Page:Poetical Works of John Oldham.djvu/67

Rh A desert may'st thou prove, and lonely waste, Like that our sinful, stubborn fathers passed, Where they the penance trod for all they there transgressed: Too dearly wast thou drenched with precious blood Of many a Jewish worthy, spilt of late. Who suffered there by an ignoble fate, And purchased foul dishonour at too high a rate: Great Saul's ran there amongst the common flood, His royal self mixed with the baser crowd: He, whom Heaven's high and open suffrage chose The bulwark of our nation, to oppose The power and malice of our foes; Even he, on whom the sacred oil was shed, Whose mystic drops enlarged his hallowed head, Lies now (oh Fate, impartial still to kings!) Huddled and undistinguished, in the heap of meaner things. Lo! there the mighty warrior lies, With all his laurels, all his victories, To ravenous fowls, or worse, to his proud foes, a prize: How changed from that great Saul whose generous aid. A conquering army to distressed Jabesh led, At whose approach Ammon's proud tyrant fled; How changed from that great Saul whom we saw bring, From vanquished Amalek, their captive spoils and king; When unbid pity made him Agag spare: Ah pity! more than cruelty, found guilty there: Oft has he made these conquered enemies bow, By whom himself lies conquered now: At Micmash, his great might they felt and knew, The same they felt at Dammin too. Well I remember, when from Helah's plain He came in triumph, met by a numerous crowd, Who with glad shouts proclaimed their joy aloud;