The valiant soldier ne’er shall find a churl
To bid him trudge, a rude unwelcome guest.
On Salem’s hill the Hebrews’ reign is o’er,
The silver trump of jubilee is still.
Timbrel and harp and soft-toned dulcimer
Have ceased their strains in Sharon’s rosy vale;
The scattered tribes in earth’s remotest bounds
Wander like sheep upon the mountain-side,
And Israel mourns her empire and her God.
The fisher, solitary, dries his net