The Works of the Late Aaron Hill ... In Four Volumes. Consisting of Letters on Various Subjects, And of Original Poems, Moral and Facetious. With An Essay on the Art of Acting |
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Sareph and Hamar: An Episode.
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 | The Works of the Late Aaron Hill |  |
243
Sareph and Hamar: An Episode.
Joash
from Ophra now was come, dispatch'd by Gideon's care,
Attended by the lately pardon'd ten;
These in the shortest roads, experienc'd were,
All grateful, brave, and dext'rous men:
But chiefly Phurah had a foul too strong
For fortune's adverse weight to strain, or bend:
Though low his lot, his mind cou'd upward tend:
He, much inur'd to grievous wrong,
Had mark'd, that interest was mens common end;
And since his former happier life, such misery did attend,
He little hop'd his woes wou'd make a friend:
But when by Gideon's noble pity sav'd,
He look'd more nearly thro' the hero's breast:
No more he mourn'd, that he was once enslav'd,
But the delightful misery blest;
Which, thro' the worst of human kind, thus led him to the best;
And burnt, impatient, with a gen'rous aim,
To serve his glorious lord's designs, and his high worth proclaim;
Well mounted, and well arm'd, a trusty guide;
He follow'd Joash, with a chosen train;
Who slow descending rough Bethulia's side,
Saw Midian's marching host o'erspread the plain:
And keeping near, had well observ'd the way,
'Till now encamp'd on Rama's hills they lay.
Joash, unwilling to advance more nigh,
'Till he had weigh'd their aim, the following day;
Resolv'd that night beneath his tent to lie,
On a declining spot, which charm'd his eye;
And sloping to the river's edge, was by a forest crown'd:
Half wilderness, half garden, widely sweet,
Where self-sown rose-trees shade the well-swarth'd ground,
And o'er the fragrant tops, thick-arching meet
Wild Orange trees, whose flow'ry breath perfumes the breezes round,
Charms, which at once cou'd all the senses greet,
And did in unbought store for each, with bounteous care abound,
Low, on the river's grassy brink, he sees
A meadow, shelter'd round with branchy trees;
His mules and camels, there, he turn'd to graze,
While higher in the grove he stays,
Beneath the canopy to pass the night;
Where the highway, near bord'ring, reach'd his sight;
Refresh'd by sleep, he rose serene and gay,
And walk'd abroad to see the breaking day,
With dawning lustre, thro' the boughs, in trembling sallies play.
Where-e'er he pass'd, the golden fruit hung low
And dancing, wanton, bow'd to court his hand,
Proud of the native charms they had to show;
While, from above, the sweet wind-wasted flow'rs,
Rain'd on his silver hairs, in milk-white show'rs;
Modest, the blushing rose-trees round him stand,
And, rudely shook, weep tears of pearly dew;
And to his smell send soft complaints, and scent the forest through.
Attended by the lately pardon'd ten;
These in the shortest roads, experienc'd were,
All grateful, brave, and dext'rous men:
But chiefly Phurah had a foul too strong
For fortune's adverse weight to strain, or bend:
Though low his lot, his mind cou'd upward tend:
He, much inur'd to grievous wrong,
Had mark'd, that interest was mens common end;
And since his former happier life, such misery did attend,
He little hop'd his woes wou'd make a friend:
But when by Gideon's noble pity sav'd,
He look'd more nearly thro' the hero's breast:
No more he mourn'd, that he was once enslav'd,
244
Which, thro' the worst of human kind, thus led him to the best;
And burnt, impatient, with a gen'rous aim,
To serve his glorious lord's designs, and his high worth proclaim;
Well mounted, and well arm'd, a trusty guide;
He follow'd Joash, with a chosen train;
Who slow descending rough Bethulia's side,
Saw Midian's marching host o'erspread the plain:
And keeping near, had well observ'd the way,
'Till now encamp'd on Rama's hills they lay.
