Rested, like mockery, on his covered 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 his 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 bowed his head upon him, and broke forth
In the resistless eloquence of wo:

"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 these dumb And cold lips, Absalom!

"The grave hath won 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 gentle slumber on thee :And thy dark sin !-Oh! I could drink the cup, If from this wo its bitterness had won thee. May God have called thee, like a wanderer, home, My erring Absalom!"

He covered up his face, and bowed himself
A moment on his child: then, giving him
A look of melting tenderness, he clasped
His hands convulsively, as if in prayer;
And, as a 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. '

HAGAR IN THE WILDERNESS.

THE morning broke. Light stole upon the clouds
With a strange beauty. Earth received again
Its garment of a thousand dies; and leaves,
And delicate blossoms, and the painted flowers,
And every thing that bendeth to the dew,
And stirreth with the daylight, lifted up
Its beauty to the breath of that sweet morn.

All things are dark to sorrow; and the light And loveliness, and fragrant air were sad To the dejected Hagar. The moist earth Was pouring odours from its spicy pores, And the young birds were singing as if life

Were a new thing to them; but oh! it came
Upon her heart like discord, and she felt
How cruelly it tries a broken heart,

To see a mirth in any thing it loves.

She stood at Abraham's tent. Her lips were pressed
Till the blood started; and the wandering veins
Of her transparent forehead were swelled out,
As if her pride would burst them. Her dark eye
Was clear and tearless, and the light of heaven,
Which made its language legible, shot back
From her long lashes, as it had been flame.
Her noble boy stood by her, with his hand
Clasped in her own, and his round, delicate feet,
Scarce trained to balance on the tented floor,
Sandaled for journeying. He had looked up
Into his mother's face until he caught

The spirit there, and his young heart was swelling
Beneath his dimpled bosom, and his form
Straightened up proudly in his tiny wrath,
As if his light proportions would have swelled,
Had they but matched his spirit, to the man.