That he would breathe his agony in words.
He told her and a momentary flush

Shot o'er her countenance; and then the soul
Of Jephthah's daughter waken'd; and she stood
Calmly and nobly up, and said 'twas well-
And she would die.

*

The sun had well nigh set.

The fire was on the altar; and the priest
Of the High God was there. A pallid man
Was stretching out his trembling hands to heaven,
As if he would have pray'd, but had no words—
And she who was to die, the calmest one
In Israel at that hour, stood up alone,
And waited for the sun to set. Her face
Was pale, but very beautiful-her lip
Had a more delicate outline, and the tint
Was deeper; but her countenance was like
The majesty of angels.

The sun set

And she was dead-but not by violence.

ABSALOM.

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 fashion'd 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 shore 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 gather'd round him on 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 a very 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 straighten'd for the grave; and, as the folds Sunk 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, as glossy now

As when, in hours of gentle dalliance, bathing
The snowy fingers of Judea's daughters.
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 fear'd the slumberer might stir.

A slow step startled him. He grasp'd his blade
As if a trumpet rang; but the bent form
Of David enter'd, 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 bow'd his head upon him, and broke forth
In the resistless eloquence of wo:

"Alas! my noble boy! that thou shouldst 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!

"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 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 call'd thee, like a wanderer, home,
My lost boy Absalom!"

He cover'd up his face, and bow'd 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.

CHRIST'S ENTRANCE INTO JERUSALEM.

He sat upon the "ass's foal" and rode
Toward Jerusalem. Beside him walk'd,
Closely and silently, the faithful twelve,