Sermons Practical and Occasional Dissertations, Translations, Including New Versions of Virgil's Bucolica, and of Milton's Defensio Secunda, Seaton Poems, &c. &c. By the Rev. Francis Wrangham ... In Three Volumes |
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THE
DEATH
OF
SAUL AND JONATHAN,
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 | Sermons Practical and Occasional |  |
419
THE DEATH OF SAUL AND JONATHAN,
A POEM; 1813.
INSCRIBED TO THE HON. J. W. WARD.
------Ει δε τι κηγων
Συρισδεν δυναμην.
(Mosch.)
Συρισδεν δυναμην.
(Mosch.)
421
Heard ye that solemn strain, the dirge of death,
By valiant Jabesh breathed, as on he moves
With all the mournful minstrelsy of grief;
The flute's low-murmur'd note, the muffled drum,
Deep-toned bassoon, and trumpet's clang between,
Weeping his Saul departed—from that Saul
How changed, who erst in battle's perilous van
Strode foremost, and with arm resistless crush'd
Whate'er opposed!
By valiant Jabesh breathed, as on he moves
With all the mournful minstrelsy of grief;
The flute's low-murmur'd note, the muffled drum,
Deep-toned bassoon, and trumpet's clang between,
Weeping his Saul departed—from that Saul
How changed, who erst in battle's perilous van
Strode foremost, and with arm resistless crush'd
Whate'er opposed!
But though from greatness fallen,
And lodged in earth unblest, he shall not lack
Even from his hunted foe high eulogy,
Beseeming Heaven's Anointed. In that corse,
With many a barbed shaft unseemly gored
(His myriad wrongs forgotten) Jesse's son
Sees but his country's chief, his Michal's sire,
His boyhood's bounteous patron. Keener pangs
Thrill his firm frame, as near with blood besmear'd
He marks thy bosom, gentle Jonathan,
Whose last throb heaved for him! Thy long long years
Of faith, which nor adversity's stern frown,
Nor thy fierce father's envious threats could shake,
Rush on his mind—And hark! his lyre he strikes
Attuned to saddest cadence, while his lip
Gives sobbing utterance to his generous woe!
And lodged in earth unblest, he shall not lack
Even from his hunted foe high eulogy,
Beseeming Heaven's Anointed. In that corse,
With many a barbed shaft unseemly gored
(His myriad wrongs forgotten) Jesse's son
Sees but his country's chief, his Michal's sire,
His boyhood's bounteous patron. Keener pangs
Thrill his firm frame, as near with blood besmear'd
He marks thy bosom, gentle Jonathan,
Whose last throb heaved for him! Thy long long years
Of faith, which nor adversity's stern frown,
422
Rush on his mind—And hark! his lyre he strikes
Attuned to saddest cadence, while his lip
Gives sobbing utterance to his generous woe!
‘How are the Mighty fall'n! The flower,
Which scented Israel's royal bower,
Has soil'd in vulgar dust it's head,
And all it's bloom is vanished!
Which scented Israel's royal bower,
Has soil'd in vulgar dust it's head,
And all it's bloom is vanished!
‘O not in Gath be told the tale;
From Askelon's proud dames conceal
The wretchedness 'tis ours to feel:
Lest, borne upon the western gale,
Philistia's shouts of triumph wound our ear,
And with unhallow'd taunt insult the pious tear.
From Askelon's proud dames conceal
The wretchedness 'tis ours to feel:
Lest, borne upon the western gale,
Philistia's shouts of triumph wound our ear,
And with unhallow'd taunt insult the pious tear.
‘No dew upon thy mountains fall,
Gilboa; on thy fields no shower
Henceforth it's balmy treasure pour:
For there, the bruised shield of Saul,
The Mighty's shield, was vilely cast away;
As though no sacred oil had blest his brow for sway.
Gilboa; on thy fields no shower
Henceforth it's balmy treasure pour:
For there, the bruised shield of Saul,
The Mighty's shield, was vilely cast away;
As though no sacred oil had blest his brow for sway.
‘Heroes of many a gallant deed,
Not vainly wielded Saul his sword,
Not vainly twang'd his son the cord;
Theirs lion-force, theirs eagle-speed!
And though nor speed nor force could ward their end,
Lovely and loved in life, in death 'twas theirs to blend.
Not vainly wielded Saul his sword,
Not vainly twang'd his son the cord;
Theirs lion-force, theirs eagle-speed!
And though nor speed nor force could ward their end,
Lovely and loved in life, in death 'twas theirs to blend.
‘Daughters of Israel, him bewail,
Who bade your limbs the scarlet fold;
Your arms, your necks who wreathed with gold,
And joy'd your glittering forms to hail!
