Touch'd with the opening innocence of a child;
His eye was blue and calm, as is the sky
In the serenest noon; His hair unshorn
Fell to His shoulders; and His curling beard
The fulness of perfected manhood bore.
He look'd on Helon earnestly awhile,
As if His heart were moved, and, stooping down,
He took a little water in His hand
And laid it on his brow, and said, "Be clean!"
And lo! the scales fell from him, and his blood
Coursed with delicious coolness through his veins,
And his dry palms grew moist, and on his brow
The dewy softness of an infant's stole.
His leprosy was cleansed, and he fell down
Prostrate at Jesus' feet and worshipp'd him.
DAVID S GRIEF FOR HIS CHILD.
'Twas daybreak, and the fingers of the dawn
Drew the night's curtain, and touch'd silently
The eyelids of the king. And David woke,
And robed himself, and pray'd. The inmates, now,
Of the vast palace were astir, and feet
Glided along the tesselated floors
With a pervading murmur, and the fount
Whose music had been all the night unheard,
Play'd as if light had made it audible;
And each one, waking, bless'd it unaware.
The fragrant strife of sunshine with the morn
Sweeten'd the air to ecstasy! and now
The king's wont was to lie upon his couch
Beneath the sky-roof of the inner court,
And, shut in from the world, but not from heaven,
Play with his loved son by the fountain's lip;
For, with idolatry confess'd alone
To the rapt wires of his reproofless harp,
He loved the child of Bathsheba. And when
The golden selvedge of his robe was heard.
Sweeping the marble pavement, from within
Broke forth a child's laugh suddenly, and words-
Articulate, perhaps, to his heart only-
Pleading to come to him. They brought the boy-
An infant cherub, leaping as if used
To hover with that motion upon wings,
And marvellously beautiful! His brow
Had the inspired up-lift of the king's,
And kingly was his infantine regard;
But his ripe mouth was of the ravishing mould
Of Bathsheba's-the hue and type of love,
Rosy and passionate-and oh, the moist
Unfathomable blue of his large eyes
Gave out its light as twilight shows a star,
And drew the heart of the beholder in!-
And this was like his mother.
Moved with unutter'd blessings, and awhile
He closed the lids upon his moisten'd eyes,
And, with the round cheek of the nestling boy
Press'd to his bosom, sat as if afraid
That but the lifting of his lids might jar
His heart's cup from its fulness. Unobserved,
A servant of the outer court had knelt
Waiting before him; and a cloud the while
Had rapidly spread o'er the summer heaven;
And, as the chill of the withdrawing sun
Fell on the king, he lifted up his eyes
And frown'd upon the servant-for that hour
Was hallow'd to his heart and his fair child,
And none might seek him. And the king arose,
And with a troubled countenance look'd up
To the fast-gathering darkness; and, behold,
The servant bow'd himself to earth, and said,
"Nathan the prophet cometh from the Lord!"
And David's lips grew white, and with a clasp.
Which wrung a murmur from the frighted child,
He drew him to his breast, and cover'd him
With the long foldings of his robe, and said,
"I will come forth. Go now!" And lingeringly,
With kisses on the fair uplifted brow,
And mingled words of tenderness and prayer
Breaking in tremulous accents from his lips,
He gave to them the child, and bow'd his head
Upon his breast with agony. And so,
To hear the errand of the man of God,
He fearfully went forth.
It was the morning of the seventh day.
A hush was in the palace, for all eyes
Had woke before the morn; and they who drew
The curtains to let in the welcome light,
Moved in their chambers with unslipper'd feet,
And listen'd breathlessly. And still no stir!
The servants who kept watch without the door
Sat motionless; the purple casement-shades
From the low windows had been roll'd away,
To give the child air; and the flickering light
That, all the night, within the spacious court,
Had drawn the watcher's eyes to one spot only,
Paled with the sunrise and fled in.
With more than stillness was the room where lay
The king's son on his mother's breast. His locks
Slept at the lips of Bathsheba unstirr❜d—
So fearfully, with heart and pulse kept down,
She watch'd his breathless slumber. The low moan
That from his lips all night broke fitfully,
Had silenced with the daybreak; and a smile-
Or something that would fain have been a smile-
Play'd in his parted mouth; and though his lids
Hid not the blue of his unconscious eyes,
His senses seem'd all peacefully asleep,
And Bathsheba in silence bless'd the morn
That brought back hope to her! But when the king Heard not the voice of the complaining child,
Nor breath from out the room, nor foot astir
But morning there so welcomeless and still-
He groan'd and turn'd upon his face. The nights
Had wasted; and the mornings come; and days
Crept through the sky, unnumber'd by the king,
Since the child sicken'd; and, without the door,
Upon the bare earth prostrate, he had lain-
Listening only to the moans that brought
Their inarticulate tidings, and the voice
Of Bathsheba, whose pity and caress,
In loving utterance all broke with tears,
Spoke as his heart would speak if he were there,
And fill'd his prayer with agony. Oh God!
To thy bright mercy-seat the way is far!
How fail the weak words while the heart keeps on!
And when the spirit, mournfully, at last,
Kneels at thy throne, how cold, how distantly
The comforting of friends falls on the ear
The anguish they would speak to, gone to Thee!
But suddenly the watchers at the door
Rose up, and they who minister'd within
Crept to the threshold and look'd earnestly
Where the king lay. And still, while Bathsheba
Held the unmoving child upon her knees,
The curtains were let down, and all came forth,
And, gathering with fearful looks apart,
And gazed on them a moment, and with voice
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