 | [Poems by Whittier in] A Study of Whittier's Apprenticeship as a Poet |  |
THE BURIAL OF ABNER
The heavy night cloud sundered, the red sun
Rolled upward from the east—a blazing world!
And the grey mists that gather nightly on
Judea's awful mountain heads, unfurled
Their shadowy banners, and in long wreaths curled
Before the eye of Heaven until they caught
The living glories which its presence brought.
Rolled upward from the east—a blazing world!
And the grey mists that gather nightly on
Judea's awful mountain heads, unfurled
Their shadowy banners, and in long wreaths curled
Before the eye of Heaven until they caught
The living glories which its presence brought.
Then leaped the waves in sunlight, as the breeze
Went over nature like a spirit—breaking
The mirrored slumber of the dreaming seas,
And the deep music of the forest waking
Upon a thousand unseen harps, and shaking
The pleasant perfumes of the earth abroad,—
Nature's best offering at the shrine of God.
Went over nature like a spirit—breaking
The mirrored slumber of the dreaming seas,
And the deep music of the forest waking
Upon a thousand unseen harps, and shaking
The pleasant perfumes of the earth abroad,—
Nature's best offering at the shrine of God.
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Yet men had gathered in that glorious light—
Strong, warrior men that recked not of its gladness—
Eyes, that rolled fiercely under brows of night,
And swart hands clenched, as in convulsive madness,—
Hearts, which were torn with blended hate and sadness,
Mournful yet troubled, like the tempered wrath,
Of Ocean heaving in the moonlight's path.
Strong, warrior men that recked not of its gladness—
Eyes, that rolled fiercely under brows of night,
And swart hands clenched, as in convulsive madness,—
Hearts, which were torn with blended hate and sadness,
Mournful yet troubled, like the tempered wrath,
Of Ocean heaving in the moonlight's path.
Bent the mailed forms in silence, as the bier
Rested before them with its sleeper pale,
Strong hands were clasped, and manhood's guarded tear
Stained the dark cheek and trembled on the mail.
It was a time for giant hearts to fail
From the nursed pride of warriors, Death was there—
A hero's requiem moaned upon the air.
Rested before them with its sleeper pale,
Strong hands were clasped, and manhood's guarded tear
Stained the dark cheek and trembled on the mail.
It was a time for giant hearts to fail
From the nursed pride of warriors, Death was there—
A hero's requiem moaned upon the air.
One warrior's lip curled haughtily; beneath
A battered helm and plume in battle shorn,
An eye of kingly seeming—dark as death—
Gloomy with hate and terrible with scorn,
Flashed o'er the kneeling forms—the monarch born—
Tall chief and bearded Levite, bending there,
In the hushed awfulness of inward prayer.
A battered helm and plume in battle shorn,
An eye of kingly seeming—dark as death—
Gloomy with hate and terrible with scorn,
Flashed o'er the kneeling forms—the monarch born—
Tall chief and bearded Levite, bending there,
In the hushed awfulness of inward prayer.
Guilt struggling with ambition—pride with shame,
How terrible the conflict! Men of blood!
On thy scarred cheek the fearful shadowings came,
When cross the dark soul in its stormiest mood!
Yet thou alone of all that multitude
Stood up in stately manhood, seeming not
To note the ruin which thy hand had wrought.
How terrible the conflict! Men of blood!
On thy scarred cheek the fearful shadowings came,
When cross the dark soul in its stormiest mood!
Yet thou alone of all that multitude
Stood up in stately manhood, seeming not
To note the ruin which thy hand had wrought.
Ground heavily the tombstone—all was done—
The sepulchre received its silent guest;—
The Levite's prayer—the chanted requiem tone
Were hushed around the slumberer's place of rest.
Slow rose from earth each humbled warrior's crest
And tearful eyes flashed wrathfully upon
The dark, still form of that unweeping one.
The sepulchre received its silent guest;—
The Levite's prayer—the chanted requiem tone
Were hushed around the slumberer's place of rest.
Slow rose from earth each humbled warrior's crest
And tearful eyes flashed wrathfully upon
The dark, still form of that unweeping one.
And Israel's monarch lifted up his head,
Baring his pale brow to the light of heaven—
A brow, whereon the multitude might read
The trial of a spirit which had striven
With the great sense of wrong, to which was given
Unwonted power and eloquence to shed
A prophet's malin on the murderer's head.
