University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

A hall in the palace of David. Mephibosheth seated, attended by two Ethiopians.
Mephib.
Who lurks in yonder vestibule?—There flits
A shadow there.

Enter Hadad.
Had.
Ha, Prince, forsake the banquet?

Mephib.
Young Syrian, he becomes that title better
Who, midst his sons and captains, feasts, to-day,
Envoys from proudest nations; tyrant Egypt,
Elam, and Tyre, Assyria, and Damascus,
Dusk princes from the east, and unknown south;
All bearing to his coffers richest gifts,
Fuming his pride with incense, courting league
And amity with him, whose warlike name
Even Ishmael's roving sons respect and fear.

Had.
Dost thou—thou, whose illustrious grandsire wore
The crown of Israel, when young David's brows
Were wreathed with oak-leaves in the wilderness,
Renounce thy lineage, title, thy great name,
Because thou lack'st the chair and canopy?—
Prince, in that unseen chamber where the Soul
Sits shrouded with her winged ministry,
Swifter than light and countless as the stars,—
High aims, proud thoughts, inflexible resolves,
And hopes that reach at glory, there is fixed
The seat of Majesty.

Mephib.
O, thoughts like these
May grace the lips, but thou wilt live to find
Power is the seat of Majesty.

Had.
When clouds
Lowered black as midnight o'er his head, who, now,
Thinks nought can intercept the sun, and deems
His throne immovable as holy Zion,
What had his heart to lean on in the hour
Of peril, but an old man's prophecy?—
Less stable, Prince, than lineal rights like thine.—
But to that golden prophecy he clung,
Revolved it waking, slept to dream it o'er,
Drew from it hope, and constancy, and courage;
Else, had some cavern been his dwelling still,
And not these roofs of cedar.

Mephib.
Hadad,—no—
Thou 'rt not so wild, to deem the abject wretch
Mephibosheth presumes to think of rights?

Had.
Glimmers thy natal star more dim than mine?
Am not I here an hostage, poor, and powerless,
Condemned to exile on the false pretence
Of Syria's broken faith? destined, perhaps,
To fill some Hebrew dungeon, while a son
Of David sways the sceptre of Damascus?
Yet, singly here upon his wall-girt hill,
I feel, and will assert, my claims, as proudly
As in the halls of Hadad.

Mephib.
Different far
Thy fate and mine.—Thy race survives:—a throne
Awaits thee. Seated there, thou mayst restore,
Avenge its greatness. I, alas! a cripple,—
(Wrecked doubly on that fatal Gilboa,—) what
Can I, but weep and curse?—Cut off from action,
Like a dull Levite, I consume my life
O'er chronicles that teach me what I 've lost:—
Or in some niche of these—my master's halls—
Observe their ways and comment.

Had.
Rare! O, rare!
Slayings and prayings!—psalmody and love!—
War cries and canticles!—wassail and sackcloth!—
Groanings, and making groan the bleeding nations!

Mephib.
In the primeval day, the friends of God
Dwelt in plain tents, or underneath some tree;
But see how this Prince-prophet builds his nest.
Mark yonder pavement, like a limpid lake,
Reflecting all things from its polished face;
Behold yon couches, wrought like kingly thrones
With gold and ivory; those Tyrian hangings,
Garnished, and enter-tissued, till they mock
The very tabernacle. Breathe the perfume
From yonder bossy censers, sending up
A silvery volume to the vaulted roof;—
There the lign-aloes wastes its precious sweets,
Costlier than Ophir's dust. Look at his meats,
His wines, the service of his table; youths
About his cup fairer than Tammuz. See
His wives, his concubines, whose annual waste
Employs the looms of Egypt, whose dove necks
Glitter with gems that might redeem a kingdom.

Had.
Types, types of Paradise, my lord,
Whose pleasures strain, so oft, his poet fancy!

Mephib.
Nor is this all; his sons outstrip their sire
In every wild device of luxury.
Poor Israel sweats to pamper their blown pride,
Which, swollen and rank, breaks out, anon, in lust
And murder. Never was a land so cursed,
So trampled!—See the red-hand Absalom!—
Is there a demi-god in Syria's temples
A juster image of tyrannic pride?—
Not Pharaoh's chariot prouder grinds the way,
Or makes the dwelling of Osiris tremble
As his audacious wheels the mercy-seat!
His haughty spirit lightens in his eye,
That, eagle-like, seems fixed on some far quarry:
His Babylonish mantle, wrought with stars,
And golden characters of strange device,
Flames like a constellation; and the hoop,
Half seen upon his brows, denotes a will,
That, if it dared, would make a white head crownless.

Had.
Interpret not so harshly. It denotes
But David's heir, the eldest, noblest-born,
Bravest, and most illustrious son of Israel.

