Forest leaves :: :: University of Virginia Library

It was a bridal chamber, garnish'd forth
With gems, and gold, and purple, and rich wreaths,
Where silver lilies breath'd upon the breast
Of Sharon's velvet roses, and their sweets
Were mingling with the incense, that stole forth
From humbler blossoms, sweet as childhood's prayer.
Oh, what enchanting scenes
Of rich and varied beauty, lay outspread
Beneath the windows, where the crimson folds
Of the rich tapestry were drawn aside
By chains of wreathen gold. The lovely vales
With peaceful herds, and highly cultur'd fields,
The rich corn waving on the gentle slope,
The dark-leav'd graceful olive bending slow
In adoration, as the breezes pass'd,
Bearing its voice to heaven. The hill-side crown'd
With rich green vineyards, where a blessing dwelt;
The streamlets, lying on the mountain's breast,
Like chains of sparkling diamonds, falling low
Into earth's lap, the valley's, resting there
In glittering clusters, mid her robes of green.
The far off Libanus, with cedar plumes
Nodding in heaven's blue mirror, with the pride
Of a stanch warrior, while the smiling heaven

Look'd down, as if with pride, on such a scene
Of glowing beauty. The dim misty hills
Where every crevic'd rock was wreath'd with bloom
Inhabited, and stored with honey combs;
While from the sycamore that bow'd and smil'd
To its own image, in the mirror'd fount
Gush'd swells of trancing bird songs, floating soft
Upon the living breeze, which came by fits,
Coquetting with the heavy tapestry
Of that fair bridal chamber.
Can it be
That there are aching hearts, and tearful eyes,
In such a place, amid such glorious scenes?
Alas! for earthly grandeur, pomp, and power,
Magnificence and beauty. Seated there
Enfolded fondly in each other's arms,
Are Saul's two queenly daughters. Ne'er did eye
Rest on a brighter pair. So fair, so young,
So form'd of beauty, grace, and majesty.
The one a bride—deck'd out most gloriously
In regal splendour, while her dark clear eyes
Though overflowing, like a troubled spring,
Dwelt on her fair young sister with a look
Full of deep happiness, and joyful love,
As 'neath the ripples of the ruffled fount,
Lies the reflection of the brilliant heaven.
Sister, she whisper'd—since the hour has come
Which severs our communion, which has been
So perfect, and so sweet, wilt thou not now
Confide to me the sorrow, which of late

Has liv'd amongst thy roses, eating still
The crimson beauties, from thy down-cast face?
Sister! My only one! My heart has griev'd
To see how thine was aching, and mine eyes
Have wept to see the salt springs well from thine.
Nay, hide not thus thine eyes within my vest,
What should a pure young heart like thine, conceal?

Michal.
Love, sister! I should hide it from myself—
From thee and Israel's God. I have not been
The artless innocent which thy fond love
Has deem'd me, in its doting. Could'st thou know
How I have envied thee, how I have long'd
To snatch the cup of blessing from thy lip,
Though its last smile went with it! Sister, dear!
Loose not thy fond embrace, 'tis over now,
And even then when I had felt to smile
Beside thine early death-bed, sure I am
That death has nothing keener than the pangs
That wrung and scorched my spirit.

Merab.
Lov'st thou Adriel?

Michal.
Sister! No.
If I lov'd him I would not now tell thee.
My heart is his to whom thou wast betroth'd,
E'er any knew to whom thy heart was given.

Merab.
Poor child! Thy lack of confidence in me
Has cost thee dear indeed. One little word
Had sav'd thee all thy pain and bitterness.

David is formed to win a heart like thine,
Which only loves the great and beautiful;
But I prefer the violet to the rose,
And love Adriel better far than him.

Michal.
Better! As if there were degrees in love!
My passion is exclusive. I can see
No excellence—no love exciting worth
In any man but David. I am not
Temper'd as thou, who couldst have meekly stood
With one beside the altar, while thy heart
Was throbbing for another. No command,
Even from our royal father, ever shall
Force me to give my hand, without love in it.

Merab.
God wrought for me, my sister. While I bowed
With womanly submission to the will
Of him, whom God has made my sire and king,
I prayed with fervour for support from heaven.
And He in whom I trusted, brought about,
Without my aid, this happy change for me.
Look unto him, sweet sister.

