H owl, gate! Cry, city! You are melted away, Philistia, all of you; for smoke comes out of the north, and there is no straggler in his ranks.
Porte, gémis! ville, lamente-toi! Tremble, pays tout entier des Philistins! Car du nord vient une fumée, Et les rangs de l'ennemi sont serrés. -
Continue reading Report error