The wild gazelle on Judah's hills Exulting yet may bound, And drink from all the living rills That gush on holy ground; Its airy step and glorious eye[290] May glance in tameless transport by:-- II. A step as fleet, an eye more bright, Hath Judah witnessed there; And o'er her scenes of lost delight Inhabitants more fair. The cedars wave on Lebanon, But Judah's statelier maids are gone! III. Than Israel's scattered race; For, taking root, it there remains In solitary grace: It cannot quit its place of birth, It will not live in other earth. IV. But we must wander witheringly, In other lands to die; And where our fathers' ashes be, Our own may never lie: Our temple hath not left a stone, And Mockery sits on Salem's throne. OH! WEEP FOR THOSE. I. Oh! weep for those that wept by Babel's stream, Whose shrines are desolate, whose land a dream; Weep for the harp of Judah's broken shell; Mourn--where their God hath dwelt the godless dwell! II. And where shall Israel lave her bleeding feet? And when shall Zion's songs again seem sweet? And Judah's melody once more rejoice The hearts that leaped before its heavenly voice? III. Tribes of the wandering foot and weary breast, How shall ye flee away and be at rest! The wild-dove hath her nest, the fox his cave, Mankind their country--Israel but the grave! ON JORDAN'S BANKS. I. On Jordan's banks the Arab's camels stray, On Sion's hill the False One's votaries pray, The Baal-adorer bows on Sinai's steep-- Yet there--even there--Oh God! thy thunders sleep: II. There--where thy finger scorched the tablet stone! There--where thy shadow to thy people shone! Thy glory shrouded in its garb of fire: Thyself--none living see and not expire! III. Oh! in the lightning let thy glance appear; Sweep from his shivered hand the oppressor's spear! How long by tyrants shall thy land be trod? How long thy temple worshipless, Oh God? JEPHTHA'S DAUGHTER.[291] I. Since our Country, our God--Oh, my Sire! Demand that thy Daughter expire; Since thy triumph was bought by thy vow-- Strike the bosom that's bared for thee now! II. And the voice of my mourning is o'er, And the mountains behold me no more: If the hand that I love lay me low, There cannot be pain in the blow! III. And of this, oh, my Father! be sure-- That the blood of thy child is as pure As the blessing I beg ere it flow, And the last thought that soothes me below. IV.