 | Forest leaves |  |
RIZPAH.
On Gibeah's rock, by the place of the dead,
The sackcloth of Rizpah, the mourner, was spread;
And all the long day in the sun's fervid glare,
That shadow of beauty sat withering there.
The sackcloth of Rizpah, the mourner, was spread;
And all the long day in the sun's fervid glare,
That shadow of beauty sat withering there.
And all through the night she was watching there still,
She saw not its terrors, she felt not its chill;
The damp winds were sighing amid the dark hair,
That veil'd with its wealth, brow and bosom, most fair.
She saw not its terrors, she felt not its chill;
The damp winds were sighing amid the dark hair,
That veil'd with its wealth, brow and bosom, most fair.
The dew in big drops gather'd over her face,
And still she mov'd not from that horrible place,
But sat with strain'd eye, and her soul in her ear,
The step of the stealthiest invader to hear.
And still she mov'd not from that horrible place,
But sat with strain'd eye, and her soul in her ear,
The step of the stealthiest invader to hear.
The wolf from the thicket glared gloatingly forth,
Her eye kept him chain'd, by its spell, to the earth.
The foul fierce hyena crept starv'd from his lair,
And fled at the shriek of a mother's despair.
Her eye kept him chain'd, by its spell, to the earth.
The foul fierce hyena crept starv'd from his lair,
And fled at the shriek of a mother's despair.
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The eagle scream'd shrill as he stoop'd from the sky,
The ravens assembled with clamorous cry,
The vultures snuff'd fiercely the blood-tainted air,
But Rizpah prevented their banqueting there.
The ravens assembled with clamorous cry,
The vultures snuff'd fiercely the blood-tainted air,
But Rizpah prevented their banqueting there.
Oh God! what a watch for a mother to keep!
What return for the heart of a mother to reap;
What horrible death to the hopes that run wild,
As the fond mother watches her innocent child.
What return for the heart of a mother to reap;
What horrible death to the hopes that run wild,
As the fond mother watches her innocent child.
And she who this death-watch of agony kept,
As haggard and pale as the dead ones she wept,
Was beautiful once, as the spirit of spring,
And her home of delight was the heart of a king.
As haggard and pale as the dead ones she wept,
Was beautiful once, as the spirit of spring,
And her home of delight was the heart of a king.
And when in his palace with transports of joy,
She clasp'd to her bosom each royal young boy,
And the lord of her heart in his gladness stood by,
With pride in his mien, and delight in his eye.
She clasp'd to her bosom each royal young boy,
And the lord of her heart in his gladness stood by,
With pride in his mien, and delight in his eye.
Ah, little dream'd she of that proud monarch's doom;
The sorrow, the shame, and the darkness to come,
That judgment which never forgets, should require
The blood of her sons, for the sins of their sire?
The sorrow, the shame, and the darkness to come,
That judgment which never forgets, should require
The blood of her sons, for the sins of their sire?
That she, the beloved, the gay, and the fair,
Should keep such long watch, of heart-rending despair?
Power, pomp, joy, and beauty, and hope have gone by,
But love—woman's love—Oh, this never can die.—
Should keep such long watch, of heart-rending despair?
Power, pomp, joy, and beauty, and hope have gone by,
But love—woman's love—Oh, this never can die.—
| Forest leaves | |