Joash, unwilling to advance more nigh,
'Till he had weigh'd their aim, the following day;
Resolv'd that night beneath his tent to lie,
On a declining spot, which charm'd his eye;
And sloping to the river's edge, was by a forest crown'd:
Half wilderness, half garden, widely sweet,
Where self-sown rose-trees shade the well-swarth'd ground,
And o'er the fragrant tops, thick-arching meet
245
Charms, which at once cou'd all the senses greet,
And did in unbought store for each, with bounteous care abound,
Low, on the river's grassy brink, he sees
A meadow, shelter'd round with branchy trees;
His mules and camels, there, he turn'd to graze,
While higher in the grove he stays,
Beneath the canopy to pass the night;
Where the highway, near bord'ring, reach'd his sight;
Refresh'd by sleep, he rose serene and gay,
And walk'd abroad to see the breaking day,
With dawning lustre, thro' the boughs, in trembling sallies play.
Where-e'er he pass'd, the golden fruit hung low
And dancing, wanton, bow'd to court his hand,
Proud of the native charms they had to show;
While, from above, the sweet wind-wasted flow'rs,
Rain'd on his silver hairs, in milk-white show'rs;
Modest, the blushing rose-trees round him stand,
246
And to his smell send soft complaints, and scent the forest through.
Now, thro' the grove, the thirsty Sun did his hot face disclose,
And drank the steamy nectar, as it rose;
When Joash, looking out upon the plain,
Beheld a comely youth approach the grove;
Weary he seem'd to walk, and full of pain,
As if against some inward woe he strove;
Close after him an ill-shap'd ass he led,
Whereon sate pensive, as in deep distress,
A lovely woman, with declining head.
Rich in her charms, but careless in her dress;
Often the youth look'd back with am'rous air,
And mix'd much tenderness with constant care,
Curious, and wond'ring what this pair shou'd be,
Joash sate low, against a bending tree,
Whence, 'twixt the bushes, he unseen cou'd see.
When they close and sheltry umbrage gain'd,
Soft in his arms, the youth his fair companion took,
Proud of the burthen, his glad grasp obtain'd,
And with slow step, and love directed look,
Chose a well-swarth'd and shady spot, and having plac'd her there,
Sate down himself, and seiz'd her hand, and sigh'd with silent care.
Long on his face, with blushful innocence.
And unspoke meanings fill'd, she fix'd her eyes,
At last, with all love's natural eloquence,
Thus her soft soul, her trembling tongue supplies.
And drank the steamy nectar, as it rose;
When Joash, looking out upon the plain,
Beheld a comely youth approach the grove;
Weary he seem'd to walk, and full of pain,
As if against some inward woe he strove;
Close after him an ill-shap'd ass he led,
Whereon sate pensive, as in deep distress,
A lovely woman, with declining head.
Rich in her charms, but careless in her dress;
Often the youth look'd back with am'rous air,
And mix'd much tenderness with constant care,
Curious, and wond'ring what this pair shou'd be,
Joash sate low, against a bending tree,
Whence, 'twixt the bushes, he unseen cou'd see.
When they close and sheltry umbrage gain'd,
Soft in his arms, the youth his fair companion took,
Proud of the burthen, his glad grasp obtain'd,
And with slow step, and love directed look,
247
Sate down himself, and seiz'd her hand, and sigh'd with silent care.
Long on his face, with blushful innocence.
And unspoke meanings fill'd, she fix'd her eyes,
At last, with all love's natural eloquence,
Thus her soft soul, her trembling tongue supplies.
O SAREPH! how capricious is our fate!
Sure, I was doom'd to mis'ry from my birth,
While I was blind, and wou'd not know thy worth.
Then I had power to give it a reward;
But now, when thou hast won my whole regard,
When sick with shame, I see how much I owe,
And wou'd with joyful gratitude bestow;
I find myself distress'd and poor and loss'd in wilds of woe:
Why wilt thou share in my afflicted state,
And by partaking give my griefs new weight?
Leave me, too gen'rous youth! to bear ill fate alone;
Let pains to-come, past pride atone;
Why, Sareph, shou'dst thou die for me,
Who thought it hard to live for thee?
Alas! how hopeless thus unknown, to roam!
What can we meet abroad but misery,
Who found no friends at home?
Wide is the world, my Sareph, and but few
To pity the unhappy are inclin'd;
Vast is the sorrow, we must travel through,
And small the speck of hope we go to find:
Oh! 'tis too hard to fall from wealth and fame,
To pinching hunger, and to pining shame:
Why live we longer then, since life is curst?