Scathed by the storm, the Mighty fills his urn:
On thy high places scathed, thee, Jonathan, I mourn.
Who bade your limbs the scarlet fold;
Your arms, your necks who wreathed with gold,
And joy'd your glittering forms to hail!
Scathed by the storm, the Mighty fills his urn:
On thy high places scathed, thee, Jonathan, I mourn.
423
‘Thy voice was music to mine ear—
Music, which heaviest thoughts beguiles—
And sunbeams to mine eye thy smiles:
Nor I to thee less fondly dear!
Much as my soul has relish'd maiden's love,
Thy tenderness arose their tenderest flights above.
Music, which heaviest thoughts beguiles—
And sunbeams to mine eye thy smiles:
Nor I to thee less fondly dear!
Much as my soul has relish'd maiden's love,
Thy tenderness arose their tenderest flights above.
‘How are the Mighty fall'n! The flower,
Which scented Israel's royal bower,
Has soil'd in vulgar dust it's head,
And all it's bloom is vanished!’
Which scented Israel's royal bower,
Has soil'd in vulgar dust it's head,
And all it's bloom is vanished!’
Flow'd never from the elegiac shell
Such tuneful grief: nor when the Dorian mourn'd
His Bion lost, and wept that meanest herbs,
The garden's lowly growth, should rise renew'd,
While Man—the great, the valiant, and the wise—
Sinks in unwaking sleep; nor when each flower,
That sad embroidery wears, “our Milton cropp'd,
“To strew the laureat hearse where Lycid lay;”
Nor when his Parnell Albion's Homer wail'd,
“Dear to the Muse in vain.” For theirs were lyres,
Though sweet, of human fabric. David's eye
O'er his friend's faded form dropp'd tears divine:
The wreath he wove was twined with flowers from heaven.
Such tuneful grief: nor when the Dorian mourn'd
His Bion lost, and wept that meanest herbs,
The garden's lowly growth, should rise renew'd,
While Man—the great, the valiant, and the wise—
Sinks in unwaking sleep; nor when each flower,
That sad embroidery wears, “our Milton cropp'd,
“To strew the laureat hearse where Lycid lay;”
Nor when his Parnell Albion's Homer wail'd,
“Dear to the Muse in vain.” For theirs were lyres,
Though sweet, of human fabric. David's eye
O'er his friend's faded form dropp'd tears divine:
The wreath he wove was twined with flowers from heaven.
And long upon his memory dwelt that form,
In it's first lustre. Oft as he review'd
Those scenes (still best beloved) of early prime,
When with light crook 'twas his from lion's paw,
Brave boy! or bear's, in Bethlehem's solitudes
To guard his father's flock; his Jonathan
Stooping to lift him from the lowly vale
Of shepherd-life, and seat him near the throne
Fast by himself, in his own garment robed,
Girt with his zone and with his quiver graced,
Held his dim gaze and bathed his glowing cheek.
In it's first lustre. Oft as he review'd
Those scenes (still best beloved) of early prime,
When with light crook 'twas his from lion's paw,
Brave boy! or bear's, in Bethlehem's solitudes
To guard his father's flock; his Jonathan
Stooping to lift him from the lowly vale
Of shepherd-life, and seat him near the throne
Fast by himself, in his own garment robed,
Girt with his zone and with his quiver graced,
Held his dim gaze and bathed his glowing cheek.
424
Nor 'mid the splendors of his after-years,
His wars of triumph, peaceful pageantries,
Or even (to his frail heart by crime endear'd)
His Bathsheba's caress, came o'er his soul
Aught so sublimely sweet as those pure hours,
When each unto his other dearer self
Gave the entire possession of his breast.
His wars of triumph, peaceful pageantries,
Or even (to his frail heart by crime endear'd)
His Bathsheba's caress, came o'er his soul
Aught so sublimely sweet as those pure hours,
When each unto his other dearer self
Gave the entire possession of his breast.
Pardon, dread Mourner, that my feeble touch
Profanes the holy harp, which thou alone
Might'st sweep unblamed. Beneath my theme opprest
Like thee I feel, when for the giant-strife
Cased in thy prince's mail. Yet must I dare
Th' adventurous achievement: O be mine,
As my weak fingers wander o'er it's strings,
To catch some portion of thy hallowing fire.
Profanes the holy harp, which thou alone
Might'st sweep unblamed. Beneath my theme opprest
Like thee I feel, when for the giant-strife
Cased in thy prince's mail. Yet must I dare
Th' adventurous achievement: O be mine,
As my weak fingers wander o'er it's strings,
To catch some portion of thy hallowing fire.
