Classic Poem

Isra'l! how is thy beauty fled!
Alas, how are the mighty dead!
Ah! don't in Gath, or As'klon tell,
How bravest chiefs in battle fell,
Lest the recital of our woes
Inspire the triumph of our foes.
Gilboa! may no dew, or show'r,
Its genial influence on you pour!
For Isra'l there receiv'd a stain;
There was the Lord's Anointed slain.
Thy bow e'er conquer'd in the field,
Nor knew'st thou, Jonathan to yield;
Thou, Saul, gav'st not in vain the blow,
Nor turn'dst thou empty from the foe.
Illustrious pair! alike renown'd!
Alike, in death, one fate you found!
Swift were ye, as the eagle's course,
And stronger than the lion's force.
Ye Isra'litish daughters shed
The tear for Saul, your monarch, dead!
'Twas once his care you to adorn,
His fall requires you now to mourn.
Alas! how, in the fatal field,
Are Isra'l's mighty warriors kill'd!
Thou, Jonathan, art fallen too!
Dear partner of my heart! adieu!
The gen'rous kindness of thy soul
Nor fear could damp, nor force controul;
Though try'd in many an evil hour,
Unwearied, and unchang'd its pow'r,
It glow'd more ardent, and resin'd,
Than strongest love to womankind.
Alas! our arms yield to the foe,
And bravest chiefs in death ly low!