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Look again, that maiden standeth
In the strength her God has given!
Strangely is her dark eye kindled,
Hot blood through her cheek is poured;
Lo, her every fear hath dwindled,
And her hand is on the sword!
Upward to the flashing curtain,
See, that mighty blade is driven,
And its fall!—tis swift and certain
As the cloud-fire's track in heaven I
Down, as with a power supernal,
Twice the lifted weapon fell;
Twice, his slumber is eternal—
Who shall wake the infidel?
Sunlight on the mountains streameth
Like an air-borne wave of gold;
And Bethulia's armor gleameth
Round Judea's banner-fold.
Down they go, the mailed warriors,
As the upper torrents sally
Headlong from their mountain-barriers
Down upon the sleeping valley.
Rouse thee from thy couch, Assyrian!
Dream no more of woman's smile;
Fiercer than the leaguered Tyrian,
Or the dark-browed sons of Nile,
Foes are on thy slumber breaking,
Chieftain to thy battle rise!
Vain the call—he will not waken—
Headless on his couch he lies.
Who hath dimmed your boasted glory?
What hath woman's weakness done?
Whose dark brow is up before ye,
Blackening in the fierce-haired sun?
Lo! an eye that never slumbers
Looketh in its vengeance down;
And the thronged and mailed numbers
Wither at Jehovah's frown!
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