I

O, that the years had language! time would tell,
Of one bright night the moon has loved so well,
For oft in darkness when she hides her face,
She'll to the stars with energy and grace
Relate in her soft tongue the scenes of yore,
Repeat her strange experience once more.
The night upon which she dotes, - 'twas grand, sublime,
More perfect sure than any other time,
She bathed unsparingly the hill, the brook,
Within its depths a glance of pride she took.
O Juda! if thou wast endowed with power,
Thou would'st describe that grand and solemn hour.
In yonder sacred oratory there.
Thou dost behold a woman strangely fair,
With classic brow and jet-like dreamy eyes,
Whose liquid depth outrivalled Italy's skies;
And pencilled brows 'neath glossy, raven hair,
Adorned the lids with silken fringes fair.
Though haircloth clothed that form of matchless grace,
It could not hide the beauty of that face.
With hands devoutly clasped she's heard to say,
'O God! send Holofernes far away;
Let not that tyrant's hand my people slay,
O pity Juda, Lord, again I pray!
My people all in agony and fear,
Dost pray thine anger soon will disappear.
With ashes on their heads they mourn and weep,
Too overcome with anguish e'en to sleep.
Forsake us not, O Lord, for woe is me,
Forget thy wrath, and set my people free.'
And while she prayed a ray of heavenly light,
Upon her soul was shed, - all things were bright;
And with a vision cleared by sacred love,
She saw her mission handed from above,
And rising cast the haircloth far away,
And 'rayed her form in garments bright as day.
To Holofernes' camp with serving maid,
A lengthened visit to that tyrant paid,
And charmed his sense with beauty's dazzling power,
And waited patiently for victory's hour.
II

O sound the trumpets; let the bells ring out,
Their cadence has a mournful sound throughout,
To merry hearts a night of joy they tell,
To one they ring a solemn funeral knell.
A banquet Holofernes gives to-night,
And honors Judith who has charmed his sight.
But he and officers have drunk so free,
They fail their imminent danger now to see;
Upon their couches wrapt in soundest sleep,
Forgetful of the vigils they should keep.
But who is this so near the tyrant's tent,
With eyes uplifted prayerfully is bent?
Then softly rising, near his couch she steals,
With one wild prayer again to heaven appeals;
Then from its scabbard soon his sword she draws,
And lifts aloft - and then, one awful pause
Before it falls. She quickly grasps the head,
For Holofernes, Juda's foe, is dead.
Rejoice, Bethulia, God has pitied thee,
And noble Judith set thy people free.
O, hail to thee, thou joy of Israel!
Thy name o'er nations cast a wholesome spell,
Long live thy valor 'mong the deeds of fame,
And may oblivion never know thy name,
Thou art the glory of Jerusalem,
Of dauntless knights, thou art the queen of them,
Posterity will ever reverence thee,
Before thy shrine all Juda bends the knee.
Stay thy rejoicings yet a longer time,
And honor Judith with anthems divine.