The beggar's lot is bitt'rer, than the grave.
Misery's too patient, when she waits the worst;
By death, at once, the wretched and the brave
May mend their fortune, and their honour save:
More she had said, but rising grief her breaking voice opprest
A-while, with speaking tears, she look'd the rest,
Then sigh'd, and with declining head fell soft against his breast.
Sure, I was doom'd to mis'ry from my birth,
While I was blind, and wou'd not know thy worth.
Then I had power to give it a reward;
But now, when thou hast won my whole regard,
When sick with shame, I see how much I owe,
And wou'd with joyful gratitude bestow;
I find myself distress'd and poor and loss'd in wilds of woe:
Why wilt thou share in my afflicted state,
And by partaking give my griefs new weight?
Leave me, too gen'rous youth! to bear ill fate alone;
Let pains to-come, past pride atone;
248
Who thought it hard to live for thee?
Alas! how hopeless thus unknown, to roam!
What can we meet abroad but misery,
Who found no friends at home?
Wide is the world, my Sareph, and but few
To pity the unhappy are inclin'd;
Vast is the sorrow, we must travel through,
And small the speck of hope we go to find:
Oh! 'tis too hard to fall from wealth and fame,
To pinching hunger, and to pining shame:
Why live we longer then, since life is curst?
The beggar's lot is bitt'rer, than the grave.
Misery's too patient, when she waits the worst;
By death, at once, the wretched and the brave
May mend their fortune, and their honour save:
More she had said, but rising grief her breaking voice opprest
A-while, with speaking tears, she look'd the rest,
Then sigh'd, and with declining head fell soft against his breast.
Charm-cover'd Hamar, the sad youth reply'd,
And half his mantle o'er her gently threw;
Unus'd to want, nor yet in misery try'd,
Rest, now, in safety, by my guardful side:
Faint with thy toils, and damp and cold, with night's descending dew,
Sleep will refresh thee, and thou then may'st find
Courage restor'd, revive thy waking mind:
That heav'n, which help'd thee to escape thy foes,
Well thy wond'rous virtue knows.
And will pursue thee with reward, where-e'er thy beauty goes.
Nor fear, that, being strangers, and unknown,
We wander, hopeless, o'er the world's wide breast;
Alas! what country can we call our own,
Who have at home been thus opprest?
Pity to foreign woe is soonest shown,
While fear, or envy, always robs domestic worth of rest:
To flourish is the way to be distrest;
And safe obscurity lives still most blest.
Want's heavy hand shall never drag thee down,
While I have life to lavish for thy sake:
Fear nothing, let storm-gath'ring fortune frown,
For ever, thus, thy rest in safety take,
And on my shoulders let the tempest break.
And half his mantle o'er her gently threw;
249
Rest, now, in safety, by my guardful side:
Faint with thy toils, and damp and cold, with night's descending dew,
Sleep will refresh thee, and thou then may'st find
Courage restor'd, revive thy waking mind:
That heav'n, which help'd thee to escape thy foes,
Well thy wond'rous virtue knows.
And will pursue thee with reward, where-e'er thy beauty goes.
Nor fear, that, being strangers, and unknown,
We wander, hopeless, o'er the world's wide breast;
Alas! what country can we call our own,
Who have at home been thus opprest?
Pity to foreign woe is soonest shown,
While fear, or envy, always robs domestic worth of rest:
To flourish is the way to be distrest;
And safe obscurity lives still most blest.
Want's heavy hand shall never drag thee down,
While I have life to lavish for thy sake:
Fear nothing, let storm-gath'ring fortune frown,
250
And on my shoulders let the tempest break.
Ev'n while he spoke, swift to the grove there came
Four straggling plund'rers, who, from Midian's host
Stole out by night, with predatory aim,
To rob and murder on this peopled coast.
These had, at distance, watch'd the mournful pair,
And, following to the shade, surpriz'd them there.
