And gazed upon the dark pall steadfastly,
As if he feared the slumberer might stir.
A slow step startled him. He grasped his blade
As if a trumpet rang; but the bent form

Of David entered, and he gave command
In a low tone to his few followers,

And left him with the dead. The king stood still
Till the last echo died; then throwing off
The sackcloth from his brow, and laying back
The pall from the still features of his child,
He bow'd his head upon him, and broke forth
In the resistless eloquence of woe:

"Alas! my noble boy! that thou should'st die!
Thou who wert made so beautifully fair!
That death should settle in thy glorious eye,

And leave his stillness in this clustering hair! How could he mark thee for the silent tomb? My proud boy, Absalom!

"Cold is thy brow, my son! and I am chill,

As to my bosom I have tried to press thee; How was I wont to feel my pulses thrill,

6

Like a rich harp-string, yearning to caress thee And hear thy sweet My Father' from those dumb And cold lips, Absalom!

But death is on thee. I shall hear the gush
Of music, and the voices of the young;

And life will pass me in the mantling blush,
And the dark tresses to the soft winds flung;
But thou no more, with thy sweet voice, shalt come
To meet me, Absalom!

"And oh, when I am stricken, and my heart, Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken, How will its love for thee, as I depart,

Yearn for thine ear to drink its last deep token! It were so sweet, amid death's gathering gloom, To see thee, Absalom!

"And now, farewell! 'Tis hard to give thee up— With death so like a slumber on thee

And thy dark sin!--Oh! could I drink the cup,

If from this woe its bitterness had won thee.
May God have called thee, like a wanderer, home,
My lost boy, Absalom!"

He covered up his face, and bowed himself
A moment on his child; then, giving him
A look of melting tenderness, he clasp'd
His hands convulsively, as if in prayer;
And, as if strength were given him of God,
He rose up calmly and composed the pall
Firmly and decently, and left him there,
As if his rest had been a breathing sleep.

NATHANIEL P. WILLIS

51

RIZPAH

II Samuel xxi. 9-10

It is growing dark.

At such a sunset I have been with Saul,
But saw it not. I only saw his eyes,
And the wild beauty of his roaming locks,
And-oh! there never was a man like Saul!
Strong arm, and gentle heart, and tender ways
To win a woman's very soul, were his.
When he would take my hand and look on me,
And whisper "Rizpah "—ah, those days are gone!
Why should I weep? Was I not loved by Saul?
And Saul was king of all the land of God.

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God save the king!" But, hush! what noise was that?

Oh, Heaven! to think a mother's eyes should look
On such a sight! Away! vile carrion-beast!
Those are the sons of Saul-poor Rizpah's sons.
O my dead darlings! O my only joy!

O sweet twin treasure of my lonely life,
Since that most mournful day upon Gilboa,
Torn from me thus!

I have no tears to shed.

O God! my heart is broken! Let me die!

Gilboa! David wrote a song upon it,
And had it put in Jasher-" Weep for Saul."
Armoni used to sing it to his harp.

Poor blackened lips!

My pretty children

Here is your father; say

I wonder if they dream,

Come, Mephibosheth,

God save the king!”

The Gibeonites! Ah! that was long ago.

Why should they die for what they never did?
No, David never would consent to that.

Whose son is he, this youth? Dost know him,
Abner?

Ha, ha! they shout again "God save the king!"

Was I asleep? I came not here to sleep.

О poor old eyes, sorrow has made you weak.

My sons! No, naught has touched them. O, how

cold!

Cold, cold! O stars of God, have pity on me,

Poor, lonely woman! O my sons, Saul's sons!
Kind stars, watch with me; let no evil beast
Rend that dear flesh. O God of Israel,
Pardon my sins! My heart is broken!

JOHN READE

52

THE SONG OF DAVID

II Samuel xxii

He sang of God, the mighty source
Of all things, the stupendous force
On which all strength depends;
From whose right arm, beneath whose eyes,
All period, power, and enterprise

Commences, reigns, and ends.

The world, the clustering spheres He made,
The glorious light, the soothing shade,

Dale, champaign, grove, and hill,

The multitudinous abyss,

Where secrecy remains in bliss,

And wisdom hides her skill.

Tell them I am, Jehovah said
To Moses, while earth heard in dread,
And, smitten to the heart,

At once, above, beneath, around,
All Nature, without voice or sound,
Replied, "O Lord, Thou art."

CHRISTOPHER SMART