YLT(i)
1 The burden of the Valley of Vision. What—to thee, now, that thou hast gone up, All of thee—to the roofs?
2 Full of stirs—a noisy city—an exulting city, Thy pierced are not pierced of the sword, Nor dead in battle.
3 All thy rulers fled together from the bow, Bound have been all found of thee, They have been kept bound together, Afar off they have fled.
4 Therefore I said, `Look ye from me, I am bitter in my weeping, Haste not to comfort me, For the destruction of the daughter of my people.'