SCENE FROM ALFIERI’S TRAGEDY OF SAUL.
Saul, Jonathan, Michol, David.
Jonathan.
Come, sire beloved—give truce awhile to thought,
The pure free air restore thee! Sit thou here
Beside us.
Michol.
Father—
Saul.
Who are ye? Who is’t
Talks of pure air? This? ’tis a hateful mist—
The shade, the gloom of death. Hither! Behold—
Around the sun a garland dusk—of blood!
Yet listen—dost not hear the shriek of birds
Of evil omen?—In the fatal air
A sadness broods, which heavy on my heart
Sinks and compels my tears.—But why weep you?
Jonathan.
Great God of Israel! is thy face withdrawn
Thus, from thy people’s king? him, once thy servant,
Leav’st thou to foes infernal?
Saul.
Peace is torn from me,
Light—offspring soul—and kingdom. I am reft
Of all at once! Saul—miserable Saul!
Who shall console thee! In thy path of darkness
Who now shall guide, sustain thee? E’en thy children
Are mute—relentless—savage! All invoke,
Wretched old man, thy death! all hearts are fixed
Upon the diadem, which now too long
Hath circled thy gray locks! Hence—tear it hence!
And sever at the same time from this body
This trembling head! Death were more welcome far
Than present anguish!—death—’tis death I ask.
Jonathan.
Now, since his vengeful wrath dissolves in grief,
Oh, brother! let thy voice his peace restore;
In sweet forgetfulness thou oft hast wrapt
His soul with song celestial.
Michol.
Lo! his breast
Convulsive heaves—and his wild fiery glance
Is quenched in tears! ’tis time to speed thy work.
David.
Oh Thou! who uncreate, unseen, unknown,
O’er all creation sit’st in sovereignty—
By whose dread fiat and whose power alone
This spirit lives, that dares to mount to Thee!—
Whose searching glance hell’s dark abysses own,
And yield to light their depths of mystery—
Whose nod can shake the world—before whose hand
The rebel nations vanish from the land—
Thou on thy cherubim’s exulting wing
Wert wont in veiled glory to descend;
Thou with the might of Heaven’s eternal King
Thine Israel’s chief in danger did’st defend!
To him thou wert of peace the exhaustless spring—
His Shield in war—his Captain—and his Friend!
Oh! from thy glory send one pitying ray
To cleave the clouds that hide from us the day!
In wo and darkness sunk——
Saul.
Hear I the voice
Of David? Rousing from the palsied sway
Of mortal lethargy—it breathes a tone
Transient, but glorious, of mine early days!
David.
Who comes? who comes? Heard from the murky cloud,
But hidden from the sight by dun mists, driven
Across the face of Heaven!
They part—and from their bosom glance afar
The flashing steel—the panoply of war!
Lo! from the dusky shroud
The monarch, tower-like, stands! crowning his head
The blood-red halo—gleams above, around,
His sword victorious!—To the thundering tread
Of men and steeds the quaking hills resound!—
The sea, the laboring earth, the lurid sky.
Echo his battle cry.
The king comes forth! to hurl in dreadful might
Soldier, and car, and courser from his path,
O’erwhelmed in wild confusion:—at the sight
His foemen shrink—nor dare to meet his wrath,
But trembling fly,
For God’s own lightning flashes from his eye.
Ye sons of Ammon! where is now your boast?
Ye that could once insult, defy, disdain
Israel’s despised host?
Lo! your pale corpses cumber all the plain!
Your living men remain
A bloody harvest, soon to writhe in dust—
Such is their fate who in false idols trust!—
But hark! with sudden peal
Another trumpet shakes the sounding air!
’Tis still the avenging steel
Of conquering Saul, that widely flashes there!
He comes to quell the pride
Of Moab, and of impious Amalek—
Edom—and Zobah—who his power defied!
As the fierce torrent, bursting from the chain
Which lingering winter strives to bind in vain,
Thus in the tide of wo
His haughty crested foe
The monarch sweeps in one o’erwhelming wreck!
Saul.
It is the war-cry of mine ancient days
That calls me back to glory! At the sound,
Life, as in past years I was wont to live,
Thrills in my veins.—Alas! who now would speak
To me of war? Oblivion, peace, invite
The old man to their shades.
David.
We sing of peace.
Wearied—beside the verdant shore
Of his own native river laid,
The champion dreams of victories o’er
Beneath the laurel shade.
His children stand the warrior near,
They kiss away each starting tear,
Exult in every smile!
So sweet the gloom that shades each face,
So soft of every tear the trace,
’Tis scarcely marked the while.
His daughters with fond hands undo
The shining helmet from his brow;
His consort courts the mute caress—
While they with emulous gentleness
Bear water from the crystal spring,
And bathe his front, and o’er him fling
Flowers whose rich odors well might seem
The lingerings of some fairy dream!
Bedew his hand with tears of love,
And grieve that ’tis to each denied
Superior tenderness to prove—
And be the closest at his side.
And near him too, a smiling band
Absorbed in other labors stand;
His graceful sons!—One strives apart
Its mirrored brilliance to restore
To that blood-rusted steel once more:
Another asks, with swelling heart,
When he shall whirl the lance and shield,
Which now his arm essays in vain to wield!
While thus his tardy youth he chides,
A third, with infant wile
Behind the ponderous armor hides
His soft seraphic smile.
Tears that the depths of bliss bespeak,
Roll down the monarch’s furrowed cheek;
His presence mid that lovely race
Lights up the joy in every face.
Oh, beauteous peace! where’er we roam,
Where could our wandering footsteps meet
A truth so pure, a love so sweet,
As in this bower of home?
But lo! beneath the tranquil deep
The sun is set; o’er tree and hill
And waveless stream the winds are still—
The king has sunk to sleep!
Saul.
Oh! happy father of a race so noble!
Blest peace of mind! A tranquil sweetness glides
O’er all my yielding soul!