Michal.
Merab! cease.
I cannot feel as thou dost. I will strive
With mortals like myself; and leave to God
The issue of the combat. I would wed
The man I love, if his heart was with mine,
Though earth and heaven forbade it. Thou said'st well,

That I can only love the beautiful
And eminently great. And what I love
I love to adoration. From that day
In which we went, with all the maiden train,
To hail our conquering father, when I saw
The youthful Bethlehemite, in shepherd garb,
Bearing in his fair hand the ghastly head
Of dread Goliath, dripping blood the while,—
Aye—from that day I loved him! Beautiful
He is, as aught that ever fancy dream'd,
And great he look'd even then, despite his dress,
And cheeks of maiden roses. When our band
Struck the full chorus, and ascrib'd to him
A tenfold honour, though our father's brow
Grew dark with fear and anger, my heart glow'd
With exultation, and I do believe
That he will reign, in our fall'n father's stead.
Nay, sister, wherefore tremble, and turn pale?
Has not the Seer pronounc'd our father's doom—
That God will rend the kingdom from his hand
And give it to another? In that day
When Saul's proud head bows down, and the crown falls
From his pale brow; amongst whose wavy curls
Shall its bright circlet glitter? I can see
Its light even now amid the shining locks
O'er David's forehead clustering.

Merab.
Oh, forbear!
What horrid visions of death, shame, and wo,
Do thy words conjure up. My spirit faints

With very horror, as my fancy paints
My noble father low amongst the dead,
Weltering in gore, from out his own high heart;
And my young brothers—beautiful and brave,
Ghastly, and cold beside him; while the foe
Shout forth their savage triumph.

Michal.
Yet that day
Will surely come, my sister. I have seen
A soul-benumbing vision. Even now
My eyes and brain are reeling, and my heart
Grows faint and cold, with its remember'd dread.

Merab.
Sister, what hast thou done?

Michal.
A deed from which
The sternest soul might shrink. But it was love,
Omnipotent and all-subduing love,
With its tormenting doubts, and demon fears,
That urged me to explore the dreadful depths
Of the forbidden future. So I went
To Endor, to the witch, who still eludes
Our father's vigilance, and with her spells
Enchants the living, and commands the dead.
The awe, with which I sought her, was increas'd
By her majestic presence; and her eye—
Oh, what a power was in it. I have seen
Hundreds of lovely women, and fair girls,
But she is strangely beautiful, beyond
Aught that my eyes have seen, or fancy seign'd.

I trembled in her presence, ere her spells
Disturb'd the world of spirits, and brought forth
Her own familiar genii, who unbarr'd
Futurity's dark gate, and bade me look
Upon her sacred treasures. I beheld
Sights that engrav'd themselves upon my soul
As drawn by living lightning. I grow sick,
I will not sketch the picture unto thee;
It is enough that I must agonize
With dire anticipation. But I saw
David enthron'd, and crown'd in august state,
Obey'd and honour'd; and I was his wife.
But, sister, the bright eyes that mine adore
Turn'd on me, full of scorn, and bitterness—
And I beheld no more.

Merab.
Oh Michal! Michal!
Thou hast sinn'd fearfully. Yet I will pray
That God will have compassion on thy youth;
And so avert the punishment, which else
Will darken all thy future, upon which
Thou hast profanely gazed. Nay, wave not thus
Thy beautiful proud head, and curl thy lip;
Be not offended at poor Merab now,
Nor let us longer mar with bitter words,
This day of bridal gladness. Hark, how sweet
The tones of David's harp blend with the breeze
That plays so freshly with thy rose-wreath'd curls.
My sister, be compos'd. I will require
A royal boon, on this my bridal morn;
The king, our father, will not say me nay,

And I will ask that thou shalt be bestow'd
Upon the minstrel warrior. Oh! what sounds
Of spirit-soothing melody gush forth
As he unlocks the mystic spells, that sleep
Within the magic harp strings, while his voice
Richer and sweeter still, in rapturous hymns,
Like holy incense, mingling with the air
Floats gratefully to heaven. And David's eyes,
And voice, and heart, are heavenward. I am sure
He cannot worship woman, for his soul
Adores the God. He will but love his wife
As a rich gift from Him, and prize her love
Only as it is holy, and subdued,
To the pure law of heaven. Will such a love
Suffice a heart like thine? a glowing heart
On fire with passion? Much I fear that thou
Would'st claim the worship which his pious soul
Will ever pay to God.—The bridegroom comes,
Go thou to meet him, sister, while I strive
To chase these crimson joys, back, to the deep
And silent sanctuary of the heart,
Where none may read them.