Baring his pale brow to the light of heaven—
A brow, whereon the multitude might read
The trial of a spirit which had striven
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Unwonted power and eloquence to shed
A prophet's malin on the murderer's head.
He bent his eye on Joab. The proud chief
Quailed from his glance as if he dared not gaze
On his wronged monarch; but the strife was brief,
And haughtily the pride of other days
Came o'er his spirit, and the dark eyes blaze,
The firm clenched lip, the marked and steadfast brow
Told that the strong man might not tremble now.
Quailed from his glance as if he dared not gaze
On his wronged monarch; but the strife was brief,
And haughtily the pride of other days
Came o'er his spirit, and the dark eyes blaze,
The firm clenched lip, the marked and steadfast brow
Told that the strong man might not tremble now.
Dark terrible man! in silent power he stood
Above his mighty victim. There was heard
An awful voice denounce his deed of blood,
Yet on his brow no pulse of terror stirred,
His form stood up untrembling, as the word
Of Israel's monarch poured its sorrows forth
O'er the chill tenant of the halls of earth:—
Above his mighty victim. There was heard
An awful voice denounce his deed of blood,
Yet on his brow no pulse of terror stirred,
His form stood up untrembling, as the word
Of Israel's monarch poured its sorrows forth
O'er the chill tenant of the halls of earth:—
“Dweller of the soundless grave!
Bravest of the passing brave—
Eagle-soul in Glory's sun
Thou hast led thy chosen on
Tingeing Kedron's mountain flood
With the stain of heathen blood,
Sweeping from the path of war
Grim Philistia's sworded car!—
Gathered to thy fathers now,
Earth is on thy helm-worn brow,—
Cold the form that grappled well
With the giant infidel,
Chained the voice, whose thunder call
Bade the lifted lances fall,
And thy legions breast the shock
Of the war-cloud, rolling on,
Steadfast as some mountain rock
When the torrent thunders down.
[OMITTED]
Not to me or mine belong
Traitor kiss and deadly wrong.
[OMITTED]
Traitor! is the curse of Heaven
Deeply to thy spirit given,—
Nameless ills which have their birth
Only from the crimes of earth—
Serpent thoughts that ever twine
Round a spirit lost as thine—
Shadows falling cold and dun,
Cloud-like on thy being's sun,
Phantoms in the sunlight gliding,
Spectres at thy couch abiding,—
Traitors in thy path abroad,
Traitors at thy household board,—
Every ill that mocks relief—
Haunt thy bosom—haughty chief!”
Bravest of the passing brave—
Eagle-soul in Glory's sun
Thou hast led thy chosen on
Tingeing Kedron's mountain flood
With the stain of heathen blood,
Sweeping from the path of war
Grim Philistia's sworded car!—
Gathered to thy fathers now,
Earth is on thy helm-worn brow,—
Cold the form that grappled well
With the giant infidel,
Chained the voice, whose thunder call
Bade the lifted lances fall,
And thy legions breast the shock
Of the war-cloud, rolling on,
Steadfast as some mountain rock
When the torrent thunders down.
[OMITTED]
Not to me or mine belong
Traitor kiss and deadly wrong.
[OMITTED]
210
Deeply to thy spirit given,—
Nameless ills which have their birth
Only from the crimes of earth—
Serpent thoughts that ever twine
Round a spirit lost as thine—
Shadows falling cold and dun,
Cloud-like on thy being's sun,
Phantoms in the sunlight gliding,
Spectres at thy couch abiding,—
Traitors in thy path abroad,
Traitors at thy household board,—
Every ill that mocks relief—
Haunt thy bosom—haughty chief!”
The monarch ceased. The murderer trembled not—
But a strange shadow veiled his spirit, when,
As the last terrors of the curse were wrought,
Rose from around, the deep response, “Amen.”
He felt the malin in his bosom then,
Yet turned him proudly from his victor's tomb
With a strong heart to wrestle with his doom.
But a strange shadow veiled his spirit, when,
As the last terrors of the curse were wrought,
Rose from around, the deep response, “Amen.”
He felt the malin in his bosom then,
Yet turned him proudly from his victor's tomb
With a strong heart to wrestle with his doom.
Haverhill Gazette, August 22, 1829 (From American Manufacturer)
| [Poems by Whittier in] A Study of Whittier's Apprenticeship as a Poet | |