SCENE FROM ALFIERI’S TRAGEDY OF SAUL.

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 is thy face withdrawn Thus, from thy people’s king?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!