2. CHAPTER II.

Who sits within the bridal chamber now,
Adorn'd with broider'd robes, and flashing gems,
And wreaths of snowy blossoms? She is fair—
Beauty's perfection looks, and moves, and speaks,
Throughout her sumptuous person. All too fair

She seems for this dark earth—too glorious
To be a creature of the race which bows
To death, to pain, and sorrow. Dark-ey'd maids
Are busy round her—each with ready hand
Adding some ornament, some gem, some grace,
Till art is quite exhausted. Bending now
With looks of adoration, at her feet,
They kiss her robe's bright border, and withdraw,
And she is left alone. And there she stands
Amongst the garner'd treasures of the earth,
Peerless in radiant beauty.
But, wherefore does the brooch of opal stone,
That clasps the aerial drapery o'er her breast;
Glitter so, like a dew-drop in the sun?
'Tis trembling with the quick convulsive throbs
That heave the breast beneath it. The white hands
Are clasp'd in the strong language of despair,
Despite the dazzling bracelets, and rich rings
That give and borrow beauty. Big bright tears
Fall down and mingle with the diamond chains
That sparkle on her bosom; while the pearl
Contests the rose's place upon her cheek
And beautiful curv'd lips. The sweet breath comes
In deep quick sobs, and goes in plaintive moans
Of melancholy music.
Michal! love!
Her bridegroom's arm is round her graceful form.
She shudders, shrinks, and droops across his arm,
So like a blossom, wounded at the heart
And wilted in its glory. Her dark curls

Sweep the rich pavement, and the bridal wreath
Falls from amongst their clusters. Omen dire!—
To bridegroom's hopeful heart. And now his cheeks
Grow pale as water lilies, as he lifts
And lays that marble face against his breast,
Which throbs with love and terror. He has lov'd
Long, well, and wearily; and with a love
Which has so bent the spirit of the man,
That he is fain to rest his dearest hopes
Upon a bosom where the heart within
Is aching for another, while he knows
That it has been a throbbing pillow, for
That other's glowing cheek.—And he believes,
Such is the simple waywardness of man,
That by devotion, and untiring zeal,
And smiles, like summer sunshine seen, and felt,
He can allure that heart from its first love,
And teach its pulse to vibrate to the touch
Of his well-tried affection. He should pray
For wisdom from on high, and school his heart
To patience, and forbearance, who attempts
A task so tedious, so nigh lorn of hope.—
Now to his heart Phaltiel clasps the form
Of his unconscious bride, and on her lips
Never till now resign'd to his caress,
Presses fond kisses. David—my lov'd lord!
She murmurs forth, as she revives, and clasps
Her alabaster arms around his neck.
His spirit writhes, but he retains her form
Until her opening eyes meet his, and then
Her clasp unlooses, and her eyes fill fast,

While her form trembles. Yet with strong resolve
She conquers her emotion, and sits down
Calmly, beside her lord.—Oh, woman's heart!
How mightily it struggles with its pangs,
And locks up agonies that would burst through
The iron breast of man. Her cheek is pale,
But in the arm he holds, the tell-tale pulse
Is throbbing wildly, and he feels how great,
How bitter is her trial. Soft he speaks,
And strives to win her mind back from the maze
Of agonizing memories.—How can she—
David's adoring wife—She for whose sake
He gave himself to danger, and perform'd
High feats of valour, which provok'd the fear
And envious hatred of the royal Saul,
'Till she was forced by stratagem to save
Her husband, from the vengeance of her sire.
And he is living. How can she bestow
Her hand upon another, and receive
The nuptial benediction? Yet the will
Of man decreed, and woman must submit.

