Читать книгу Song-Surf - Rice Cale Young - Страница 3

Jehovah! Jehovah! art Thou not stronger than gods of the heathen?

I slew him, that Sisera, prince of the host Thou dost hate.

But fear of his blood is upon me, about me is breathen

His spirit – by night and by day come voices that wait.

Athirst and affrightened he fled from the star-wrought waters of Kishon.

His face was as wool when he swooned at the door of my tent.

The Lord hath given him into the hand of perdition,

I smiled – but he saw not the face of my cunning intent.

He thirsted for water: I fed him the curdless milk of the cattle.

He lay in the tent under purple and crimson of Tyre.

He slept and he dreamt of the surge and storming of battle.

Ah ha! but he woke not to waken Jehovah's ire.

He slept as he were a chosen of Israel's God Almighty.

A dog out of Canaan! – thought he I was woman alone?

I slipt like an asp to his ear and laughed for the sight he

Would give when the carrion kites should tear to his bone.

I smote thro' his temple the nail, to the dust, a worm, did I bind him.

My heart was a-leap with rage and a-quiver with scorn.

And I danced with a holy delight before and behind him —

I that am called blessèd o'er all unto Judah born.

"Aye, come, I will show thee, O Barak, a woman is more than a warrior,"

I cried as I lifted the door wherein Sisera lay.

"To me did he fly and I shall be called his destroyer —

I, Jael, who am subtle to find for the Lord a way!"

"Above all the daughters of men be blest – of Gilead or Asshur,"

Sang Deborah, prophetess, then, from her waving palm.

"Behold her, ye people, behold her the heathen's abasher;

Behold her the Lord hath uplifted – behold and be calm!

"The mother of him at the window looks out thro' the lattice to listen —

Why roll not the wheels of his chariot? why does he stay?

Shall he not return with the booty of battle, and glisten

In songs of his triumph – ye women, why do ye not say?"

And I was as she who danced when the Seas were rended asunder

And stood, until Egypt pressed in to be drowned unto death.

My breasts were as fire with the glory, the rocks that were under

My feet grew quick with the gloating that beat in my breath.

At night I stole out where they cast him, a sop to the jackal and raven.

But his bones stood up in the moon and I shook with affright.

The strength shrank out of my limbs and I fell, a craven,

Before him – the nail in his temple gleamed bloodily bright.

Jehovah! Jehovah! art Thou not stronger than gods of the heathen?

I slew him, that Sisera, prince of the host Thou dost hate.

But fear of his blood is upon me, about me is breathen

His spirit – by day and by night come voices that wait.

I fly to the desert, I fly to the mountain – but they will not hide me.

His gods haunt the winds and the caves with vengeance that cries

For judgment upon me; the stars in their courses deride me —

The stars Thou hast hung with a breath in the wandering skies.

Jehovah! Jehovah! I slew him, the scourge and sting of Thy Nation.

Take from me his spirit, take from me the voice of his blood.

With madness I rave – by day and by night, defamation!

Jehovah, release me! Jehovah! if still Thou art God!