What maiden is that on the mountain brown ?
Is it a spirit from heaven come down,
To wander and weep for the woes of men,
Till God shall receive her to bliss again ?

And why does she kneel on the earth so bare ?
And what does she do with that sackcloth hair,
Which she folds over somewhat the earth cannot

hold,
As if she would cover a treasure of gold ?

The season of gleaning is come in the land,
And the harvest of barley is ripe for the hand,
But the ears of the grain are all scattered and thin,
And the reapers are downcast, and loth to begin.
For the sky o'er their heads is a cloudless one,
And the fields, they are parched by the heat of the

sun ;
The grass is all burnt upon Gibeah's crown,
For months have gone by since the rain came down.
'T is the daughter of Aiah, the handmaid of Saul,
That mourns for her sons, in their sorrowful fall,
Who were slain for their father's unfortunate feud,
When the men of Chephirah demanded their blood.
SACRED MELODIES. 177

And their bodies now lie on the brow of the hill,
When the sun-beam is hot, and the night air chill ;
And their mother spreads by them the sackcloth hair,
And weeps for her children, late blooming so fair.
