| |
| 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 | 5 |
| 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 | 10 |
| With trailing through Jerusalem, was laid, | |
| Reversed, behind 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, | 15 |
| 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 | 20 |
| 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 | 25 |
| 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 woe. | |
| |
| “Alas! my noble boy! that thou shouldst die! | 30 |
| 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! | 35 |
| |
| “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 | 40 |
| 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;— | 45 |
| 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, | 50 |
| 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;— | 55 |
| And thy dark sin!—Oh! I could drink the cup, | |
| If from this woe 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 bowed himself | 60 |
| 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 | 65 |
| Firmly and decently—and left him there— | |
| As if his rest had been a breathing sleep. | |
| |
