Part 4 — TIDINGS OF VICTORY.

When David's winning son rebelled, They smote the traitor low, And thought the monarch would rejoice At riddance of his foe. But in his chamber all alone That kingly head was bowed, And for the erring Absalom His father wept aloud. The ministers astonished stood At such a burst of grief! The traitor's death alone could bring Their sovereign sure relief. Back to their tents in sullen gloom The faithful warriors flee; While still he cried, 'My son! my son! Would I had died for thee!' My country's wilful erring sons, Disloyal men, but brave, Such tears of anguish now she sheds Above the traitor's grave! Amid the pealing notes of joy For glorious victory won, Is heard Columbia's piercing cry, 'O Absalom, my son!' Ye faithful men whose crimson blood In her defence is shed, Upbraid her not if thus she weep Above the guilty dead! Her noble heart is true to you, But generous as brave, She mourns in royal grief apart For those she could not save.