Poems Sigourney 1827/David and Jonathan
DAVID AND JONATHAN.
Thou, who dost teach the human heart to glow
At other's joys, or melt in other's wo,
Thou, holy Friendship, whose benignant power,
Disarms of grief the temporary hour,
Instruct my feeble pencil to portray
The sacred ardour of an ancient day.—
Aid me the tuneful shepherd's love to sing,
And his, the offspring of the Jewish king.—
—When first, of moody Saul, the palace gay
Rang to the son of Jesse's heaven-taught lay,—
The listening prince, in willing durance bound
Chain'd to the wild variety of sound,
Loved the fair minstrel for his magic art,
And shrined his virtues in a faithful heart.—
—Oft when the restless cares of day were still
And the young moon rose soft o'er Zion's hill,
The gentle pair with lingering steps would tread,
Where Millo's vale in shelter'd beauty spread.—
And then the shepherd youth would sweetly say
How God had led him on his unknown way,
Had saved him while he watch'd his fleecy care,
From the mad lion, and the ranging bear,
From a low tent to royal courts had brought,
His wanderings counsell'd and his weakness taught:
And when with tender words his hope he sigh'd,
That even through death's dark vale that hand would guide,
The pious ardour through his partner stole
And fix'd the fondness of his generous soul.—
—And ever as their varying lore declined
The harp's wild music floated on the wind,
While on the turf the spell-bound prince would lie
With lip half closed, and lightning in his eye,
Till soon his warm, confiding heart could know
No undivided joy, or unimparted wo.—
—Once, as they traversed wide the dewy lawn
What time Aurora warn'd the trembling dawn,
The silent prince to kindling friendship true,
Unbound his girdle rich with Tyrian hue,
Cast o'er the shepherd youth his royal vest,
And wreath'd the glittering baldric round his breast,
With love's strong force his mild resistance quell'd,
And thus with gentle words the deed compell'd,—
—"Take too this sword in fatal combat true,
This bow well-polish'd of the stubborn yew,
And when this radiant robe thy bosom dear
Shall shield from tempests and from blasts severe,
When the keen arrow from this sounding bow,
Shall stay the footstep of thy deadly foe,—
Then think of him who gave these gifts to prove
The sacred seal of everlasting love."—
—But when the shepherd youth for deed of arms
Resign'd his harp and contemplation's charms,
When Gath's proud champion yielded to his shock
As to the bolt of heaven, the towering rock,
When hostile armies shuddering heard his name,
The envious monarch fear'd a rival's fame,
With cloudy brow he roam'd, and muttering low
Devised his death who saved the realm from wo.
Then to his throne an anxious suppliant prest
With filial reverence, and a warm request,
That moved his soul a pious awe to feel,
This wing'd his language with impatient zeal.—
—"Why should my royal father's anger rise,
To count his servant hateful in his eyes?—
What evil hath he done?—what folly wrought?—
Wise are his ways, and free from guile his thought.
Bold in thy battles, prompt at thy command
He dared the proudest of the hostile band,
Plunged in the thickest ranks devoid of fear,
And bought thy kingdom's safety with his spear.
—That moving mountain clad in polish'd mail,
Whose thundering step struck all our legions pale,
Unarm'd he met!—the threat'ning champion fell,
God by this stripling rescued Israel.
Loud shouts of joy through ransom'd millions spread
Relieved from shuddering fear and sleepless dread,
It seem'd the very woods and valleys spake,
And thou, thyself, did'st in that joy partake;—
And when by virtues pure, and service hard,
He won thy daughter's heart, and God's regard,
Without a cause shall thy resentment run,
Impeach thy sceptre, and destroy thy son?"—
—Breathless he paused,— but ere his voice was hush'd,
Before the son the conscious father blush'd,
Shame struggled in his breast, and half amazed
At his own guilt, his hand to heaven he raised.
"Now by His life who rends the scroll of time,
Who prospers virtue and denounces crime,
Even by His truth who rules the wrathful main,
David shall live, thou hast not sued in vain."—
—On joy's quick wing the prince impatient fled,
And toward the throne his friend exulting led,
Scarce could the sick'ning king with patience brook
His gentle bearing, and reproachless look,—
And half he wish'd that unoffending smile
Had been the mask of perfidy or guile,—
Wish'd that but once he had betray 'd his trust,
Had been less upright, and he less unjust.
But soon remorse her scorpion-scourge resign'd,
And virtue's greeting calm'd his troubled mind,
Joy from the artless brow with radiance flow'd,
And pleasure revell'd in the king's abode.—
—When war, once more aroused Judea's plain,
And Gath's proud legions dared her hostile train,
The shepherd youth forsook his tuneful reed,
For stern contention, and the victor's meed.
