2.
Project Gutenberg EPUB3 edition
Smith, George Adam and Nicoll, W. Robertson (William Robertson), Sir
Lo, thy folk are but women in thy midst:[307]
To thy foes the gates of thy land fly open;
Fire has devoured thy bars.
Draw thee water for siege, strengthen thy forts!
Get thee down to the mud, and tramp in the clay!
Grip fast the brick-mould!
There fire consumes thee, the sword cuts thee off.[308]
Make thyself many as a locust swarm,
Many as grasshoppers,
Multiply thy traders more than heaven’s stars,
—The locusts break off[309] and fly away.
Thy ...[310] are as locusts and thy ... as grasshoppers,
That hive in the hedges in the cold of the day:[311]
The sun is risen, they are fled,
And one knows not the place where they be.
Asleep are thy shepherds, O king of Assyria,
Thy nobles do slumber;[312]
Thy people are strewn on the mountains,
Without any to gather.
There is no healing of thy wreck,
Fatal thy wound!
All who hear the bruit of thee shall clap the hand
at thee,
For upon whom hath not thy cruelty passed without
ceasing?