The years that pass along with equal pace
Spite of the myriad voices that cry out
Speed on! speed on! Spite of the frenzied shrieks,
And prayers, and wailings, of the throngs that plead
A little longer! and lie down, and die,
Or sit in utter darkness of despair,
Bewailing all the flowers, and tender buds,
And worshipp'd baubles, that lie crush'd, and strown

Upon the darken'd pathway.—Years have passed:
The slender blossom'd twig, has now become
A full leaf'd bough, adorn'd with tender fruit.
How beautiful, within her husband's house
She seems, amongst her children; while the love
Which like a river, from its numerous springs,
Flows on for ever with a ceaseless song,
Replying to the music of heaven's hosts,
Which smile to see their shadows trembling deep
Within its liquid mirror,—that pure love
Which laves no other bosom under heaven,
Than that on which its own dear babe has lain,
Was flowing sweetly now, through Michal's heart,
As on her knee her youngest cherub smil'd,
And little laughing fellows gamboll'd round—
Now skipping up to kiss the idol babe,
Or climbing, to embrace with round white arm
The mother's pearly neck.
Phaltiel gazes on the group with pride,
Feeling that all its beauty, innocence,
And promise is his own. With lingering gaze
Of blissful love, he pauses at the door,
As he obeys a summons, to attend
A messenger, on business from his king.
Michal, who met that fond triumphant look,
Felt her cheek crimson. Years of placid life
With every blessing crown'd, and those fair babes,
Had bound her to her Phaltiel with a tie
Of calm and grateful friendship. Yet when fame
Proclaim'd the deeds, the glories, and the power,
Of her young heart's ador'd and loving lord,

Keen pangs pierc'd through her bosom. Yet the pride
That made her long to share his regal throne
Came ever to her aid; for she believ'd
That he had ceased to love her,—that he thought
Of Michal, as the daughter of a house
Denounc'd of God, and fallen. And she felt
The cold and withering glance which she beheld
At Endor, in her vision, in her soul;
While her fond husband's deep and generous love
Seem'd to reproach her that her heart was still
The captive of a man who loved her not.
Oh, God of mercy! was the bitter cry,
That fell in startling accents on her ear,
As he who left her late, so full of joy,
Re-enter'd pale and trembling. Quick she springs
And clasps her arm around him, while the babe,
With one hand round her neck, grasps his dark curls
And puts his little laughing face to his.
Dear father, what has happened? was the cry,
With which his little sons came clustering round,
With looks of wild alarm.

Michal.
My honor'd lord,
What can distress you thus? May I not share
The grief that tortures you?

Phaltiel.
No, Michal! No.
You will not share my sorrows, yet, I hope
That you will pity them. Oh, selfish love!
That I should wish to mar thy happiness
With memories of me! Yet so to part!

Oh, Michal—Michal—canst thou bear to go
From thine adoring husband? Canst thou part
For ever, from thy children? Canst thou lay
That little nestling cherub from thy breast,
And turn from it for ever? That caress,
That close and fond embrace must be the last
Which that poor infant will receive from thee.
David hath claim'd thee—and my king hath sent
His veteran general, Abner—to demand
And bear thee straight to Hebron. Thou wilt go
To thy first love, to all the glittering state
And pride of royalty. But I shall be
Bereft, and sorrowful, a widow'd man.
And thy poor babes will cling about my knees,
And ask for thee with tears; and sorrow's blight
Shall mildew their young spirits, while they see
Their father ever mourning for the light
Of their lost mother's face. But Abner waits:
Alas! that I should say it—dearest, haste;
He waits thee in our hall.
Her trembling heart
Is well nigh bursting with the counter-tides
Of joy and sorrow, and her changing cheek
Betrays the alternate sway. Phaltiel's heart
Grows cold, and heavy, as she seems to shrink
Away from his embrace. With one long sigh
He drops his trembling hands, and turns away,
A crush'd and stricken man. One tender kiss
She presses on her infant's smiling lips,
Then lays it gently on its little couch;
And glancing on her hush'd and wondering boys,