Sareph, resisting, was o'erpower'd, and all the four agree,
That bound upright against a tree,
Pierc'd by their arrows he dispatch'd shou'd be:
And now with bloody speed, and fierce intent,
Their steely bows stood strongly bent;
The levell'd shafts were pointed from the eye,
And the strings struggled with desire to fly:
Hamar, beyond description, stunn'd with woe,
Kneel'd, trembling, dumb, unfit for pray'r or flight;
She felt herself a stiff'ning statue grow,
Nor knew she liv'd, but by the curse of sight.
Sareph, with swelling indignation choak'd,
Sometimes heav'n's help, sometimes the four invok'd,
Then, with mad starts of heat, their rage provok'd:
Now torn with pity, now with grief, convuls'd, he rolls his eye,
Now looks on Hamar with despair, now hopeful on the sky;
Then stamps, and weeps, and strains his bands, and wishes but to die.
Four straggling plund'rers, who, from Midian's host
Stole out by night, with predatory aim,
To rob and murder on this peopled coast.
These had, at distance, watch'd the mournful pair,
And, following to the shade, surpriz'd them there.
Sareph, resisting, was o'erpower'd, and all the four agree,
That bound upright against a tree,
Pierc'd by their arrows he dispatch'd shou'd be:
And now with bloody speed, and fierce intent,
Their steely bows stood strongly bent;
The levell'd shafts were pointed from the eye,
And the strings struggled with desire to fly:
Hamar, beyond description, stunn'd with woe,
Kneel'd, trembling, dumb, unfit for pray'r or flight;
She felt herself a stiff'ning statue grow,
Nor knew she liv'd, but by the curse of sight.
251
Sometimes heav'n's help, sometimes the four invok'd,
Then, with mad starts of heat, their rage provok'd:
Now torn with pity, now with grief, convuls'd, he rolls his eye,
Now looks on Hamar with despair, now hopeful on the sky;
Then stamps, and weeps, and strains his bands, and wishes but to die.
Just in the fatal point, one soldier thus,
With lifted hand his fellow's purpose staid:
What will this stranger's death advantage us?
For life perhaps a ransom may be paid:
If not—To kill him, will our bliss with this fair prize destroy,
Make her distasteful, sad, and coy;
And blast the very spirit of our joy.
But for his life she may, with willing arms,
Reward us with the fulness of her charms.
Whose she shall be, by lot may soon be try'd;
Chance will impartially decide.
Brothers, reply'd another, 'twere a shame,
Shou'd lots determine in a soldier's claim:
With that he hurl'd a jav'lin from his hand,
And pierc'd the trunk of a distinguish'd tree:
Now let us all, said he, at distance stand,
And he, whose arrow, hither shot, most near this mark shall be,
His be the claim, and the possessor he.
The rest, with joint applause, consent declare,
And backward far, their station chuse, and their best shafts prepare.
Thus they, suspicious of no danger near,
While Joash softly left his bushy seat,
And ran, with pity touch'd, his men to meet:
Soon he discern'd them, and with earnest cry,
Sent his swift summons to their willing ear;
They with a loud and general shout reply:
The Median archers hear the noise, and quit their prize and fly.
With lifted hand his fellow's purpose staid:
What will this stranger's death advantage us?
For life perhaps a ransom may be paid:
If not—To kill him, will our bliss with this fair prize destroy,
Make her distasteful, sad, and coy;
And blast the very spirit of our joy.
But for his life she may, with willing arms,
Reward us with the fulness of her charms.
Whose she shall be, by lot may soon be try'd;
Chance will impartially decide.
Brothers, reply'd another, 'twere a shame,
Shou'd lots determine in a soldier's claim:
252
And pierc'd the trunk of a distinguish'd tree:
Now let us all, said he, at distance stand,
And he, whose arrow, hither shot, most near this mark shall be,
His be the claim, and the possessor he.
The rest, with joint applause, consent declare,
And backward far, their station chuse, and their best shafts prepare.
Thus they, suspicious of no danger near,
While Joash softly left his bushy seat,
And ran, with pity touch'd, his men to meet:
Soon he discern'd them, and with earnest cry,
Sent his swift summons to their willing ear;
They with a loud and general shout reply:
The Median archers hear the noise, and quit their prize and fly.
