rt of the poem is lost, so we can only guess how the poet
told of the ravage wrought by the general of King Nabuchodonoser in the
countries close to Palestine, and how submission was as vain as
resistance to a power which, for the time being, was allowed to be so
terribly great.

The poem, as we have it, begins where Judith has come, in the splendour
of her beauty, and the might of her purity, and the power of her faith,
to destroy the destroyer and set her people free.

The Prince of Glory gave her the shield of His hand in the place
Where she stood in her uttermost need of the highest Doomer's grace
To save her in peril extreme; and the Ruler of all things made,
The glorious Father in Heaven, He granted the prayer she prayed,
And, because of the might of her faith, He gave His help and His aid.
I have heard how his word went forth, how Holofernes bad
His men to the drinking of wine, and the splendid feast he had.
The prince he called his thanes and the shielded warriors best,
And the folk-leaders came to the mighty, all fain for the doing his best.
And now, since the coming of Judith, three days and three nights had been,
The woman wise in her heart, and fair as the elf-folk sheen.

We have the description of the banquet, with the deep bowls and
well-filled cups and pitchers borne to the sitters along the floor--just
the description of the old Saxon banquet which the poet knew of. We have
the drunken glee of Holofernes, his right noisy laughter and the stormy
mirth that could be heard from afar; and his call to the henchmen to
quit them as warriors ought, till at last they lie in their drunken
sleep, powerless, and as though stricken of death.

Then comes the night, and the sending for Judith, the wise-hearted one,
to Holofernes' tent. Holofernes lies in his drunken sleep, and the
Lord's handmaid draws from the sheath the keen-edged glittering sword,
and prays,

O God of all created, I pray my prayer to Thee!
O Spirit of Comfort! O Son Almighty! I bow my knee,
For Thy mercy to me who need Thee, most glorious Trinity!
Now is my heart waxed hot, exceeding hot in me,
And my soul afflicted sore, and sorrowful grievously.
Give victory, Prince of Heaven, to me, and steadfast faith,
That so with this sword I slay this dealer of wrong and death.
O, grant me Thy salvation, most mighty Folk-prince, Thou,
For ne'er have I needed Thy mercy with