9 If my head were a flowing spring,
my eyes a fountain of tears,
I would weep day and night^(A)
over the slain of my dear^[a] people.

¹⁰ I will raise weeping and a lament
over the mountains,
a dirge over the wilderness grazing land,
for they have been so scorched
that no one passes through.
The sound of cattle is no longer heard.
From the birds of the sky to the animals,^(A)
everything has fled—they have gone away.