Joash with cautious foresight, check'd the haste,
With which his rushing guard pursu'd their flight:
On the grove's border, closely rang'd, a trusty file he plac'd;
Defensive there, to watch with reachful sight:
Then to Sareph drawing nigh,
And viewing the transported youth with a joy-sprinkling eye,
From the flesh-furrowing cords his arms he frees,
Who grateful bends with rapt'rous thanks, and clasps his feeble knees.
Hamar, mean-while, sunk spiritless away,
And stretch'd upon the verdant surface lay;
Unable passion's wild extreams, with temper to sustain;
Excess of joy upon excess of grief,
Drove back a tide of strong resisting pain,
And overwhelm'd her with too fierce relief:
But Sareph kneeling earnest by her side,
Hung over her with love's officious care;
A thousand soft and tender arts he try'd,
A thousand times invok'd th' unanswering fair.
Waking at last, to love and life, amidst a warm embrace,
Her op'ning eyes flash'd sudden on his face;
Then round his neck her eager arms she threw;
Unguarded nature, thus surpriz'd, gave way;
Recov'ring life no nice disguises knew,
Passion, unfetter'd by reserve, did its full force display,
And extasy did modesty betray.
On either side supported, slow she went,
Guided by Joash, to his distant tent;
There, soft reclining, sought a short repose,
Her scatter'd spirits to compose:
While Joash, curious to enquire,
What sad occasion plung'd them in their woe,
Address'd the youth, with mild desire,
The story of their mournful loves to know.
Sareph comply'd with the approv'd request,
And in these words, with mingled sighs, his wond'rous tale exprest.
With which his rushing guard pursu'd their flight:
On the grove's border, closely rang'd, a trusty file he plac'd;
Defensive there, to watch with reachful sight:
253
And viewing the transported youth with a joy-sprinkling eye,
From the flesh-furrowing cords his arms he frees,
Who grateful bends with rapt'rous thanks, and clasps his feeble knees.
Hamar, mean-while, sunk spiritless away,
And stretch'd upon the verdant surface lay;
Unable passion's wild extreams, with temper to sustain;
Excess of joy upon excess of grief,
Drove back a tide of strong resisting pain,
And overwhelm'd her with too fierce relief:
But Sareph kneeling earnest by her side,
Hung over her with love's officious care;
A thousand soft and tender arts he try'd,
A thousand times invok'd th' unanswering fair.
Waking at last, to love and life, amidst a warm embrace,
Her op'ning eyes flash'd sudden on his face;
Then round his neck her eager arms she threw;
Unguarded nature, thus surpriz'd, gave way;
Recov'ring life no nice disguises knew,
254
And extasy did modesty betray.
On either side supported, slow she went,
Guided by Joash, to his distant tent;
There, soft reclining, sought a short repose,
Her scatter'd spirits to compose:
While Joash, curious to enquire,
What sad occasion plung'd them in their woe,
Address'd the youth, with mild desire,
The story of their mournful loves to know.
Sareph comply'd with the approv'd request,
And in these words, with mingled sighs, his wond'rous tale exprest.
Tyre, fam'd for golden splendor o'er the east,
Gave birth to Rekem of a fair descent;
But who, by honest industry, his wealth so much increas'd,
That he, in fortune's race, all others far outwent;
Yet was he not more blest, than innocent:
Rare were his virtues, and his soul as far excell'd the rest,
As did his wealth—He was at once the richest, and the best.
None from his friendly door were empty sent,
He us'd his heaps, but as a treasure lent,
To be dispos'd for others good, and not in pride mispent.
He was the common father of th' opprest;
To him, 'twas merit but to be distrest:
My self became an early proof, how pity sway'd his heart,
In helpless infancy an orphan left,
At once of parents and of food bereft,
Rekem, that best of men, assum'd a father's part,
Sav'd me from want's soul-pinching smart,
And with a gen'rous care, and lib'ral hand supply'd
What my own lot, less happy, had deny'd.
This lovely Hamar, here, but now enslav'd,
This fainting charmer, whose dear life your timely succour sav'd,
Was the good Rekem's lov'd, and only child;
So soft her nature, and so sweetly mild,
That upon all the world, but me, she smil'd:
With bold, but fruitless passion fir'd, long time I strove in vain,
The wish'd reward of lovers sighs to gain;
But she, who wept at others woes, took pleasure in my pain.
