2 Samuel 1

Thy Beauty, Israel, is fled,
Sunke to the Dead.
How are the Valiant fal'n! the Slaine
Thy Mountaines staine.
O let it not in Gath be knowne;
Nor in the streets of Ascalon!

Lest that sad Story should excite
Their dire delight:
Lest in the Torrent of our woe
Their pleasure flow:
Lest their triumphant Daughters ring
Their Cymbals, and curs'd Paeans sing.

You Hils of Gilboa, never may
You Offrings pay;
No Morning Deaw, nor fruitfull showers
Cloth you with Flowers:
Saul, and his Armes there made a Spoile;
As if untoucht with sacred Oyle.

The Bow of noble Jonathan
Great Battailes wan:
His Arrows on the Mighty fed,
With Slaughter red.
Saul never rais'd his Arme in vaine;
His Sword still glutted with the Slaine.

How lovely! O how pleasant! when
They liv'd with Men!
Then Eagles swifter; stronger farre
Then Lions are:
Whom love in life so strongly ty'd,
The stroke of Death could not divide.

Sad Israels Daughters, weepe for Saul;
Lament his fall;
Who fed you with the Earths increase,
And crown'd with Peace:
With Robes of Tyrian Purple deckt,
And Gems, which sparkling light reflect.

How are thy Worthies by the Sword
Of Warre devour'd!
O Jonathan, the better part
Of my torne Heart!
The salvage Rocks have drunke thy bloud:
My Brother! O how kind! how good!

Thy love was great; O never more
To Man, Man bore!
No Woman, when most passionate,
Lov'd at that rate!
How are the Mighty fal'n in fight!
They, and their Glory set in Night!