But envy follow'd where his glory shone,
And hatred darted from the monarch's throne:
The glittering javelin pointed at his heart,
And home besieged compel him to depart.—
While she, whose smile that gentle home endear'd,
His first-espoused, whose love his sadness cheer'd,
With trembling hand assists his hasty flight,
Beneath the covert of the gloomy night,
Checks the fond tear, assumes heroic fire,
And bids him shun the madness of her sire.—
In mountain caves his exiled head he lays,
With serpents slumbers, or with monsters strays,
Till venturing where Judea's forests rise,
The pensive prince salutes his eager eyes,
With breathless ardour from the shades he breaks,
And choked with tears his plaint of anguish makes.
—"Oh thou!—the only solace of a heart
Which throbs with pain, and longs with life to part,
With thy loved voice assuage my deep despair,
My unknown crime, my secret sin declare,
For which thy father still my blood desires,
With bitter hatred's unrelenting fires,
While I, an outcast, scarce his shafts elude
Like the spent partridge o'er the cliffs pursued."—
—"Thou, dearer made by adverse fortune's dart,
Bound by these sorrows closer to my heart,
Think not that royal Saul would raise his arm,
To wound thy bosom, or procure thy harm.—
My God forbid that such a rash decree
Should pass his lips, yet be conceal'd from me."
But still upon the sufferer's brow there strove
A fix'd despair with agonizing love,—
—"Suppose ye not the king our friendship knows,
And like a sire regards his son's repose?—
See! near our feet a narrow streamlet bends
Close at our side a thicket's shade extends,
With one short step the opposing marge I press,
Or with another gain yon wove recess,
But shorter is the step, more brief the wave
Between thy servant, and a gory grave."—
"Oh! let thy brow once more serenely shine,
Lift up those sunk and tearful eyes to mine,
For by yon heavens that arch above our head,
And by that Hand which all those glories spread,
If I my Father's secret purpose find,
Yet hide that purpose from thy wounded mind,
Let vengeful thunders from the concave roll,
And that dread Hand requite my perjured soul.—
Now, summon'd, to our stated feast I go,
Yet not to revel, but partake thy wo,
And deeply treasured in my heart will bear
Thy lonely lot, thy wanderings, and thy care.—
But thou, within thy secret haunt remain,
Till the third morn imprint the dewy plain,
Then with my quiver will I seek the place
As if I purposed to pursue the chase,—
And if I there my stripling servant guide,
To catch the arrow dropping at my side,
And quick return it to the lingering bow,—
Go thou in peace,—for God relieves our wo.—
But if I cry 'beyond!—beyond thee there!'—
Oh! thou my friend,—the bitter sentence spare."—
—Yet ah! how sad the parting glance exprest
The deep forebodings of each faithful breast.
Even Nature sicken'd,—day her eye withdrew,—
The humid evening shed a baleful dew,—
The distant tempest from its cavern groan'd,
Hoarse night birds shriek'd, the echoing forest moan'd,
O'er the faint moon, wild clouds menacing flew,
And round her pallid orb their circles drew,
Till shrinking in her cell, she shunn'd to tread
A path so darksome, and so full of dread.—
—The guiltless exile sought the deepest shade
Where tangled boughs a midnight covert made;
On the damp earth his lonely couch he found,
His silent lip in anguish prest the ground,
His soul conflicting, wounded, and opprest,
Sought for that home where all the weary rest,
Yet to its Maker's throne preferr'd its prayer,
Reveal'd its wrongs, its dangers and its care.—
—But now the clarion's tone invites a crowd,
From the high temple to the palace proud,
From victim's blood on reeking altar shed,
To flowing wine, and pompous feast they fled.—
Yet in the scene which pleasure seem'd to sway
Amid that throng so mirthful and so gay,
One heart was wrung, with friendship's deep despair,
And one distorted with unpitied care,—
And still the monarch's restless glance explored
The passing nobles, and the festive board,
Sought for his victim with suspicious air
Mid each bright circle, but he was not there.—
—Yet when the second day its revels woke
Restrain'd no more, the struggling tempest broke,
And thus the king, with stern inquiry spoke.—
"Where is the son of Jesse?—Doth he scorn
The sacred service of this hallow'd morn?
Casts he contempt upon our ancient feast?"
—The graceful prince replied,—"The absent guest
Is well excused. The weighty cause I know,
Earnest he sued,—I pray thee let me go,
Heaven's high decree thy servant's step detains,
And by my leave thus distant he remains."
Convulsive rage the monarch's brow deform'd
Wild as the whirlwind of the north he storm'd.
—"Rebellious offspring of a wretched sire,
Son of perverseness, and of folly dire!
How long wilt thou thy own confusion choose,
Pursue the evil, and the good refuse?
For while that son of Jesse loads the earth
Vain are thy honours and thy royal birth.
But thou, degenerate prince, wouldst yield thy sword
The dastard minion of a shepherd lord!
Go,—bring the usurper forth!—and let him meet
The doom he merits at his sovereign's feet."
—Then as he ceased, the glittering javelin sent,
Disclosed his madness, and his base intent.
Roused from his seat, with unaccustom'd ire,
The son partook the fury of the sire,
Friendship and grief, which late his soul had tost,
In wild surprise and sudden wrath were lost.
