"Fallen, fallen, to rise no more!
Israel, thy beauty and thy glory o'er !"”—
Yes, Royal Bard, well mightst thou bid "the dews "Their kindly balm refuse
"To Gilboa's mount; nor showers her fruitful fields suffuse; "Where the till then unconquered shield
"And sword, to foe unknown before to yield,
"Were cast ingloriously away;
"And on its gory sod the mighty fallen lay;
"In undivided glory lay the king, the sire,
"And son, thy heart's delight, thy soul's desire!
"Swift were they as the eagle in his flight;
"Fierce as the lion in his ravening might !"
Well mightst thou, Princely Mourner, seek "th' affront to
"From Gath and Askelon's base pride;"
And as the warriors slept death's sleep,
"Bid Israel's daughters, reft, dishonoured, weep "Those, who Philistia's fiercest hosts defied, "And for their country's blasted glory bled and died!"
"Oh, Jonathan !"-hear, hear his bitter cry;
Hear love and friendship's death-wrung agony ;-
"My Brother! Wonderful and pleasant was
"Thy love, and did e'en woman's love surpass
"How are the mighty fallen!
"Fallen, fallen, to rise no more!
"Israel, thy beauty and thy glory, all are o'er!"
Illustrious David! Heaven-called to the Throne,
Yet hasting not to make the prize his own;
The mark of envy, cruelty, and wrong;
Great in long-suffering, by forbearance strong:
His country's champion in the bloom of youth,
And champion in all times of Heaven-taught truth :
Prepared by lowly state-the crook, the cot,
The shepherd's office—for his dazzling lot;
Inured by contests with the sheep-fold's foes
Philistia's fiercer legions to oppose,-
(Hosts, like marauders from the murky lair,
The brindled lion, and the shaggy bear;)
Then led, by musings on the fleece-crowned hill,
In shady valleys, by the waters still,
At noon, at eve, beneath the starry cope
Of midnight skies, to nurse immortal hope,
To dress the conscious spirit in the eye
Of Heaven's omniscience; and, reclining by
His bleating charge, to use it as a school
To learn that mightier flock wisely to rule,
Which heavenly premonitions had declared,
It should be his, to tend, to guide, and guard.-
The realm his own, in a maturer age,
Warrior and statesman, lawgiver, and sage ;
But chief his fame—while in a hundred fights
Victor-the leader of his nation's rites;
Bulwark, amidst corrupted tribes around,
Of purest rituals, and of worship sound;
Truest expositor of sacred lore,
Copious augmentor of its sacred store;
Inspirer of his country's Heaven-raised song,
And tuneful melodies, which to all times belong ;-
And, oh distinction mighty! branch, yet root—
Great parent-stock of that immortal fruit,
Which love celestial gave for mortal food,
Life-giving bread, and sin-absolving blood!
Oh memory! When some momentous goal
In man's stern race is reached, how dost thou roll
Thy stores of sweet and bitter o'er the thought,
Till back the past in breathing life is brought ;—
Its bosom-joys, heart-bitternesses, griefs
Like whelming-floods, its swift, dream-like reliefs,
Crowding the busy chambers of the soul,
As waves o'er waves through restless ocean roll!
'Twas thus the monarch, on that Heaven-given Throne
(Gained by no deed sinister of his own),
Recalled the love and friendship, hatred, strife,
The sorrows, cares, and triumphs of his life;
Lived through each shifting, many-coloured scene,
Peaceful or troubled, stormy or serene,
Since the King-making oil upon his head
Descended, and his course to Empire sped.
How would he stand on Elah's battle-plain,
And fight that dreadful duel o'er again;
When host 'gainst host in fierce array upstood,
On either slope, like wolves athirst for blood;
And he the stripling, and unbearded youth-
Stood, champion of his country, and Heaven's Truth;
In simple grace, and rustic garb arrayed,
But-all unseen-Faith's banner o'er his head!
Then-with no sword, no armour clad-alone
Borne in his hands the Shepherd's sling and stone-
He proud Philistia's giant-leader faced,
And-slain-his hosts back to their borders chased!-
Then, too, that sweeter hour, when princely grace
Gave in its inmost heart its inmost place;
And friendship took its swift, mysterious birth,
In Heaven to ripen, from its germ of earth;
Richer and dearer than the plaudits high,
Which Israel's daughter wafted to the sky!-
How, too, upon his pensive thought would come
The gentle memories of his shepherd-home;
His simple minstrelsy, of power and grace
The gathering gloom of Royal cares to chase;
The wonders of the Camp and Court; his own
New-opened path of sonship to the Throne;
The short-lived Royal favour; then the mood
Jealous and fierce; th' expulsion swift and rude;
The desert-flittings, the privations sore;
His foe relentless spared when in his power!
All these, in after hours of calm and rest,
Would soften and expand the generous breast;
Prompt to the gracious thought and gentle deed,
Call from the dust the orphan's claim to plead;
Bid, in his verse, the rival's virtues live,
And urge a warrior's obsequies to give.
Yet truth acknowledges, upon his fame,
A deep, dark blot, and weeps to give it name;
The Church laments her chosen son's disgrace,
And blushing purity withdraws her face;
While ribald scoffs the sacred page assail,
Where truth unblenching tells the mournful tale.
Yet, scorner, listen! If the foul offence
Thou taunt, remember, yet, the penitence!
View, if thou canst, the contrite spirit's smart;
Learn the deep sorrow of the broken heart :
Know that, though heavenly pity bore away
The guilt, 'twas wept to life's remotest day :
Say, was backsliding e'er so inly grieved,
Or e'er so meekly its just chastening received?
Then mark; though penitence forgiveness draws,
How changeless Justice vindicates his laws :
The crimes that land which deluged like a flood;
The civil broils, the feuds domestic, blood;
The internecine strife, the sheathless sword,
The parricidal guilt, the deed abhorred :—
Oh sin! If mercy meet the contrite suit,
And pardon seal,-how bitter is thy fruit!
And more-thou tempted, erring, suffering saint, Who feel'st and mourn'st frail nature's inmost taint;
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