For such, while yet thou wast a rustic boy,
Ere glad Judæa own'd thee for her lord,
The sorcery of thy native woodnotes wild,
That thou could'st charm to rest the busy fiends
Which gnaw'd thy moody sovereign. From thy wires
Issued such heavenly music, fell Despair
Her iron gripe unclench'd; and gave him back,
Again a king, to cheerfulness and power.
With grateful rapture echo Gibeah's domes,
And Michal's cheek is flush'd with filial joy.
Ere glad Judæa own'd thee for her lord,
The sorcery of thy native woodnotes wild,
That thou could'st charm to rest the busy fiends
Which gnaw'd thy moody sovereign. From thy wires
Issued such heavenly music, fell Despair
Her iron gripe unclench'd; and gave him back,
Again a king, to cheerfulness and power.
With grateful rapture echo Gibeah's domes,
And Michal's cheek is flush'd with filial joy.
And did no other passion, royal maid,
Deepen that pure carnation? In the effect,
A father's face with wonted smiles relumed,
Pass'd he who pour'd the strain medicinal,
The blooming Cause, unmark'd? Did no fleet gleam,
With added glow kindling thy countenance,
No hurried pulse his wish'd arrival hail?
Or rather, all unconscious of the lay,
Hung not thy soul upon the Minstrel's lip?
Did'st thou not note with more than daughter's zeal,
Whilst o'er his harp he lean'd, his eye's keen glance,
As in thy sire with intuition quick
He watch'd the workings of his magic song?
Deepen that pure carnation? In the effect,
A father's face with wonted smiles relumed,
Pass'd he who pour'd the strain medicinal,
The blooming Cause, unmark'd? Did no fleet gleam,
With added glow kindling thy countenance,
No hurried pulse his wish'd arrival hail?
Or rather, all unconscious of the lay,
Hung not thy soul upon the Minstrel's lip?
Did'st thou not note with more than daughter's zeal,
Whilst o'er his harp he lean'd, his eye's keen glance,
425
He watch'd the workings of his magic song?
Nor was it only thine with love's rich store,
Prized o'er all other price, to recompense
The healing hymn; nor thine alone of those
His valour saved, th' imperial house of Saul,
To pay the stripling champion with thy heart,
When from Goliath's slaughter he return'd
Triumphant. With like ardor Jonathan,
Though doom'd his orb from that bright star to meet
Total eclipse, it's rising radiance scann'd,
And proudly track'd it's glories through the skies.
And hence each murky fog, each sanguine cloud
Raised by his father's breath to quench it's blaze,
Ceaseless he wept. To his pure clasp no bar,
That of untitled stem the hero sprung,
Whose virtues were patrician. Lurk'd his friend,
Chased by a thankless prince, in Naioth's hold
Or far Adullam's cave, 'mid Hareth's woods
Or Keilah's traitor towers, or (safer there,
Where none were to be served, and to betray!)
In Ziph's unpeopled wastes? With foot untired
In Naioth, or amid thy forest-depths,
Hareth, or in Adullam's sheltering night,
Ziph or ungrateful Keilah, Jonathan
Anxious to rescue, as his sire to slay,
Pursued the homeless wanderer: and could faith
Beyond all Greek, all Roman fame have wrought
Redemption for a fated line, his sons
Had still sway'd Judah's sceptre, and the wilds
Of Bethlehem ne'er had lost their shepherd-boy.
Prized o'er all other price, to recompense
The healing hymn; nor thine alone of those
His valour saved, th' imperial house of Saul,
To pay the stripling champion with thy heart,
When from Goliath's slaughter he return'd
Triumphant. With like ardor Jonathan,
Though doom'd his orb from that bright star to meet
Total eclipse, it's rising radiance scann'd,
And proudly track'd it's glories through the skies.
And hence each murky fog, each sanguine cloud
Raised by his father's breath to quench it's blaze,
Ceaseless he wept. To his pure clasp no bar,
That of untitled stem the hero sprung,
Whose virtues were patrician. Lurk'd his friend,
Chased by a thankless prince, in Naioth's hold
Or far Adullam's cave, 'mid Hareth's woods
Or Keilah's traitor towers, or (safer there,
Where none were to be served, and to betray!)
In Ziph's unpeopled wastes? With foot untired
In Naioth, or amid thy forest-depths,
Hareth, or in Adullam's sheltering night,
Ziph or ungrateful Keilah, Jonathan
Anxious to rescue, as his sire to slay,
Pursued the homeless wanderer: and could faith
Beyond all Greek, all Roman fame have wrought
Redemption for a fated line, his sons
Had still sway'd Judah's sceptre, and the wilds
Of Bethlehem ne'er had lost their shepherd-boy.
But Heaven's resolves will have accomplishment;
And often guilt, beyond itself avenged,
On it's own innocent race drags ruin down.
