Classic Poem

Who shall go scatheless and not suffer loss
That dare attempt to stipulate with Heaven,
And bribe Jehovah to bestow success?
Punish me, people, in my passing pride;
Fling me for food to vultures and to eagles;
Give me to wolves, or offer me to lions;
For I have given my daughter up to death;—
Myself, who gave her her beginning, have
Pronounced the fatal fiat of her end.
Oh, friends, despise me not that thus I weep!
Oh, wonder not that I before you rage!
Behold a rash, a wretched, ruined man!
Hear me, for I must speak, though you should curse me;
Listen, though, hearing, you should learn to loathe me.
Close were the armies gathered: Israel here,
There Ammon, bold embattled; insolent,
And claiming Gilead as his own, of old.
Dark were the heavens, and lowered upon our lines
(Oh, darker still was my fatuity!),
And much I feared, yet much I longed, to know
The issue of the pained and pregnant hour,
That, in the dim, cloud-curtained firmament,
With gusty throes and sullen thunders moaned,
And seemed to writhe as on a bed of travail,
And, with huge, globy drops, enormous weep,
And yearn to be delivered; whilst I stood—
Near me no priest, to shed from his gemmed breastplate
Prophetic light of Urim and of Thummim.
What could I do? What did I do? I cried,
‘Lord God of Israel, the tribes' defence,
Their hope in peace, their help when waging war;
Jehovah, hear me, hear thy servant, Lord:
If, without fail, thou shalt this day deliver
Into my hands the Ammonitish host,
Then shall it be, that whatsoever thing
Shall issue first from out my doors to meet me,
When I return, victorious and in peace,
Shall be thine own, and, slain upon thine altar,
As a burnt-offering, be there consumed.’
Oh, rashly, rashly for my peace, I vowed!
Oh, dearly, dearly was the victory bought!
Its price, your ransom, my dear daughter—she,
Compared (oh, foolish, vain comparison!)
With whom the glory of this victory
Seems utter darkness, misery, and shame.
Shorten this shameful spectacle; withhold
The rest of what now seems mere mockery.
What am I midst these honours but a wretch?
I nothing have therein, now nothing prize:
Strip me of all, now that my child is gone;
Sword, shield, and judge's staff, all emblems take
That may betoken proud authority:
Take Gilead's chair, take all you promised me—
Alas! not Gilead's chair, with present power,
Nor future fame from this proud feat of arms,
Nor all the fulness of these fertile hills,
Were an equivalent for yon lone lamb,
That hither came, gay skipping from the fold.