The brave in heart, blithe; the bright virgin meant he

With foulness and filth to pollute; the

Dispenser of fame would not, Guardian of splendor, suffer that, but stayed him from it,

Wise Wielder of hosts. The wicked one passed thence,

The wanton caitiff, begirt with warriors,

The baleful his bed to seek, where life he should lose

In a single night; shocking the end He awaited on earth, though this he had wrought out,

The dread king of men, while here he yet dwelt

In this world under welkin. So winedrunken fell

The regal to rest, that no rede now remained

In the cell of his sense: the soldiers

The terrible tyrant, to bed had attended

For the last time. Then the Lord's servant,

The matchless maiden, was wholly mindful

How most lightly to rob of life
That wicked one before he awoke,
The carnal caitiff. The curly-locked
Seized a sword of might, the Master's
maiden,

Sharp from scouring, and drew from the sheath

With her right hand. The Ruler of Heaven

By name she besought, the Savior of all

Who dwell in the world, and spake these words:

'O God of beginnings, and Giver of comfort,

The Almighty's Son, I seek for thy mercy;

Be now benignant to me in need,
O Power of the Trinity. Terribly

now

My heart is heated, and heavy my soul, Sore troubled with sorrows; vouchsafe, Lord of Heaven,

True faith and full triumph, that I may o'erthrow

With this steel the destroyer; bestow on me weal,

O masterful Monarch, for ne'er of thy mercy My need was

more vast: revenge,

mighty Lord, Splendid glory-dispenser, the rage of my spirit,

In my bosom the burning.' The highest and best Judge

Straight dowered her with daring, as each one he doth

Of those dwelling here who seek for his help

With reason and right faith. Her spirit dilated,

To the holy new hope came; she seized then the heathen

Hard by the hair; with her hands she there haled him

Disdainfully toward her, the treacherous man,

And laid him along, the bulk unlovely, As she most meetly the wretch could manage,

The woful one wield. Then did the wavy-haired

Smite the foeman with flashing sword, The hostile-minded, so that his head Was half-way sundered, and he lay swooning,

Dire-wounded and drunken. Not yet was he dead,

Bereft of his soul; again she smote, The valiant virgin, with nerve and vigor,

The heathen hound, so that his head rolled

Forth on the floor; the body so foul Lay lifeless behind, but the soul sped away,

Sank beneath the abyss, and there was abased,

Ever thereafter pinioned with pangs, Bewound by serpents and bound by tor

ments,

Fastened firm in the flaming of hell,

Shut in that scrip in which her servant, The fair-cheeked woman proficient in virtue,

Thither had brought the bread of them both.

To her maid she gave it, the gory head, To the hand of the helpful to bear it home,

To her junior, Judith. Then went they joyful,

Brave women both, and bold of spirit, Till the proud-souled and prosperous maids

Trode forth in triumph out from the troops,

And saw unveiled before their vision The gleaming walls of the glorious city, Bethulia. Then the bracelet-decked

ones

Hasted forthright upon the footway, Until the glad-minded at length had gone

Unto the wall-gate. There sat the warriors,

The heroes watching, holding their ward

Within the fortress, as erst to the folk, The rueful-souled, Judith rightly bade, The wily maid, when she went her way,

The daring damsel. She, dear to her people,

Had now returned, the tireless of thought,

And straightway commanded one of the

men

To come from the mighty burg and meet her,

Then in great haste to hurry them in Through the gate of the wall. These words then spake

To the triumphing people: 'Now can I tell you

A mindworthy thing, that mournful of mood

Ye no longer may be: the Lord is blithe toward you,

The Splendor of kings; it is now spread abroad,

Far and wide through the world, that victory wondrous

And radiant awaits you; renown shall be wrought

For dole and distress which long ye endured.'

Then were blithe the dwellers in burg When they had heard how the holy one spake

Over the high wall. The host was joyful;

To the fortress-gate hastened the folk Men and women in multitudes many, In throngs and bands, thousands in number.

They swarmed and surged towards the servant of God,

Elders and youths: of every man

In the mead-city the mind was cheered,
As soon as they heard that to her home
Judith was come; full quickly then
In lowly wise they let her in.
Then the adroit one, adorned with gold,
Called to her servant, clever in mind,
The head to unhide of the leader of
hosts,

Blood-stained as it was, and bear as a sign

How in battle she fared, to the dwellers in burg.

Then the noble one spake to the people unnumbered:

'Here can ye clearly, conquering heroes, Leaders of legions, gaze on the loath

some

Head of the heathen Holofernus,
Lacking life, and alarming no longer.
He, most of all men, wrought us mur-
ders and crimes,

Harrowing hardships, and higher had heaped them,

Who dared the warrior to awake,
Or seek to know how they had sped,
The martial of mood and the holy vir-
gin,

The maid of God. In their might they drew nigh,

The Hebrew folk, and fiercely they fought

With hard-tempered weapons; they hotly repaid

Their former feuds with hostile falchions,

Their grudges deep-grounded; Assyria's glory

Was weakened and wasted by that day's work,

Its haughtiness humbled. The heroes stood

Round their ruler's tent mightily roused,

Woful in mind. Then one and all
By God forsaken, began to storm,
Loudly to noise, and eke to gnash,
With their teeth enduring wrath; here
ended their triumph,

Their prosperous prowess. The heroes proposed

Their ruler to rouse; success was not wrought them.

At length one ventured, though late his valor,

A battle-man, to enter the bower-tent, Nerved for the peril, since prompted by need;

There found he his gold-lord lorn of his ghost,

Stretched on his pallet, pallid of hue, Relinquished by life. Then fell he belive

Agrised to the ground, ungoverned of mood,

Gan tearing at once his hair and attire,

And spake this word unto the warriors, Who, sombre of spirit, were waiting outside:

'Here is predicted our own perdition, Tokens are toward that near is the

time

Full of afflictions, and now pressing forward,

When we shall lose our lives together, Sink in the strife: hewn with the sword here

Lies headless your chief.' Cheerless they then

Hurled down their weapons, and, weary at heart,

Hurried to flight. Behind them were fighting

The mighty people, until the most part Of the pagan legion lay low in the battle

On the conquest-plain, carved by the sword,

At the will of the wolves, and none the less welcome

To ravening ravens. Away fled the

Came back few survivors. The valiant

ones wheeled,

The conquerors returned through the midst of the carnage,

Through blood-reeking bodies; away they could bear,

The dwellers in land from those unliving,

Their old-time foes, baleful and odious,
Bloody booty and trappings brilliant,
Bucklers and broadswords and brown-
hued helmets,
Treasures of price.

they

Powerfully had

On that folkstead their foes overcome, The home-defenders their haters of old Had slain with the sword: in their footsteps they stayed.

Those who in life were to them most malign

Of living races. The whole array,

The most noted of nations, for fully a month,

The lordly and curly-locked carried and led

To Bethulia, the brightest of burgs, Helmets and hip-swords and hoary corselets,

The deckings of fighters, adorned with gold,

Costlier treasures than could be recounted

By any man of those who are mindful; All that the doughty by daring won, Brave under banners amid the battle,