"Judith at the Tent of Holofernes" by John Greenleaf Whittier

Who is she, the pale-browed stranger,

Bending o’er that son of slaughter?

God be with thee in thy danger,

Israel’s lone and peerless daughter!

She hath bared her queenly beauty

To the dark Assyrian’s glance;

Now a high and sterner duty

Bids her to his couch advance.

Beautiful and pale she bendeth In her earnest prayer to Heaven;

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 death-clue’s track in heaven!

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-born 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?

Who hath won your wakened done?

Whose dark brow is up before ye,

Blackening in the fierce-haired sun?

Lo! an eye that never slumbers

Looks in its vengeance down;

And the thronged and mailed numbers Wither at Jehovah’s frown!