Classic Poem

Th' flow'r of Isra'l, ah! is slain
Upon thy places high:
How are the mighty fall'n amain,
And down so suddenly!

O! tell it not in Gath among
The heathen people there;
Nor in the streets of Ashkelon,
These doleful news declare.

Lest Philistines, their daughters pleas'd
Should flushed with gladness be:
Lest daughters of the uncircumcis'd
Should boast triumphantly.

Ye mountains of Gilboa sad,
Let no more due nor rain,
Nor fertile fields of off'ring glad
Henceforth on you remain:

For shields of mighty men were there
Lost, with a shameful foil;
The shield of Saul, as if he ne'er
Had shar'd th' anointing oil.

From blood of slain, from fat of strong,
Nor Jon'than's bow turn'd back;
Nor Saul's drawn rapier from among
Their foes without effect.

Courageous Saul, and Jon'than rare,
Both lovely ones and sweet;
They in their lives most pleasant were,
And in their death unite;

More swift than eagles' wings they were,
More strong than lions great.
Weep, ye that Isra'l's daughters are,
O'er Saul's unhappy fate;

Who cloth'd you rich in scarlet fine,
Delightful to behold,
And caus'd your studded raiment shine
With ornaments of gold.

How 'midst the battle, shamefully,
Are fall'n the mighty men!
O Jon'than, on the places high,
Ev'n thou, alas! wast slain.

Jon'than, my brother dear, my mate;
Distress'd I am for thee;
Dear wast thou at the highest rate,
And pleasant unto me:

Thy wond'rous love to me surpass'd
The love of women far.
How have the mighty fall'n and lost
The instruments of war!