The sunny fields; the rugged rocks;

The valley where they fed their flocks;

The still, deep stream; the drooping pride

Of willows weeping o'er the tide.

And are they gone—the young and brave,

Who oft in sport had stemmed that wave?

When, fainting from the mid-day heat,

They sought at noon that cool retreat;

While one among the youthful throng

Poured forth his ardent soul in song,

And bade his harp's wild numbers tell

How Israel fled and Egypt fell!

[Pg 56]

Proudly then Zalmunna spoke:

"Dost thou think we dread the stroke

Doomed to stretch us on the plain

With the brave in battle slain?

Leave yon tender boy to shed

Tear-drops o'er the tombless dead:

Like the mighty chiefs of old,

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