Since our Country, our God -- Oh, my Sire! <br />Demand that thy Daughter expire; <br />Since thy triumph was brought by thy vow-- <br />Strike the bosom that's bared for thee now! <br /> <br />And the voice of my mourning is o'er, <br />And the mountains behold me no more: <br />If the hand that I love lay me low, <br />There cannot be pain in the blow! <br /> <br />And of this, oh, my Father! be sure-- <br />That the blood of thy child is as pure <br />As the blessing I beg ere it flow, <br />And the last thought that soothes me below. <br /> <br />Though the virgins of Salem lament, <br />Be the judge and the hero unbent! <br />I have won the great battle for thee, <br />And my Father and Country are free! <br /> <br />When this blood of thy giving hath gush'd, <br />When the voice that thou lovest is hush'd, <br />Let my memory still be thy pride, <br />And forget not I smiled as I died!<br /><br />George Gordon Byron<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/jeptha-s-daughter/
