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 leaned, 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 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 gathered 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 bowed 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 prayed for Israel; and his voice went up
Strongly and fervently. He prayed 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 cherished him-for him he poured,

In agony that would not be controlled,

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

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
The snowy fingers of Judea's girls.

His helm was at his feet: his banner, soiled
With trailing through Jerusalem, was laid
Reversed, beside him; and the jewelled hilt,
Whose diamonds lit the passage of his blade,
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 stil.
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 nis 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,

* Symmetry, proportion

6

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

"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! 'T is 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.

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
The snowy fingers of Judea's girls.

His helm was at his feet: his banner, soiled
With trailing through Jerusalem, was laid
Reversed, beside him; and the jewelled hilt,
Whose diamonds lit the passage of his blade,
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 stil.
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 nis head upon him, and broke forth
In the resistless eloquence of wo!-

et them, and feast corn, which was all **of the savages, as us, seized on their s for themselves! uch injured people y such injustice; and ave committed some

complain when they

You mean to get their

e poor people away from

you get the lands?
⚫hem.

hy, man, you have already

a dear rate, too; but I did I thought thou hadst any

ir lands!

ght at all: what right hast

overy, to be sure; the right an kings have agreed to give

ry! A strange kind of right, ind Charles, that some canoe-loads the sea, and discovering thy island claim it as their own, and set it up for it wouldst thou think of it?

y-I must confess, I should think it a e in them.

v canst thou, a Christian, and a Chrisit which thou so utterly condemnest in Lou callest savages? Yes, friend Charles: