Davids Lamentation For Saul And Jonathan.

2. Sam. I. 19.

Alas slain is the Head of Israel,
Illustrious Saul whose beauty did excell,
Upon thy places mountainous and high,
How did the Mighty fall, and falling dye?
In Gath let not this things be spoken on,
Nor published in streets of Askalon,
Lest daughters of the Philistines rejoice,
Lest the uncircumcis'd lift up their voice.
O Gilbo Mounts, let never pearled dew,
Nor fruitful showres your barren tops bestrew,
Nor fields of offrings ever on you grow,
Nor any pleasant thing e're may you show;
For there the Mighty Ones did soon decay,
The shield of Saul was vilely cast away.
There had his dignity so sore a foyle,
As if his head ne're felt the sacred oyl.
Sometimes from crimson blood of gastly slain,
The bow of Jonathan ne're turn'd in vain:
Nor from the fat, and spoils of Mighty men
With bloodless sword did Saul turn back agen.
Pleasant and lovely, were they both in life,
And in their death were founnd no parting strife.
Swifter then swiftest Eagles so were they,
Stronger then Lions ramping for their prey.
O Israels Dames, o'reflow your beauteous eyes
For valiant Saul, who on mount Gilbo lyes,
Who cloathed you in Cloath of richest Dye,
And choice delights, full of variety,
On your array put ornaments of gold,
Which made you yet more beauteous to behold.
O! how in Battle did the mighty fall
In midst of strength not succoured at all.
O lovely Jonathan! how wast thou slain?
In places high, full low thou didst remain.
Distress'd for thee I am, dear Jonathan,
Thy love was wonderfull, surpassing man,
Exceeding all the love that's Feminine,
So pleasant hast thou been, dear brother mine.
How are the mighty fall'n into decay?
And warlike weapons perished away?

Anne Bradstreet

Anne Bradstreet was an English poet and the first writer in England's North American colonies to be published. Her works are largely centered around the themes of religion, family, and personal experience. She was a pioneer of American literature and known for her refined and scholarly style, as well as her exploration of female authorship roles during the 17th century.

Anne Bradstreet

The Romane Monarchy, Being The Fourth And Last, Beginning Anno Mundi, 3213.

Anne Bradstreet, Simple Poetry

The Four Seasons Of The Year.

Anne Bradstreet, Simple Poetry

To Her Father With Some Verses

Anne Bradstreet, Simple Poetry

An Elegie Upon That Honourable And Renowned Knight Sir Philip Sidney, Who Was Untimely Slain At The Siege Of Zutphen, Anno, 1586.

Anne Bradstreet, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

David's Lamentation Over Saul And Jonathan.

The beauty of Israel is slain on thy mountains,
The mighty are low, and how great is their fall,
But tell not our grief in Gath, by the fountains,
And publish it not within Askelon's wall,
Lest the Philistines' daughters shall mock at our sorrow,
And triumph in gladness o'er us in our pain,
And sound all their timbrels and harps on the morrow,
While here we are sore, in lamenting our slain.

Oh! Gilboa's mountains, from now and forever,
Let moisture, which falleth as rain, or as dew,
Come down on thy parch'd, burning summits, oh, never,
For the shield of the mighty is cast upon you.
From the blood of the slain, from the fat of the highest,
The bow of fair Jonathan never did quail,
And the sword of his father, in danger the highest,
Went forth to brave deeds, l...

Thomas Frederick Young

Davids Lament for Jonathan

Thou wast hard pressed, yet God concealed this thing
From me; and thou wast wounded very sore,
And beaten down, O son of Israels king,
Like wheat on threshing-flour.

Thou, that from courtly and from wise for friend
Didst choose me, and in spite of ban and sneer,
Rebuke and ridicule, until the end
Didst ever hold me dear!

All night thy body on the mountain lay:
At morn the heathen nailed thee to their wall.
Surely their deaf gods hear the songs to-day
Oer the slain House of Saul!

Oh! if that witch were here thy father sought,
Methinks I een could call thee from thy place,
To shift thy mangled image from my thought,
Seeing thy souls calm face.

I sorrowed for the words the prophet spoke,
That set me rival to thy fathers line;

Mary Hannay Foott

Rizpah.

And he delivered them into the hands of the Gibeonites, and they hanged them in the hill before the Lord; and they fell all seven together, and were put to death in the days of the harvest, in the first days, in the beginning of barley-harvest.

And Rizpah, the daughter of Aiah, took sackcloth, and spread it for her upon the rock, from the beginning of harvest until the water dropped upon them out of heaven, and suffered neither the birds of the air to rest upon them by day, nor the beasts of the field by night.

2 Samuel, xxi. 10.


Hear what the desolate Rizpah said,
As on Gibeah's rocks she watched the dead.
The sons of Michal before her lay,
And her own fair children, dearer than they:
By a death of shame they all had died,
And were stretched on the bare rock, side by side.

William Cullen Bryant

A Dream of Fair Women

I read, before my eyelids dropt their shade,
The Legend of Good Women, long ago
Sung by the morning star of song, who made
His music heard below;

Dan Chaucer, the first warbler, whose sweet breath
Preluded those melodious bursts that fill
The spacious times of great Elizabeth
With sounds that echo still.

And, for a while, the knowledge of his art
Held me above the subject, as strong gales
Hold swollen clouds from raining, tho my heart,
Brimful of those wild tales,

Charged both mine eyes with tears. In every land
I saw, wherever light illumineth,
Beauty and anguish walking hand in hand
The downward slope to death.

Those far-renowned brides of ancient song
Peopled the hollow dark, like burning stars,
And I heard sounds of ins...

Alfred Lord Tennyson

Saul

Said Abner, At last thou art come!
Ere I tell, ere thou speak,
Kiss my cheek, wish me well! Then I wished it,
And did kiss his cheek.
And he, Since the King, O my friend,
For thy countenance sent,
Nor drunken nor eaten have we;
Nor until from his tent
Thou return with the joyful assurance
The King liveth yet,
Shall our lip with the honey be brightened,
The water be wet.

For out of the black mid-tents silence,
A space of three days,
No sound hath escaped to thy servants,
Of prayer nor of praise,
To betoken that Saul and the Spirit
Have ended their strife,
And that, faint in his triumph, the monarch
Sinks back upon life.

Yet now my heart leaps, O beloved!
Gods child with his dew
On thy gracious gold hair, and t...

Robert Browning

To The Memory Of My Dear Daughter-In-Law, Mrs. Mercy Bradstreet, Who Deceased Sept. 6, 1669, In The 28. Year Of Her Age.

And live I still to see relations gone,
And yet survive to sound this wailing tone;
Ah, woe is me, to write thy Funeral Song,
Who might in reason yet have lived long,
I saw the branches lopt the Tree now fall,
I stood so nigh, it crusht me down withal;
My bruised heart lies sobbing at the Root,
That thou dear Son hath lost both Tree and fruit:
Thou then on Seas sailing to forreign Coast;
Was ignorant what riches thou hadst lost.
But ah too soon those heavy tydings fly,
To strike thee with amazing misery;
Oh how I simpathize with thy sad heart,
And in thy griefs still bear a second part:
I lost a daughter dear, but thou a wife,
Who lov'd thee more (it seem'd) then her own life.
Thou being gone, she longer could not be,
Because her Soul she'd sent along wit...

Anne Bradstreet