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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
JUDITH AT THE TENT OF HOLOFERNES, by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Night was down among the mountains Last Line: Wither at jehovah's frown! Subject(s): Judith (bible); Women In The Bible | |||
NIGHT was down among the mountains, In her dim and quiet manner, Where Bethulia's silver fountains Gushed beneath the Assyrian banner. Moonlight, o'er her meek dominion, As a mighty flag unfurled, Like an angel's snowy pinion Resting on a darkened world! Faintly rose the city's murmur, But the crowded camp was calm; Girded in their battle armor, Each a falchion at his arm, Lordly chief and weary vassal In the arms of slumber fell; It had been a day of wassail, And the wine had circled well. Underneath his proud pavilion Lay Assyria's champion, Where the ruby's rich vermilion Shone beside the beryl-stone. With imperial purple laden, Breathing in the perfumed air, Dreams he of the Jewish maiden, With her dark and jewelled hair. Who is she, the pale-browed stranger, Bending o'er that son of slaughter? God be with thee in thy danger, Israel's lone and peerless daughter! She hath bared her queenly beauty To the dark Assyrian's glance; Now a high and sterner duty Bids her to his couch advance. Beautiful and pale she bendeth In her earnest prayer to Heaven; Look again, that maiden standeth In the strength her God has given! Strangely is her dark eye kindled, Hot blood through her cheek is poured; Lo, her every fear hath dwindled, And her hand is on the sword! Upward to the flashing curtain, See, that mighty blade is driven, And its fall! -- 't is swift and certain As the cloud-fire's track in heaven! Down, as with a power supernal, Twice the lifted weapon fell; Twice, his slumber is eternal -- Who shall wake the infidel? Sunlight on the mountains streameth Like an air-borne wave of gold; And Bethulia's armor gleameth Round Judea's banner-fold. Down they go, the mailed warriors, As the upper torrents sally Headlong from their mountain-barriers Down upon the sleeping valley. Rouse thee from thy couch, Assyrian! Dream no more of woman's smile; Fiercer than the leaguered Tyrian, Or the dark-browed sons of Nile, Foes are on thy slumber breaking, Chieftain, to thy battle rise! Vain the call -- he will not waken -- Headless on his couch he lies. Who hath dimmed your boasted glory? What hath woman's weakness done? Whose dark brow is up before ye, Blackening in the fierce-haired sun? Lo! an eye that never slumbers Looketh in its vengeance down; And the thronged and mailed numbers Wither at Jehovah's frown! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OUR LORD AND OUR LADY by HILAIRE BELLOC PLASTIC BEATITUDE by LAURE-ANNE BOSSELAAR A SONG OF MARY by LUCILLE CLIFTON ISLAND MARY by LUCILLE CLIFTON MARY'S DREAM by LUCILLE CLIFTON NAOMI WATCHES AS RUTH SLEEPS by LUCILLE CLIFTON THE ASTROLOGER PREDICTS AT MARY'S BIRTH by LUCILLE CLIFTON AMY WENTWORTH; FOR WILLIAM BRADFORD by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER |
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