II.

For countless as the insect throng

That fills the summer fields with song,
Stretch'd far and wide that plain along,
Lies Midian's mighty host,

The warriors of the wilderness,

With steeds and camels numberless

As sand on the sea-coast1.

And wafted on the echoes rife,
While all around is still,

The ceaseless hum of crowded life
Comes mellow'd to the hill;

And ever as the breezes swell,

Mixed with the camel's peaceful bell,
Come the loud laugh, th' exulting cry
That tell of mirth and revelry.

For many a chief spoke impious boasts
That night against the Lord of Hosts,
Who saw his people Midian's slave,
Who lov'd the land yet could not save.
How many, e'er to-morrow's light,
Of all that wassail'd on that night,
And long'd for coming day,

Shall feebly draw the ebbing breath,
Or coldly lay the head in death,
Upon a bed of clay?

And the Midianites, and the Amalekites, and all the children of the east, lay along in the valley like grasshoppers for multitude: and their camels were without number, as the sand by the sea-side for multitude. Judges vii. 12.

III.

There is one who looks down, from the wild mountain side,
On that host in the hour of its power and its pride,
Sees the watch-fires out-number the stars of the sky,
And yet looks on the scene with a resolute eye;
Hears the voice of defiance swell high on the gale,
Yet his cheek does not blanch, and his heart does not quail;-
"Tis the chosen of God- 'tis the queller of Baal!

And where is his host? Is that cowering band,

Are these the defenders of Israel's land?

Shall the stream of the mountain pretend to restrain
The impetuous flow of the far-rolling main?
With a handful of men will he venture to go
'Gainst the myriads of Midian that cluster below?
He asks not for more: he has plac'd not his trust
In the bow, or the spear, or the arm of dust ;
He has trusted in Him who is Mighty and True;
And the harvest is ripe, though the reapers are few.

IV.

Dauntless he stood, for his a race
That look'd grim danger in the face;
And yet, if for a moment's space

Some shade of doubt there ran

5

And the host of Midian was beneath him in the valley. Judges vii. 8.

O'er his pale brow, seek not his mood

Too curiously to scan;

Enough, his faith was unsubdu'd,

Remember he was man.

Enough, that in each change that pass'd,
Like summer cloud in air,
Across his mind, his eye was cast
To heaven in silent prayer.

Oh! ever in this vale of tears,
'Mid griefs, and agonies, and fears,
The heart, no other ray that cheers,
Will still find comfort there.

ས.

"No, Phurah, no," (for lingering by Phurah observ'd his master's eye,

To read his purpose there;

If lion-heart and stedfast will,

E'en in that hour could trample still
On danger and despair ;)

"No, my good Phurah, think not now," 'Twas thus his master spoke,

"To see the soul of Gideon bow

Once more beneath the yoke;

I turn not back, I falter not,
Till Israel's sufferings are forgot

In freedom or the grave;

Till I shall either cease to be,

Or cease to be a slave.

Yet tho' I've girt me for this hour,
And death itself have not the pow'r

To bend me from my way;

I say not that I do not feel

Some anxious doubts for Israel's weal,
In the dread game we play.

Yes! fears will rise!-Yet wherefore fear,
As if the Lord refused to hear?—
Oh, hard of heart! and can I still
Presume to doubt the heavenly will?
Have I so soon forgot the morn,

When first the summons came,
That raised the Abi-ezrite's horn,
(The humblest of his name),

Brought him from poverty and scorn,
And gave him power and fame?

VI.

'Twas when the prophet raised on high,
By heaven's command, the warning cry;
I stood by our ancestral oak",

And slave-like crouching to the yoke,

Behold, my family is poor in Manasseh, and I am the least in my father's house. Judges vi. 15.

7 And there came an angel of the Lord, and sat under an oak which was in Ophrah, that pertained unto Joash the Abi-ezrite; and his son Gideon threshed wheat by the wine-press, to hide it from the Midianites. Judges vi. 11.

Our niggard store of grain prepared,
The gleanings of the land,
Which oversight, not pity, spared

From the destroyer's hand.

So sunk, alas, is Israel now,

E'en honest toil must hide his brow,

And bend, as guilt should bend, the head,
To earn our wives', our children's bread!
Like war-horse fretting on the rein,
My spirit loathed the servile stain,
And burned, in its indignant mood,
To wash away that stain in blood.
"And shall we ne'er be free again,"
I cried, "has Jeshurun no men,

Have Israelites no sword,

8

To man one rush against the foe,
To make one struggle, strike one blow,
For freedom and the Lord?

The Lord! We may no longer claim
As Israel's shield that sacred name:
Alas, from his rebellious race
The Lord, offended, hides his face.
Oh Israel, Israel, from thy brow
The glory is departed now!

Land of the prophet, patriarch, saint,
In vain I pour the loud complaint,

Thyself has sunk thee thus!

8 Man but a rush against Othello's breast, and he retires. SHAKSP.