THE BATTLE OF JEZREEL.

ASS where of old the giant kings
Fought by Megiddo's water-springs,
And where the lords of Issachar
Came marching to the mountain war:
There now the quivered Ephraimite
O'er Tabor led his conquering might;
And, showering thick their shafts of flame,
Gilboa's sinewy archers came;

While, wearing each his regal crown,
Rode the great chiefs of Machir down,
Whose ancient patriarchal sway

The distant eastern hills obey.

Ah! why did Gilead then abide
Far off, by Jordan's peaceful side?
And wherefore seaward Asher lay
Supinely by his sheltered bay?
What power malign could Reuben hold,
To dwell the while by field and fold?
What from the war could him detain
Where shepherds roam the tented plain,
And, crowned with autumn's tawny leaf,
The sun-brown reaper binds the sheaf;
Where the herd's lordly monarch wades
Through Bashan's richly pastured glades,
Or stoops his shaggy brows to lave
In fords of Arnon's mountain wave?

But where is he, whose trumpet shrill
Shook the deep caves of Tabor's hill,-
To hail whose home-returning car,
E'en now Harosheth looks afar?
From many a tower and battlement
Far-off, unnumbered eyes are bent,

'

With eager joy and greed, to see
Those treasures of captivity,

Chained at his wheels, a weeping band,
Judæa's dark-eyed daughters stand.

Watchman, on yon turret high!
Saw you, down the tented sky,
O'er the length'ning file's array,
His victorious banners play?
Marked you, to the sunny beam
Burnished targe and helmet gleam,
And the snaffled steeds afar
Bearing the refulgent car?
Heard you yet the people's cry,
Or the cymbal's clash of joy?

Save him, blood-stained idols grim,
Ashtaroth and Baalim!

Alas! long through the latticed gate,
For him shall Syrian maidens wait;
For far away, their warrior bold

At Jael's feet lies stark and cold.
And Canaan's prancing hoofs in vain
Have tinted Taanach's thirsty plain :
Low sank to earth the bounding steed
That fed by Tigris' flowery mead;
Or, fleeter than the falcon's wing,
Scarce shook Orontes' crystal spring.
Beneath old Kishon's trampling waves,
Dark Hazor's archers found their graves.
Lift, Deborah, lift thy song, and cry,
"The Lord has triumphed gloriously!"

108

Rev. John Mitford (adapted).