CHAPTER XXXVI.
THE QUEEN OF THE HOUSE OF DAVID.
“The harp the monarch minstrel swept,
The king of men, the loved of heaven.
...
It softened men of iron mold;
No ear so dull, no soul so cold
That felt not, fired not to the tone,
Till David’s lyre grew mightier than the throne;
Since then, though heard on earth no more,