In the valley of the waters we wept o'er the day <br />When the host of the stranger made Salem his prey, <br />And our heads on our bosoms all droopingly lay, <br />And our hearts were so full of the land far away. <br /> <br />The song they demanded in vain--it lay still <br />In our souls as the wind that died on the hill; <br />They called for the harp--but our blood they shall spill <br />Ere our right hand shall teach them one tone of our skill. <br /> <br />All stringlessly hung on the willow's sad tree, <br />As dead as her dead leaf those mute harps must be; <br />Our hands may be fetter'd--our tears still are free, <br />For our God and our glory--and, Sion!--Oh, thee.<br /><br />George Gordon Byron<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-the-valley-of-the-waters/
