Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE DIRGE OF JEPHTHAH'S DAUGHTER; SUNG BY THE VIRGINS, by ROBERT HERRICK


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE DIRGE OF JEPHTHAH'S DAUGHTER; SUNG BY THE VIRGINS, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: O thou, the wonder of all days [dayes]!
Last Line: And leave thee sleeping in thy urn.


1. O thou, the wonder of all dayes!
O Paragon, and Pearle of praise!
O Virgin-martyr, ever blest
Above the rest
Of all the Maiden-Traine! We come,
And bring fresh strewings to thy Tombe.

2. Thus, thus, and thus we compasse round
Thy harmlesse and unhaunted Ground;
And as we sing thy Dirge, we will
The Daffadill,
And other flowers, lay upon
(The Altar of our love) thy Stone.

3. Thou wonder of all Maids, li'st here,
Of Daughters all, the Deerest Deere;
The eye of Virgins; nay, the Queen
Of this smooth Green,
And all sweet Meades; from whence we get
The Primrose, and the Violet.

4. Too soon, too deere did Jephthah buy,
By thy sad losse, our liberty:
His was the Bond and Cov'nant, yet
Thou paid'st the debt,
Lamented Maid! he won the day,
But for the conquest thou didst pay.

5. Thy Father brought with him along
The Olive branch, and Victors Song:
He slew the Ammonites, we know,
But to thy woe;
And in the purchase of our Peace,
The Cure was worse then the Disease.

6. For which obedient zeale of thine,
We offer here, before thy Shrine,
Our sighs for Storax, teares for Wine;
And to make fine,
And fresh thy Herse-cloth, we will, here,
Foure times bestrew thee ev'ry yeere.

7. Receive, for this thy praise, our teares:
Receive this offering of our Haires:
Receive these Christall Vialls fil'd
With teares, distil'd
From teeming eyes; to these we bring,
Each Maid, her silver Filleting,

8. To guild thy Tombe; besides, these Caules,
These Laces, Ribbands, and these Faules,
These Veiles, wherewith we use to hide
The Bashfull Bride,
When we conduct her to her Groome:
All, all we lay upon thy Tombe.

9. No more, no more, since thou art dead,
Shall we ere bring coy Brides to bed;
No more, at yeerly Festivalls
We Cowslip balls,
Or chaines of Columbines shall make,
For this, or that occasions sake.

10. No, no; our Maiden-pleasures be
Wrapt in the winding-sheet, with thee:
'Tis we are dead, though not i' th grave:
Or, if we have
One seed of life left, 'tis to keep
A Lent for thee, to fast and weep.

11. Sleep in thy peace, thy bed of Spice;
And make this place all Paradise:
May Sweets grow here! & smoke from hence,
Fat Frankincense:
Let Balme, and Cassia send their scent
From out thy Maiden-Monument.

12. May no Wolfe howle, or Screech-Owle stir
A wing about thy Sepulcher!
No boysterous winds, or stormes, come hither,
To starve, or wither
Thy soft sweet Earth! but (like a spring)
Love keep it ever flourishing.

13. May all shie Maids, at wonted hours,
Come forth, to strew thy Tombe with flow'rs:
May Virgins, when they come to mourn,
Male-Incense burn
Upon thine Altar! then return,
And leave thee sleeping in thy Urn.





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