Rekem's superior wealth, and virtue too,
On his just aims, the grievous weight of general envy drew:
Out shining all, he stirr'd up all men's hate,
And stood a mark for the distrustful state.
They fear'd his virtues, and his wealth they sought,
And secret means, to work his ruin, wrought:
But long their willing malice watch'd in vain,
His life, unsully'd, white and pure, disclos'd no single stain,
Till fortune pointed out at last, a blind, but fatal way,
At once her former blessings to betray,
And to the hungry grasp of power gave up the long-wish'd prey.
Scarce past a month, since from the Midian host,
Which now o'er-conquer'd Israel wasteful sways,
Zalmunna sent two captains to our coast,
To mark our strength, and well observe our ways:
These to Tyre, with vent'rous aim,
Perhaps, not uninvited came;
But while the city they with care survey'd,
They found themselves by some ill chance betray'd:
The house, they lay in, was beset by night,
And one was seiz'd, and one escap'd by flight:
The cautious state hence took alarm,
And strait resolv'd, defensively, to arm:
Maliciously inquisitive they find,
That Rekem once, by public fame deceiv'd,
To strangers converse ever much inclin'd;
Had the two spies, as travellers, receiv'd;
And feasted them with hospitable care,
Tho'tless, alas! how dang'rous guests they were.
Vain was the just defence his virtue made,
They seiz'd his wealth, and on his ruin prey'd:
And as by nature men; who once have injur'd us before,
Seek their own safety from new wrongs, and still oppress us more,
So with a blind, and barb'rous speed,
They the good Rekem ev'n to death pursu'd;
Dress'd rapine in her solemn form, and publicly decreed,
That on the morning, which ensu'd,
Beheaded in the market-place he should for treason bleed.
But when to Hamar's ear this news was brought,
Who can describe the sad effects it wrought?
Imagination may perhaps conceive her dreadful state,
But 'twas a misery of too much weight,
Too sharp, too mighty to relate?
Long was her sad, her earnest pray'r deny'd,
To see her tender father, e'er he dy'd:
At last, the mournful favour she obtain'd,
And 'twixt two weeping maids supported went;
Far in the night together they remain'd,
And the dark hours in mutual mis'ry spent,
'Twixt loud complaints, and silent tears, and wild astonishment.
When Hamar's pious hope, by heav'n advis'd,
Wisely contriv'd her father's wish'd escape;
In her loose robes his body she disguis'd,
And cover'd with her flowing veil his grief-disorder'd shape;
Then seeming weak with woe, and drown'd in tears,
The good old man with artful step, and bent and cover'd head,
Safe 'twixt the faithful maids was from the prison led:
While Hamar in his dress half dead with fears,
Remain'd the hostage of his flight, and saviour of his years.
Gave birth to Rekem of a fair descent;
But who, by honest industry, his wealth so much increas'd,
That he, in fortune's race, all others far outwent;
Yet was he not more blest, than innocent:
Rare were his virtues, and his soul as far excell'd the rest,
As did his wealth—He was at once the richest, and the best.
255
He us'd his heaps, but as a treasure lent,
To be dispos'd for others good, and not in pride mispent.
He was the common father of th' opprest;
To him, 'twas merit but to be distrest:
My self became an early proof, how pity sway'd his heart,
In helpless infancy an orphan left,
At once of parents and of food bereft,
Rekem, that best of men, assum'd a father's part,
Sav'd me from want's soul-pinching smart,
And with a gen'rous care, and lib'ral hand supply'd
What my own lot, less happy, had deny'd.
This lovely Hamar, here, but now enslav'd,
This fainting charmer, whose dear life your timely succour sav'd,
Was the good Rekem's lov'd, and only child;
So soft her nature, and so sweetly mild,
That upon all the world, but me, she smil'd:
With bold, but fruitless passion fir'd, long time I strove in vain,
The wish'd reward of lovers sighs to gain;
But she, who wept at others woes, took pleasure in my pain.
256
On his just aims, the grievous weight of general envy drew:
Out shining all, he stirr'd up all men's hate,
And stood a mark for the distrustful state.