Mephib.
Ho!—by whose blood became he so?

Had.
By blood which, had I shed in such a cause,
I ne'er had washed the voucher from my hand.

Mephib.
But Daniel too—
Is he despatched? or has he sold his birthright?

Had.
Ere he essay to curb this fiery people,
Send him to still the bellowing oaks of Bashan.

Mephib.
But, prithee, how know'st thou, or Absalom,
That Adonijah, who, in valiant parts,
Scarce yields to him the palm, and far outshines
In peaceful virtues and unblemished fame,
May not be chosen?—ay, or Solomon,
Old Nathan's darling, son of David's age,
Cherished like Joseph, whose ripe boyhood yields
The promise of a mind that after times
Will wonder at? The King was Jesse's youngest,
And matched young Solomon in looks and years,
When Samuel passed seven stately sons, to crown
The shepherd boy.—Why dost thou fix thine eyes,
As thou wouldst rend the secrets from my soul?

Had.
But hast thou heard—or noted aught like this?

Mephib.
Prince of Damascus, what is that to thee?
If Saul and David, or if David's sons
Dispute the throne, hath Syria aught to say?

Had.
Nay, Prince, I meant but—

Mephib.
Meant to draw forth that
Which Absalom, thy kinsman, burns to know;
Thy more than kinsman—beauteous Tamar's sire!
Tell him, Mephibosheth nor hears, nor sees,
Nor hath, in these fair seeming days, a tongue.
Slaves, to mine arbour.

(Mephibosheth is borne out.)
Had.
He harps the fatal note,—young Solomon,—
The scorpion of the brood, whose sting shall prove
Mortal to other than his foes.— (Listens.)
The step
Is Absalom's—'t is he—and opportunely.

Enter Absalom.
Ab.
Hadad, thine uncle's envoys sup with me,
In private, with the Tyrian: go, I prithee,
And bid those chiefs of Issachar, whose cause
Sped ill this morning. Say Ahithophel,
Who friended them in council, meets with us.—
But wherefore meditatest thou here alone?

Had.
The son of Jonathan just parted from me.
Being next him at the table, I refreshed
His cup so oft, and spiced it so with vaunts
Of Judah's glory, (subtler than the wine
To work on Benjamin,) that in a rage
He flung from me to cool his ferment here.
I followed, as unconscious of offence,
In hopes his drink or passion might let fall
Something of import to you.

Ab.
Dropped he aught?

Had.
An ominous hint or two.

Ab.
As how?

Had.
Discoursing of the King, his power, and glory,
I mentioned you as his undoubted heir.
He eyed me with a look askance, implying
More than his words, and craved to know why you,
Or I, thought that,—commended Adonijah,—
Then, with a smile of dark, malignant joy
Which lighted up his murky eye, exclaimed,
“Why not the younger?—nature's prodigy,—
Son of old age,—the Prophet's favorite!
What! did not Samuel consecrate a child?”

Ab.
Malicious slave! He sees what, like a barbed
And venomed shaft, hath rankled in me long.
The Seer and Joab plot against me.

Had.
But think you that the King gives ear to them?

Ab.
I would not wrong my father.—He hath been
Gracious to me and constant, and hath shown
Tokens of love I cannot lightly bury.

Had.
But did you note, my lord,
The homage shown the boy before the envoys?
How they discoursed with him? what costly gifts,
Caresses, flattery, they heaped upon him?
Or watch the workings of your father's face,
When the old Chaldee lifted up his hands
In wonder at his answers?—Had he been
Israel's sole hope, they could not more have graced him.

Ab.
Was it so marked?

Had.
Nay ask; for others saw it,
And smiled, and spoke aside. And sure, my lord,
The son of Bathsheba receives, of late,
Nicer observance, winged obedience,
Obsequious homage, (most observable
In those about the court who love not us,)
And the old Prophet watches him as close
As if some evil Spirit lurked to snare
The precious child of heaven, and heir of Israel.

Ab.
Would heaven, or hell, or any place but this,
Contained the basilisk!

Had.
Ha! look!—
Enter Nathan.
—the hoary root of mischief comes.—
Let us retire to safer conference:—
Spies are about us:—stay not to accost him.—

(Exeunt Absalom and Hadad.)
Nath.
Why doth that Syrian shun me? Always thus
He, like a guilty thing, avoids my presence.
Where'er I find him,—and I find him ever
Closely conferring, whether in the streets,
Or gates, or chief resorts,—if I appear,
His bright, mysterious eye seems conscious of me,
And soon he vanishes. I touched him once.
He turned, as he had felt a scorpion; fear
And loathing glared from his enkindled orbs,
And paleness overspread his face, like one
Who smothers mortal pain. Fierce, subtle, dark,
Designing, and inscrutable, he walks
Among us like an evil Angel.

(Passes on.)