| |
| SHE stood before her father’s gorgeous tent, | |
| To listen for his coming. Her loose hair | |
| Was resting on her shoulders, like a cloud | |
| Floating around a statue, and the wind, | |
| Just swaying her light robe, revealed a shape | 5 |
| Praxiteles might worship. She had clasped | |
| Her hands upon her bosom, and had raised | |
| Her beautiful, dark Jewish eyes to heaven, | |
| Till the long lashes lay upon her brow. | |
| Her lip was slightly parted, like the cleft | 10 |
| Of a pomegranate blossom; and her neck, | |
| Just where the cheek was melting to its curve | |
| With the unearthly beauty sometimes there, | |
| Was shaded, as if light had fallen off, | |
| Its surface was so polished. She was stilling | 15 |
| Her light, quick breath, to hear; and the white rose | |
| Scarce moved upon her bosom, as it swelled, | |
| Like nothing but a lovely wave of light, | |
| To meet the arching of her queenly neck. | |
| Her countenance was radiant with love. | 20 |
| She looked like one to die for it,—a being | |
| Whose whole existence was the pouring out | |
| Of rich and deep affections. I have thought | |
| A brother’s and a sister’s love were much; | |
| I know a brother’s is, for I have been | 25 |
| A sister’s idol, and I know how full | |
| The heart may be of tenderness to her! | |
| But the affection of a delicate child | |
| For a fond father, gushing as it does | |
| With the sweet springs of life, and pouring on, | 30 |
| Through all earth’s changes, like a river’s course, | |
| Chastened with reverence, and made more pure | |
| By the world’s discipline of light and shade,— | |
’T is deeper, holier.
The wind bore on | |
| The leaden tramp of thousands. Clarion notes | 35 |
| Rang sharply on the ear at intervals; | |
| And the low, mingled din of mighty hosts | |
| Returning from the battle poured from far, | |
| Like the deep murmur of a restless sea. | |
| They came, as earthly conquerors always come, | 40 |
| With blood and splendor, revelry and woe. | |
| The stately horse treads proudly,—he hath trod | |
| The brow of death as well. The chariot-wheels | |
| Of warriors roll magnificently on— | |
| Their weight hath crushed the fallen. Man is there,— | 45 |
| Majestic, lordly man,—with his sublime | |
| And elevated brow, and godlike frame; | |
| Lifting his crest in triumph, for his heel | |
| Hath trod the dying like a winepress down! | |
| |
| The mighty Jephtha led his warriors on | 50 |
| Through Mizpeh’s streets. His helm was proudly set, | |
| And his stern lip curled slightly, as if praise | |
| Were for the hero’s scorn. His step was firm, | |
| But free as India’s leopard; and his mail, | |
| Whose shekels none in Israel might bear, | 55 |
| Was like a cedar’s tassel on his frame. | |
| His crest was Judah’s kingliest; and the look | |
| Of his dark, lofty eye, and bended brow, | |
| Might quell the lion. He led on; but thoughts | |
| Seemed gathering round which troubled him. The veins | 60 |
| Grew visible upon his swarthy brow, | |
| And his proud lip was pressed as if with pain. | |
| He trod less firmly; and his restless eye | |
| Glanced forward frequently, as if some ill | |
| He dared not meet were there. His home was near; | 65 |
| And men were thronging, with that strange delight | |
| They have in human passions, to observe | |
| The struggle of his feelings with his pride. | |
| He gazed intensely forward. The tall firs | |
| Before his tent were motionless. The leaves | 70 |
| Of the sweet aloe, and the clustering vines | |
| Which half concealed his threshold, met his eye, | |
| Unchanged and beautiful; and one by one | |
| The balsam, with its sweet-distilling stems, | |
| And the Circassian rose, and all the crowd | 75 |
| Of silent and familiar things stole up, | |
| Like the recovered passages of dreams. | |
| He strode on rapidly. A moment more, | |
| And he had reached his home; when lo! there sprang | |
| One with a bounding footstep, and a brow | 80 |
| Of light, to meet him. O, how beautiful! | |
| Her dark eye flashing like a sunlit gem, | |
| And her luxuriant hair!—’t was like the sweep | |
| Of a swift wing in visions. He stood still, | |
| As if the sight had withered him. She threw | 85 |
| Her arms about his neck,—he heeded not. | |
| She called him “father,”—but he answered not. | |
| She stood and gazed upon him. Was he wroth? | |
| There was no anger in that bloodshot eye. | |
| Had sickness seized him? She unclasped his helm, | 90 |
| And laid her white hand gently on his brow, | |
| And the large veins felt stiff and hard, like cords. | |
| The touch aroused him. He raised up his hands, | |
| And spoke the name of God, in agony. | |
| She knew that he was stricken then, and rushed | 95 |
| Again into his arms; and, with a flood | |
| Of tears she could not bridle, sobbed a prayer | |
| That he would breathe his agony in words. | |
| He told her,—and a momentary flush | |
| Shot o’er her countenance; and then the soul | 100 |
| Of Jephtha’s daughter wakened; and she stood | |
| Calmly and nobly up, and said ’t was well,— | |
| And she would die. * * * * * The sun had wellnigh set. | |
| The fire was on the altar; and the priest | |
| Of the High God was there. A pallid man | 105 |
| Was stretching out his trembling hands to heaven, | |
| As if he would have prayed, but had no words. | |
| And she who was to die, the calmest one | |
| In Israel at that hour, stood up alone, | |
| And waited for the sun to set. Her face | 110 |
| Was pale, but very beautiful,—her lip | |
| Had a more delicate outline, and the tint | |
| Was deeper; but her countenance was like | |
The majesty of angels.
The sun set,— | |
| And she was dead,—but not by violence. | 115 |
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