The Field of Gilboa

THE SUN of the morning looked forth from his throne

And beamed on the face of the dead and the dying,

For the yell and the strife, like the thunder, had flown,

And red on Gilboa the carnage was lying.

And there lay the husband that lately was prest

To the beautiful cheek that was tearless and ruddy,

But the claws of the eagle were fixed in his breast

And the beak of the vulture was busy and bloody.

And there lay the son of the widowed and sad,

Who yesterday went from her dwelling forever,

Now the wolf of the hills a sweet carnival had

On the delicate limbs that had ceased not to quiver.

And there came the daughter, a delicate child,

To hold up the head that was breathless and hoary,

And there came the maiden, all frantic and wild

To kiss the loved lips that were gasping and gory.

And there came the consort that struggled in vain

To stem the red tide of a spouse that bereft her,

And there came a mother that sunk ’mid the slain

To weep o’er the last human stay that was left her.

Oh! bloody Gilboa, a curse ever lie

Where the king and his people were slaughtered together,

May the dew and the rain leave thy herbage to die,

Thy flocks to decay and thy forests to wither.