One foot the advance, as if in combat made,
One hand instinctive sought the temper'd blade,
But one short moment mark'd the frenzy's sway,
Its birth, its growth, indulgence and decay:
Thus on the rippling lake the clouds that fly,
Stain one pure wave,—the next restores its die.
—A voice was heard within the warrior's mind
"Behold thy father!"—and his rage declined.
From the high halls in anxious haste he rush'd,
With muttering lip, and cheek indignant flush'd,
Traversed the distant wild in rapid flight,
And like a meteor vanish'd from the sight.
—Now to the outcast in his lonely shade
The expected morn her tardy movement made;
First, with a mantle dark, and plume of gray
She sought the chariot of the slumbering day,
Then through her loosen'd folds were seen to flush
A vest of azure, and a purple blush,
And as her dewy robe the mountain swept
The watcher's eye beheld her grace and wept,
Wept at his wish!—for he had wish'd her near
To seal his doom, or to dispel his fear.
But ere the rising Sun began his race
With lingering step the prince approach'd the place,
As at some recollected wrong he frown'd,
His tear-swoll'n eyes dejected sought the ground,
He lifts his arm,—the sad spectator shakes,
Wide through the air its flight the arrow takes,
While with faint voice he to his servant cries
"Haste thee!—beyond!—beyond!—the arrow lies"
Quick rushing to the thicket's breast, he found
His prostrate friend, who thrice salutes the ground.
Low at his side the royal mourner lay
And gave the tempest of his anguish way.
No sound escapes, except the sob of wo,
Heart beats to heart, and tears in torrents flow,
A long embrace succeeds,—a rending sigh,—
A secret prayer of speechless agony,—
And then the prince his parting grief exprest,
With broken accents, and a throbbing breast,
As sighs in feeble tone, with laboring breath,
The hollow farewell from the bed of death.—
—"Depart in peace!—for thus that God ordains,
Who guides thy wanderings and will sooth thy pains,
Where'er thou journeyest, or whate'er thy care,
My heart shall follow, and my spirit share.
Look to the heavens!—for earth can yield no balm,
To cheer my sorrow, or my soul to calm.
Oh! may our friendship to our sons extend,
And to their sons our ardent vows descend,
Strong, brilliant and propitious be the fires
Caught from the ashes of their mouldering sires,
When we, at rest, above this changing sun,
Shall end in glory, what in wo begun."—
—One sad adieu they change,—one look they cast
Of parting love,—the longest,—and the last!—
The prince retires to Israel's warlike bands,
The tuneful shepherd hastes to foreign lands,
A stranger king with ready zeal supplies
That kind protection which his own denies.
Years fled away on pinions dark and slow,
And time assuaged the current of his wo.—
—Once as he mused upon a distant scene,
His love-cheer'd home, and native valleys green,
The dazzling hopes that lured his youthful view,
The constant friend, in all his sorrows true,
And as his lonely heart amid its pain,
Would throbbing leap to share those joys again,
A traveller came, whose brow was pale with dread,
Rent were his robes, and dust defiled his head.
—"I saw the battle on Gilboa's height,
Where Israel proudly urged her men of might,
Before the spear of Gath those legions fled,
Her king is slain,—her godlike prince is dead,
I saw their robes distain'd,"—he scarcely said,
And paused,—for sorrow shook the exile's frame,
Tears o'er his brow in rushing torrents came,
While on his trembling harp he breath'd his wo
With broken cadence, and in murmurs low.
—"Who, on those high and lonely cliffs shall save
The uncover'd ashes of the fallen brave?
Who from their summits cleanse the fatal stain
Of royal strength, and manly beauty slain?—
—O wounded Israel! hide thy tears that flow.
Lest proud Philistia triumph in thy wo,
Lest list'ning Gath should taunt thy mourning train,
Or haughty Ekron revel in thy pain.
—And ye Gilboa's mountains, stern and rude,
Whose guilty cliffs received the royal blood,
Who saw remorseless on the battle day
The shield from God's anointed torn away,
Raise not your brows, the dews of heaven to taste,
Let no kind shower refresh your parching waste,
No purifying stream for you be spilt,
Nor sacred offerings expiate your guilt.
—In the dire contest, in the glorious fight,
How bold were they, who now lie wrapt in night!—
The prince's bow,—what mortal force could stay!
The monarch's sword what valour turn away!—
Like eagles swift, their dauntless course was run,
In life united, and in death but one.—
—Oh! lift o'er fallen Saul, the tearful eye
Ye Jewish dames,—whose robes in splendor vie,
He gave those robes with glittering pomp to shine,
And in his tomb your treasured joys decline.
—How are the mighty fallen, in danger's hour,
Though girt with strength, and doubly arm'd in power;
On their own lands their mingled blood was shed,
And vanquish'd legions bow'd the astonish'd head.—
—But Oh! my soul is sad,—my tears descend
For thee, my more than brother, more than friend!—
Long tried and firm, was thy attachment kind,
Than friendship warmer, more than love refined,—
What shall I say?—for ill these tones express
Thy buried goodness, or my own distress.—
—How are the mighty fallen!—how turn'd away
The heroes shield in war's disastrous day!"—