be breathed o'er
And holy the tear that shall fall on their grave.
DAVID AND JONATHAN
On the brow of Gilboa is war's bloody stain,
The pride and the beauty of Israel is slain;
O publish it not in proud Askelon's street,
Nor tell it in Gath, lest in triumph they meet,
For how are the mighty fallen!
O mount of Gilboa, no dew shalt thou see,
Save the blood of the Philistine fall upon thee;
For the strong-pinioned eagle of Israel is dead,
Thy brow is his pillow, thy bosom his bed!
O how are the mighty fallen!
Weep, daughters of Israel, weep o'er his grave! What breast will now pity, what arm will now save? O my brother! my brother! this heart bleeds for
For thou wert a friend and a brother to me!
Ah, how are the mighty fallen!
LUCRETIA DAVIDSON
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