TO JUDITH'S TRIUMPH

                    94

From bed down to the floor all bloody hangs
the right shoulder of the merciless lord,
who storming futilely Bethulia's wall,
hurled bolts against himself towards heaven's hold.

In agony entangled, the red veil
of the pavilion, on the lefthand side,
reveals the cruel, inhuman spectacle
of his hideous trunk, now icy cold.

Spilled Bacchus stains his sturdy coat of mail,
the glasses and the table overturned;
the guards sleep, who stand him in such poor stead;

and there, atop the jagged city wall
of Israel's tribe, the Hebrew woman chaste
appears resplendent, brandishing his head.