50

THE DEATH OF ABSALOM

II Samuel xix. 1

The waters slept. Night's silvery veil hung low
On Jordan's bosom, and the eddies curl'd

Their glassy rings beneath it, like the still
Unbroken beating of the sleeper's pulse.

The reeds bent down the stream; the willow leaves,

With a soft cheek upon the lulling tide,

Forgot the lifting winds; and the long stems,
Whose flowers the water, like a gentle nurse,
Bears on its bosom, quietly gave way,
And lean'd, in graceful attitudes, to rest.
How strikingly the course of nature tells,
By its light heed of human suffering,
That it was fashioned for a happier world!
King David's limbs were weary. He had fled
From far Jerusalem; and now he stood,
With his faint people, for a little rest,
Upon the shores of Jordan. The light wind
Of morn was stirring, and he bared his brow
To its refreshing breath; for he had worn
The mourner's covering, and he had not felt
That he could see his people until now.

They gathered round him in the fresh green bank,
And spoke their kindly words; and, as the sun
Rose up in heaven, he knelt among them there,
And bow'd his head upon his hands to pray.
Oh! when the heart is full-when bitter thoughts
Come crowding thickly up for utterance,

And the poor common words of courtesy
Are such an empty mockery-how much
The bursting heart may pour itself in prayer!
He pray'd for Israel-and his voice went up
Strongly and fervently. He pray'd for those
Whose love had been his shield—and his deep tones
Grew tremulous. But, oh! for Absalom—
For his estranged, misguided Absalom-

The proud, bright being, who had burst away,
In all his princely beauty to defy

The heart that cherish'd him-for him he pour'd,
In agony that would not be controll'd,

Strong supplication, and forgave him there,
Before his God, for his deep sinfulness.

The pall was settled. He who slept beneath
Was straightened for the grave; and, as the folds
Sank to the still proportions, they betray'd

The matchless symmetry of Absalom.
His hair was yet unshorn, and silken curls
Were floating round the tassels as they sway'd
To the admitted air.

His helm was at his feet; his banner, soil'd
With trailing through Jerusalem, was laid,
Reversed, beside him; and the jewell'd hilt,
Whose diamonds lit the passage of his blade,
Rested, like mockery, on his cover'd brow.
The soldiers of the king trod to and fro,
Clad in the garb of battle; and their chief,
The mighty Joab, stood beside the bier,

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,

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

"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.

"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.