44 ROYAL SOCIETY OF CANADA 
ment to her mother’s tent. Jephthah, in a delirium of distress, prays 
to the God of his fathers: ; 
Behold, I am a rash, imperfect man, 
With but one cherished child, a daughter, lamb, 
Whose life I staked, not knowing what I did. 
Forgive, forego; or say what ransom thou 
Demand’st, what price. I give thee all I have 
Save her 
He said, and stood awaiting for the sign, 
And hears above the hoarse, bough-bending wind, 
The hill-wolf howling on the neighbouring height, 
And bittern booming in the pool below. 
Then follow three or four lines that are curiously Tennysonian—the 
only evidence, with one exception to be mentioned later, of Heavysege 
having read any of the poets except Shakespeare: 
And from the scabbard instant dropped his sword, 
And with long, living leaps and rock-struck clang, 
From side to side, and slope to sounding slope, 
In gleaming whirls swept down the dim ravine. 
Jephthah, failing any answer from inexorable Heaven, returns to 
his tent, to meet the fierce denunciations of his wife: 
Is this the triumph thou didst promise me a 
This thine arrival, that, in lieu of bringing 
To my house glory, gladness to my heart, 
Comes like a robber, taking from me all? 
All men are robbers, like the Ammonite,— 
Even thou, for thou wouldst rob me of my child ; 
; what is public weal, 
If merely it must mean a private woe es 
Woe to thee, Jephithah, if thou thus hast sworn ! 
Jephthah replies: 
Peace, opprobious woman, 
Nor interpose loud lamentations where 
"Twere best to hold a dumb, though deep, distress. 
Canst thou with words mete out thine agony ? 
Then is that slight that should be infinite. 
Unfortunately for Jephthah’s consistency, he himself proceeds to 
“mete out his agony” to the extent of some twenty-five lines. Heavysege 
got to the very root of the matter here, and yet failed to profit by his 
own wisdom. 
