University of Virginia Library

'Twas a mournful sound, that trumpet's strain,
When its wild notes rung o'er Hebron's plain,
For it told of wo and an ingrate son,
Of a desolate sire and a child undone.
'Twas a mournful sight by Kedron's flood,
That exile-monarch and father good,
Hurrying away from his palace home
To shun captivity's deathful doom,
With a stranger chief—the brave Ittai,
To guard him amid disloyal fray,
While his trembling tread was weak and slow,
And his aged head like the mountain snow,
And his sighs swelled deep, and his tears fell fast,
When the rebel clarion's echoed blast
O'er Salem's hills on the wings of wind
Came rapid and loud the king behind,
As, girt by his friends, in sore distress
He fled the way of the wilderness.

The traitor-chief in the flush and pride,
(Giloh's oracle sage by his side,)
Of usurped pomp and stolen power,
(A curse hung o'er that pageant hour,)
With his regal train who shout as they come
The state of the death doomed Absalom,
Careers to the monarch's empty halls,
And wakens the voices of frowning walls
With the cries of mirth and the wassail roar
Of revel unheard in that dome before,
And mounts the throne of his monarch sire,
And poisons his bowers with fierce desire,
While the lonely cry of the sentinel
Like a malison on his slumbers fell.

Look ye to Olivet! Lord of Earth!
For apostate nature's monster birth,
A traitor prince and a murderous child,
A monarch roams the desert wild!
Those weary steps and those trickling tears,
And those hoary locks, the voice of years,
And those looks of wo which he downward threw,
(Perchance the son of his love was in view,)
Oh! Israel, weep! what can they declare
But a father's love and a king's despair?
The sun went down o'er Carmel's brow,
And nightshades dimm'd the world below,
And David fled fast his son before—
(Was the mother there, that the traitor bore?)
Bahurim around in dimness lay,
When the lord of Gera crossed his way,
And bann'd the king who had been a shield
To his home, his weal, his hill and field,
And called him lord of Belial race
Who had e'er blessed him with kingly grace,
Till Ithra's son in his wrath wax'd high,
And shook his lance with a fiery eye,
And loudly craved his monarch's nod
To strike the curser to the sod,
When David turned with a look like heaven,
And said to Shemei—“Thou art forgiven!
“If the son of my love doth seek to kill,
“Can Abishai think his curse is ill?
“Let the evil rage on—their words are vain,
“The curses they wish us they surely will gain.”
The outcast king to Mahanaim,
Weary and sad by morning came,
And found loyal hearts 'mid traitor war
In the chiefs of Rogelim and Lodebar,
Who cherished his frame and pillowed his head,
And soothed his heart though it ever bled,
For the exile prince was in sore distress
As he fled the way of the wilderness.

The armies met in Ephraim's wood,
And the battle raged like an ocean flood;
For Ithra's sons and the proud Ittai
Led Israel's hosts in the gory fray,
And the warrior-chief of Salem's bands
Brooked not the sire's but the king's commands;
And the Traitor-Son that morning died
In his beauty, glory, hope and pride.

“Who comes from afar?” the monarch said,
As the watchman looked—saw—heard the tread
Of messenger come like hurricane.
“Is the young man safe?”—“I saw the plain
“A sea of tumult, but I know no more!”
“My son hath fled and I adore!”
The watchman cried to the warder—“There
“Cometh Cushi like a thing of air!”
“He's a good man—and his tidings good!”
“Peace to my lord!” he said and stood.
“Is the young man safe? how fares the fray?”
“May thy foes be as thy son to-day,
My lord the king!” That word was death,
And the father sunk the king beneath.
He went to his chamber and wept alone,
And he cried as he wept—“my son! my son!”