Till tears come gushing from their deep heart fount,
And overflow her eye-lids—turns away.
And hastens from the chamber, and is soon
With Abner, at the gate. Phaltiel's soul
Is bow'd to infant weakness; and he sobs
Like a forsaken girl. His wife—his love—
The mother of his children—she to whom
His youthful heart was wedded, and around
Whose angel presence, every tender string,
And fibre of his being has entwin'd,
Till life and she are blended—she must go
To love and bless another; and his heart,
And house, and children, must be desolate.
His grief is so intense that manhood's pride
Falls down before it, as the lofty pine
Yields to the hurricane. Lost in the night
And wilderment of wo, he follows on,
Weeping along behind her, till at length
Abner, with stern command, bids him return.
Then, with one lingering look, one silent prayer,
He turns toward his desolated home,
A broken-hearted man. And Michal feels
Relief that he is gone, and in her ear
The voice of his lamenting, died away.

3. CHAPTER III.

Why are the valleys sere? Why are the hills
So bare and joyless? Wherefore stand the herds
Lowing beside the wells? Why are the flocks

Roaming along the beds of the dry brooks
And bleating piteously? Why are the vines
So light of clusters? Wherefore are the trees
So bare of leaves, or fruit? Why are the birds
So still amongst the boughs, with wings droop'd down?
Why is the husbandman so wo-begone,
And wherefore does he sow with bitter tears
His bare, and burning fields? [OMITTED]
There's blood upon the land; the guiltless blood
That Saul pour'd out at Gibeah, when he sought
(Regardless of the solemn covenant,
Sworn in Jehovah's name, by Israel's lords,)
To root the remnant of the Amorites
From their possessions, in their father land.
That blood now cries for vengeance; and the soil
In its pollution, asks of Heaven, in vain,
The shower and vernal dew. Heaven will not hear
Until these fatal stains are wash'd away,
With streams of the offender's lineal blood.
Who shall atone for Gibeah? Whose warm heart
Shall pour the dread oblation? Who shall go
From heaven's glad sunlight, from the hymning earth,
From all the fond entwining ties of love,
To death's cold silent shade, to give his blood
In expiation of ancestral crime?

Hark! there is mourning in the palace halls—
The voice of bitter weeping gushes forth
From arch'd and rich wreath'd casement. Michal, Queen?

King David's wife, and daughter of king Saul,
What wrings thy bosom now? See where she kneels,
All pale and negligent, with head bow'd down
Upon her broider'd cushions. Gold and gems
Lie strown around her, disregarded now.
Her haughty soul is humbled, for she prays,
And weeps, before Jehovah.—
Who is this
That steals into the chamber, spirit-like?
Her perfect face is wasted, and so pale
That one might deem it marble; and the hand,
That grasps her mourning drapery is so thin,—
So like a wither'd lily,—and her eyes,
Her large dark lustrous eyes, are full of wo,—
Of such expression, as if they had seen
The last of all they lov'd to look upon,
Wither'd away before them. Yet there dwells
A meek expression on her faded lips,
And in the bend of her majestic form,
That seems to say—Amen.
'Tis done—she said,
Advancing close to Michal, as she knelt,
And placing that thin hand, so piteously,
Upon her shining tresses—It is done,
The expiatory sacrifice is now
Accepted of Jehovah. Hush your moans,
And bid your tears cease flowing. God has heard
Our prayers, and seen the sorrows of our hearts;
And our submission, and deep penitence
Have risen like sweet incense to his throne,

And he has pitied us. Look up to heaven,
See how his swift-wing'd messengers of peace
Are gathering above us. Even now
They shake from dark'ning plumes, the cooling drops
Brighter than diamonds, and more precious far.
Let us adore his name, and humbly own
That he is just, that he is merciful,
Although our hearts are bleeding. Have we not
Been proud, profanely proud, and arrogant,
Although we are but frail and worthless weeds
Upon his pathway?
Michal—I have felt
The very bitterness of sin and wo,
As all alone I sat upon the rock,
Watching by day and night, to keep away
The hateful beasts and birds, that prowl'd around
With gloating glaring eyes—and screaming forth
Their horrid longings for the blackening flesh
Of our unconscious children. Oh! what hours
Of agony, passed o'er me—as the shades
Of night lay heavy round me, where I sat,
With dry and quivering eye-balls, glancing round,
In extreme terror—as the fox, the dog,
And fierce hyena, crouch'd with flaming eyes,
And low and sullen growlings; while the gleam
Of those dead faces, with their livid light
Added to terror all the pangs of grief.
Oh! it was dreadful! past the power of speech,
To picture to the mind. Yet still I kept