They fear'd his virtues, and his wealth they sought,
And secret means, to work his ruin, wrought:
But long their willing malice watch'd in vain,
His life, unsully'd, white and pure, disclos'd no single stain,
Till fortune pointed out at last, a blind, but fatal way,
At once her former blessings to betray,
And to the hungry grasp of power gave up the long-wish'd prey.
Scarce past a month, since from the Midian host,
Which now o'er-conquer'd Israel wasteful sways,
Zalmunna sent two captains to our coast,
To mark our strength, and well observe our ways:
These to Tyre, with vent'rous aim,
Perhaps, not uninvited came;
257
They found themselves by some ill chance betray'd:
The house, they lay in, was beset by night,
And one was seiz'd, and one escap'd by flight:
The cautious state hence took alarm,
And strait resolv'd, defensively, to arm:
Maliciously inquisitive they find,
That Rekem once, by public fame deceiv'd,
To strangers converse ever much inclin'd;
Had the two spies, as travellers, receiv'd;
And feasted them with hospitable care,
Tho'tless, alas! how dang'rous guests they were.
Vain was the just defence his virtue made,
They seiz'd his wealth, and on his ruin prey'd:
And as by nature men; who once have injur'd us before,
Seek their own safety from new wrongs, and still oppress us more,
So with a blind, and barb'rous speed,
They the good Rekem ev'n to death pursu'd;
Dress'd rapine in her solemn form, and publicly decreed,
That on the morning, which ensu'd,
Beheaded in the market-place he should for treason bleed.
258
Who can describe the sad effects it wrought?
Imagination may perhaps conceive her dreadful state,
But 'twas a misery of too much weight,
Too sharp, too mighty to relate?
Long was her sad, her earnest pray'r deny'd,
To see her tender father, e'er he dy'd:
At last, the mournful favour she obtain'd,
And 'twixt two weeping maids supported went;
Far in the night together they remain'd,
And the dark hours in mutual mis'ry spent,
'Twixt loud complaints, and silent tears, and wild astonishment.
When Hamar's pious hope, by heav'n advis'd,
Wisely contriv'd her father's wish'd escape;
In her loose robes his body she disguis'd,
And cover'd with her flowing veil his grief-disorder'd shape;
Then seeming weak with woe, and drown'd in tears,
The good old man with artful step, and bent and cover'd head,
Safe 'twixt the faithful maids was from the prison led:
259
Remain'd the hostage of his flight, and saviour of his years.
Heaven knows what path the hapless Rekem chose,
But he has since been vainly sought by his blood-thirsty foes;
Mean while, in council the grave chiefs of state
Weigh the surprising deed with warm debate;
Some, but, alas! how few! with generous heat,
Applaud the filial piety, and her discharge entreat.
But far less just the general voice agreed,
That, since regardless of the laws she had her father freed,
She should again discover him, or in his place should bleed.
This she, tho' not expecting, bravely met,
And sent for me her last long leave to take,
Saraph, said she, I die without regret,
Since my dear father has escap'd their net;
Nor would I wish to live, but for thy sake:
Long thy love hath faithful been,
But thy great merit was too lately seen:
A worth, like thine, in such an impious age,
Might hearts less sensible than mine engage:
But fate denies me now all power of choice,
And all, that I can give thee, is my voice:
Were I to live, my life henceforth were thine,
Now death requires me, and 'tis vain ignobly to repine.
By chance this jewel, rich in price, remains,
Sav'd from the general wreck, and secret kept,
Take it, said she, 'twill ease your life from want's voracious pains;
Perhaps your search (and there she wept)
May once again my now lost father find;
'Twill somewhat comfort his afflicted mind,
In his distress to see you kind.
And even the little this may give to share,
The gratitude of you, his friend, and his dead daughter's care.
But he has since been vainly sought by his blood-thirsty foes;
Mean while, in council the grave chiefs of state
Weigh the surprising deed with warm debate;
Some, but, alas! how few! with generous heat,
Applaud the filial piety, and her discharge entreat.
But far less just the general voice agreed,
That, since regardless of the laws she had her father freed,
She should again discover him, or in his place should bleed.