Messiah's great progenitor must wear
Saul's forfeit diadem: and filial worth
Sinks in the parent's wreck. The shatter'd trunk
Lies in Gilboa's field, it's palmy crown
Stripp'd by the storm; and there, untimely strew'd,
It's verdant scions in their summer-pride
Of the same tempest victims!
And often guilt, beyond itself avenged,
On it's own innocent race drags ruin down.
426
Saul's forfeit diadem: and filial worth
Sinks in the parent's wreck. The shatter'd trunk
Lies in Gilboa's field, it's palmy crown
Stripp'd by the storm; and there, untimely strew'd,
It's verdant scions in their summer-pride
Of the same tempest victims!
But thy hour
Retributive, disinterested Prince,
Is come; and floods of bliss thy brief woes drown.
Where Paradise it's lengthening glades extends
Robed in eternal green, 'tis thine with him
Thou loved'st on earth to stray; thy mortal cares
Remember'd, if remember'd, but t' enhance
Thy present transports; nor shall harsh behest
Of cruel father e'er divide you more.
Retributive, disinterested Prince,
Is come; and floods of bliss thy brief woes drown.
Where Paradise it's lengthening glades extends
Robed in eternal green, 'tis thine with him
Thou loved'st on earth to stray; thy mortal cares
Remember'd, if remember'd, but t' enhance
Thy present transports; nor shall harsh behest
Of cruel father e'er divide you more.
And shall the bard his pausing lyre suspend,
Nor give one strain to that which urged the whole,
Dear Friendship? Most unworthy he to taste,
Whose recreant tongue not owns, it's hallow'd joys!
Nor give one strain to that which urged the whole,
Dear Friendship? Most unworthy he to taste,
Whose recreant tongue not owns, it's hallow'd joys!
O ---,
thou alike in weal and woe
Found trusty, might I utter unbetray'd
The name, which springs to my impatient lip,
How would I syllable it forth! But thou
Hast that within thee (should this mystic verse
E'er meet thy conscious vision) that, with throb
Answering to mine, will recognise and seize
Each veil'd allusion, as in fond disguise
Cautious it shadows forth our early hours.
A halo-glory crowns each blessed spot
Visited by our steps in youth's sweet prime,
And thither—for near thee are spread the scenes
Refulgent—when the needful toils of life
Relax their hold upon thee, turn thy feet
In happy pilgrimage; and, “Here we stray'd
(So commune with themselves thy tender thoughts)
“Soon as the morning-sun you heathery brow
“Smote with slant beam, while yet the pearly dew
“Hung on each crimson bell; here pour'd uncheck'd
“The soul's pure current, or of youthful loves
“Conversing, or of Granta's amaranth bowers,
“And many a studious friend with hooks of steel
“Link'd to our common heart!”
Found trusty, might I utter unbetray'd
The name, which springs to my impatient lip,
How would I syllable it forth! But thou
Hast that within thee (should this mystic verse
E'er meet thy conscious vision) that, with throb
Answering to mine, will recognise and seize
Each veil'd allusion, as in fond disguise
Cautious it shadows forth our early hours.
A halo-glory crowns each blessed spot
Visited by our steps in youth's sweet prime,
And thither—for near thee are spread the scenes
427
Relax their hold upon thee, turn thy feet
In happy pilgrimage; and, “Here we stray'd
(So commune with themselves thy tender thoughts)
“Soon as the morning-sun you heathery brow
“Smote with slant beam, while yet the pearly dew
“Hung on each crimson bell; here pour'd uncheck'd
“The soul's pure current, or of youthful loves
“Conversing, or of Granta's amaranth bowers,
“And many a studious friend with hooks of steel
“Link'd to our common heart!”
Those hours are fled;
And far by fortune sunder'd we pursue,
As various duty guides, our separate tracks,
Cheer'd by rare interview. Yet not the less
Enraptured, from my pastoral retreat
I mark thy brightening fame, and as I gaze,
Glow with it's golden radiance. Thou meanwhile,
Not of thy distant friend 'midst loftier views
Forgetful, still shalt hear—if aught of One
So humble reach thee—that he holds the course
Our youthful purpose traced, of just and true;
Still woos at intervals the gentle Muse,
Blest in his lot, and grateful—though not great.
And far by fortune sunder'd we pursue,
As various duty guides, our separate tracks,
Cheer'd by rare interview. Yet not the less
Enraptured, from my pastoral retreat
I mark thy brightening fame, and as I gaze,
Glow with it's golden radiance. Thou meanwhile,
Not of thy distant friend 'midst loftier views
Forgetful, still shalt hear—if aught of One
So humble reach thee—that he holds the course
Our youthful purpose traced, of just and true;
Still woos at intervals the gentle Muse,
Blest in his lot, and grateful—though not great.
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