My watch unshrinking, for the fervent love
Which my heart cherish'd, for the beautiful,
The brave, but erring Saul. A love, which, since
Its chosen sanctuary in his breast,
Was cold and broken, has dwelt tremblingly
Amongst his children, and which hover'd still
Around the ruin'd temples of its hopes,
And kept its mournful watch. But yesternight
About the midnight hour, my weary frame
Sunk under its exhaustion. Yet the prayer
Still linger'd on my lips, and still my soul
Was wakeful on the watch. And, lo, there came
A rushing breeze, oh! sweeter than the breath
Of holy incense, in the golden vase,
Before the Mercy Seat; and with it blent
A wreathen melody, which fill'd my soul
With peace, and consolation. Mortal lips
Ne'er breath'd so soft a strain, and naught of earth
Could ever penetrate and sooth the mind
With such a flood of sweetness. I arose,
And lo! amid a halo of soft light,
Stood seven effulgent creatures. Oh! what bliss
Thrill'd through my spirit, as their glorious eyes
Beam'd lovingly upon me, and I knew
Our disembodied children. Oh! how vain
Poor Nature's joys, and sorrows, hopes and fears,
And loves, appear'd that moment, as I look'd
Upon the spiritual eternal world,
Where God is all in all, and where his will

Is understood; where these dark walls of clay,
No more can cast their shadows on the page
Of his wise purposes. I am content,
My children are at peace. Beyond the reach
Of envy and ambition, strife or death.
Could'st thou have seen the light of blessedness
Which play'd about their faces: could'st thou see
The smiles with which they beckon'd me; the bliss
Which was apparent, as they look'd to heaven,
And vanish'd from my sight, thou would'st bow down,
And pour thine ardent gratitude to God.
Day broke upon the earth, and I arose.
But oh! how different were my feelings now,
As once again I look'd upon the clay
That had enshrin'd my angels. That, was mine;
Alas! how weak, and vile, how worthless now!
To God belong the spirits, bright and strong,
And perfect, as I saw them.
I have thought
That you and I were cruelly bereft,
Of our own treasures, for I could not feel
That God is lord of all. And yet we know
That he who rears a bullock for himself
Will put it to his use, despite the moans
Of the poor dam that nurs'd it, and we feel
That he has done no wrong. Then should not God
The merciful, the perfect, use his own
At his good pleasure? Though to you or me
His creatures also, was assign'd the task

O swatching fondly for a little while
The beings of his will.

Michal.
Amen. Amen.
His righteous will be done. He is all wise.
Michal is childless, and the house of Saul
Is now, well nigh, extinct. No son of mine
As once I fondly hoped, shall blend the blood
Of Saul, and David, and reign peacefully,
Combining every rival interest
In one broad flood of glory. But the Lord
Had otherwise determin'd, and His will
Is holiness. Oh, Rispah! I have proved
The vanity of all earth's gorgeous things,
Her beauty, and her loves. All have been mine
In their perfection. Yet behold me now—
Michal, Saul's daughter, reft and desolate,
Joyless and hopeless; bending to the place
Of darkness, and oblivion. Pride has wrought
The downfall of my house. Pride has destroy'd
My earthly happiness, and almost been
My everlasting ruin. But the Lord
Has followed me in mercy; and my heart
Is humbled now, and contrite, and I feel
Despite these tears, a peace so deep, and sweet,
That I would not exchange it for the bloom
Of all my perish'd hopes. Hark! to the dirge,
The sweetly solemn anthem of the train,
Sent by my royal husband to convey
The gather'd relics of Saul's family
To holy sepulture, beside their sires.

The mournful melody breathes to my soul,
King David's sorrow for the royal house
Which sinned itself away. I know he mourns
Deeply, for me and mine; though on him rest
The blessings we rejected. May the Lord
Bless him for ever; when the name of Saul
Is utterly forgotten.