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George Gordon Byron - Jeptha`s Daughter
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Since our Country, our God -- Oh, my Sire! 
Demand that thy Daughter expire; 
Since thy triumph was brought by thy vow-- 
Strike the bosom that`s bared for thee now! 

And the voice of my mourning is o`er, 
And the mountains behold me no more: 
If the hand that I love lay me low, 
There cannot be pain in the blow! 

And of this, oh, my Father! be sure-- 
That the blood of thy child is as pure 
As the blessing I beg ere it flow, 
And the last thought that soothes me below. 

Though the virgins of Salem lament, 
Be the judge and the hero unbent! 
I have won the great battle for thee, 
And my Father and Country are free! 

When this blood of thy giving hath gush`d, 
When the voice that thou lovest is hush`d, 
Let my memory still be thy pride, 
And forget not I smiled as I died!
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