Encamped Philistines lay upon the plain
While Israel held the barren hillock's rise.
Like palm trees in the waste, their gay tents shone;
And many camp-fires vied with sunset skies,
Yet fewer on the hills than blazed below
Down in the darkening valley where had grown
As many flickering lights as flakes of snow
That fall on wintry Lebanus.
Alone
Before his tent, strode Saul; his head was bowed
As bows a palm tree to the tempest blast.
Was this deep thought? Or was the spirit cowed
By some high-topping terror? Then at last
Tensely he spoke as to the blackening cloud
That hung above the sunset: "I, so strong,
Yet cannot banish thee, ill-omened shroud,
That round my writhing soul wraps as a pall
Of mute foreboding?—He and Philistine join
In lowering hate against me on the plain—
God, God, my soul has sought Thy soul; wherein
But Thine Omnipotence can triumph lie?
Yet Thou art wordless.—Shall the King still call
Unto the Silent?"
The clouds were scudding fast
As if breathed through the Heavens by God's sigh.
There turned his eyes; then o'er the valley cast.
"Yet will I win," he cried. "Fate cannot last.
The days are all at odds; the powers conspire
To crush my mortal Will. Oh, I will cast,
And trample dim foreboding in the mire!
Let Fate come on; I'll meet him half the way;
And win——" Ceased in the air his words.
Sudden,
The sky grew dark; a frail gust stirred the fire,
Filling the air with monotone of woe:
"Thou dream'st a dream; it is in vain, in vain;
Him never shalt thou gain——" The sound was flown.
With features fury-tortured, hands clenched fast,
Up leaped he, straining arms stretched forth.
"My foe
I'll rend, rend, rend; hear me ye breeze's blast!
My royal root shall bloom; and David—lost.
Jehovah's evil Providence, I'll cast
Into a sea embalmed in endless frost!" |