For his estranged, misguided Absalom The proud, bright being, who had burst away The heart that cherished him-for him he poured, In agony that would not be controlled, Strong supplication, and forgave him there, * The pall was settled. He who slept beneath Was straightened for the grave; and, as the folds Sunk to the still proportions, they betrayed The matchless symmetry of Absalom. His hair was yet unshorn, and silken curls Were floating round the tassels as they swayed To the admitted air, as glossy now As when, in hours of gentle dalliance, bathing Rested, like mockery, on his covered brow. A slow step startled him. He grasped his blade 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 The sackcloth from his brow, and laying back He bowed his head upon him, and broke forth "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, "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 HAGAR IN THE WILDERNESS. THE morning broke. Light stole upon the clouds All things are dark to sorrow; and the light And loveliness, and fragrant air were sad To the dejected Hagar. The moist earth |