“But now they mock me, men younger than I, whose fathers I would have disdained to put with my sheep dogs.
Of what use was the strength of their hands to me, since their vigor had gone from them?
Haggard from want and hunger, they roamed the parched land in desolate wastelands at night.
In the brush they gathered salt herbs, and their food was the root of the broom bush.
They were banished from human society, shouted at as if they were thieves.
They were forced to live in the dry stream beds, among the rocks and in holes in the ground.
They brayed among the bushes and huddled in the undergrowth.
A base and nameless brood, they were driven out of the land.
“And now those young men mock me in song; I have become a byword among them.
They detest me and keep their distance; they do not hesitate to spit in my face.
Now that God has unstrung my bow and afflicted me, they throw off restraint in my presence.
On my right the tribe attacks; they lay snares for my feet, they build their siege ramps against me.
They break up my road; they succeed in destroying me. ‘No one can help him,’ they say.
They advance as through a gaping breach; amid the ruins they come rolling in.