This she, tho' not expecting, bravely met,
And sent for me her last long leave to take,
Saraph, said she, I die without regret,
Since my dear father has escap'd their net;
Nor would I wish to live, but for thy sake:
Long thy love hath faithful been,
But thy great merit was too lately seen:
260
Might hearts less sensible than mine engage:
But fate denies me now all power of choice,
And all, that I can give thee, is my voice:
Were I to live, my life henceforth were thine,
Now death requires me, and 'tis vain ignobly to repine.
By chance this jewel, rich in price, remains,
Sav'd from the general wreck, and secret kept,
Take it, said she, 'twill ease your life from want's voracious pains;
Perhaps your search (and there she wept)
May once again my now lost father find;
'Twill somewhat comfort his afflicted mind,
In his distress to see you kind.
And even the little this may give to share,
The gratitude of you, his friend, and his dead daughter's care.
I took the jewel, and o'erwhelm'd with grief,
Scarce found the pow'r these words to say:
Hamar, fear nothing, heaven's thy friend and owes thee sure relief.
So saying, turn'd, and shot with speed away,
For in that point of time, &c.
Scarce found the pow'r these words to say:
Hamar, fear nothing, heaven's thy friend and owes thee sure relief.
So saying, turn'd, and shot with speed away,
For in that point of time, &c.
261
—The pair departed, and with busy mind
Wise Joash thro' the grove reflecting stray'd;
Fill'd with ideas of God's power and goodness unconfin'd,
In each event discern'd to act, in every place display'd:
If downward on the earth he bent his eye,
The party-colour'd surface gaily dress'd,
Grateful, her scented off'rings breath'd to the dew-shedding sky,
And heaven's indulgent hand confess'd.
If he lookt upward to the realms of light,
The glowing sun blaz'd copious to his sight;
Illustrious proof of power immense, and essence vastly bright,
That first cou'd light up day's broad lamp, and guide the eyeless night!
If he the prospect round him view'd,
A vegetable nation widely spread,
With long, but humbler life endu'd,
Were in their seasons, by God's will, with genial moisture fed,
The lowing herds in nature's lux'ry roll'd,
Wallowing in verdant beds of springing grass:
Air-sailing birds, with broad-spread wings in streams their flight behold,
And stooping wanton to the liquid glass,
With half dip'd pinions skim the floods, and sip 'em, as they pass.
In these, and in all objects, he cou'd spy,
Or with his gross, or intellectual eye;
The formful hand of God, distinctly read,
Amaz'd his thoughts, and o'er his soul a reverend horror spread.
Wise Joash thro' the grove reflecting stray'd;
Fill'd with ideas of God's power and goodness unconfin'd,
In each event discern'd to act, in every place display'd:
If downward on the earth he bent his eye,
The party-colour'd surface gaily dress'd,
Grateful, her scented off'rings breath'd to the dew-shedding sky,
And heaven's indulgent hand confess'd.
If he lookt upward to the realms of light,
The glowing sun blaz'd copious to his sight;
Illustrious proof of power immense, and essence vastly bright,
That first cou'd light up day's broad lamp, and guide the eyeless night!
If he the prospect round him view'd,
A vegetable nation widely spread,
With long, but humbler life endu'd,
Were in their seasons, by God's will, with genial moisture fed,
262
Wallowing in verdant beds of springing grass:
Air-sailing birds, with broad-spread wings in streams their flight behold,
And stooping wanton to the liquid glass,
With half dip'd pinions skim the floods, and sip 'em, as they pass.
In these, and in all objects, he cou'd spy,
Or with his gross, or intellectual eye;
The formful hand of God, distinctly read,
Amaz'd his thoughts, and o'er his soul a reverend horror spread.
But while thus nobly he employ'd his mind,
Surrounding shouts swell'd circling in the wind;
The grove, on every side, resounded, with alarms
Of mingled voices, crackling boughs, thick steps, and clatt'ring arms, &c.
Surrounding shouts swell'd circling in the wind;
The grove, on every side, resounded, with alarms
Of mingled voices, crackling boughs, thick steps, and clatt'ring arms, &c.
| The Works of the Late Aaron Hill | |