University of Virginia Library

Who sits within the bridal chamber now,
Adorn'd with broider'd robes, and flashing gems,
And wreaths of snowy blossoms? She is fair—
Beauty's perfection looks, and moves, and speaks,
Throughout her sumptuous person. All too fair
She seems for this dark earth—too glorious
To be a creature of the race which bows
To death, to pain, and sorrow. Dark-ey'd maids
Are busy round her—each with ready hand
Adding some ornament, some gem, some grace,
Till art is quite exhausted. Bending now
With looks of adoration, at her feet,
They kiss her robe's bright border, and withdraw,
And she is left alone. And there she stands
Amongst the garner'd treasures of the earth,
Peerless in radiant beauty.
But, wherefore does the brooch of opal stone,
That clasps the aerial drapery o'er her breast;
Glitter so, like a dew-drop in the sun?
'Tis trembling with the quick convulsive throbs
That heave the breast beneath it. The white hands
Are clasp'd in the strong language of despair,
Despite the dazzling bracelets, and rich rings
That give and borrow beauty. Big bright tears
Fall down and mingle with the diamond chains
That sparkle on her bosom; while the pearl
Contests the rose's place upon her cheek
And beautiful curv'd lips. The sweet breath comes
In deep quick sobs, and goes in plaintive moans
Of melancholy music.
Michal! love!
Her bridegroom's arm is round her graceful form.
She shudders, shrinks, and droops across his arm,
So like a blossom, wounded at the heart
And wilted in its glory. Her dark curls
Sweep the rich pavement, and the bridal wreath
Falls from amongst their clusters. Omen dire!—
To bridegroom's hopeful heart. And now his cheeks
Grow pale as water lilies, as he lifts
And lays that marble face against his breast,
Which throbs with love and terror. He has lov'd
Long, well, and wearily; and with a love
Which has so bent the spirit of the man,
That he is fain to rest his dearest hopes
Upon a bosom where the heart within
Is aching for another, while he knows
That it has been a throbbing pillow, for
That other's glowing cheek.—And he believes,
Such is the simple waywardness of man,
That by devotion, and untiring zeal,
And smiles, like summer sunshine seen, and felt,
He can allure that heart from its first love,
And teach its pulse to vibrate to the touch
Of his well-tried affection. He should pray
For wisdom from on high, and school his heart
To patience, and forbearance, who attempts
A task so tedious, so nigh lorn of hope.—
Now to his heart Phaltiel clasps the form
Of his unconscious bride, and on her lips
Never till now resign'd to his caress,
Presses fond kisses. David—my lov'd lord!
She murmurs forth, as she revives, and clasps
Her alabaster arms around his neck.
His spirit writhes, but he retains her form
Until her opening eyes meet his, and then
Her clasp unlooses, and her eyes fill fast,
While her form trembles. Yet with strong resolve
She conquers her emotion, and sits down
Calmly, beside her lord.—Oh, woman's heart!
How mightily it struggles with its pangs,
And locks up agonies that would burst through
The iron breast of man. Her cheek is pale,
But in the arm he holds, the tell-tale pulse
Is throbbing wildly, and he feels how great,
How bitter is her trial. Soft he speaks,
And strives to win her mind back from the maze
Of agonizing memories.—How can she—
David's adoring wife—She for whose sake
He gave himself to danger, and perform'd
High feats of valour, which provok'd the fear
And envious hatred of the royal Saul,
'Till she was forced by stratagem to save
Her husband, from the vengeance of her sire.
And he is living. How can she bestow
Her hand upon another, and receive
The nuptial benediction? Yet the will
Of man decreed, and woman must submit.

The years that pass along with equal pace
Spite of the myriad voices that cry out
Speed on! speed on! Spite of the frenzied shrieks,
And prayers, and wailings, of the throngs that plead
A little longer! and lie down, and die,
Or sit in utter darkness of despair,
Bewailing all the flowers, and tender buds,
And worshipp'd baubles, that lie crush'd, and strown
Upon the darken'd pathway.—Years have passed:
The slender blossom'd twig, has now become
A full leaf'd bough, adorn'd with tender fruit.
How beautiful, within her husband's house
She seems, amongst her children; while the love
Which like a river, from its numerous springs,
Flows on for ever with a ceaseless song,
Replying to the music of heaven's hosts,
Which smile to see their shadows trembling deep
Within its liquid mirror,—that pure love
Which laves no other bosom under heaven,
Than that on which its own dear babe has lain,
Was flowing sweetly now, through Michal's heart,
As on her knee her youngest cherub smil'd,
And little laughing fellows gamboll'd round—
Now skipping up to kiss the idol babe,
Or climbing, to embrace with round white arm
The mother's pearly neck.
Phaltiel gazes on the group with pride,
Feeling that all its beauty, innocence,
And promise is his own. With lingering gaze
Of blissful love, he pauses at the door,
As he obeys a summons, to attend
A messenger, on business from his king.
Michal, who met that fond triumphant look,
Felt her cheek crimson. Years of placid life
With every blessing crown'd, and those fair babes,
Had bound her to her Phaltiel with a tie
Of calm and grateful friendship. Yet when fame
Proclaim'd the deeds, the glories, and the power,
Of her young heart's ador'd and loving lord,
Keen pangs pierc'd through her bosom. Yet the pride
That made her long to share his regal throne
Came ever to her aid; for she believ'd
That he had ceased to love her,—that he thought
Of Michal, as the daughter of a house
Denounc'd of God, and fallen. And she felt
The cold and withering glance which she beheld
At Endor, in her vision, in her soul;
While her fond husband's deep and generous love
Seem'd to reproach her that her heart was still
The captive of a man who loved her not.
Oh, God of mercy! was the bitter cry,
That fell in startling accents on her ear,
As he who left her late, so full of joy,
Re-enter'd pale and trembling. Quick she springs
And clasps her arm around him, while the babe,
With one hand round her neck, grasps his dark curls
And puts his little laughing face to his.
Dear father, what has happened? was the cry,
With which his little sons came clustering round,
With looks of wild alarm.