The Hope of the World and other poems by Charles Mackay |
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SAUL AND DAVID. |
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 | The Hope of the World and other poems |  |
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VIII. SAUL AND DAVID.
A voice of wailing and of grief
Fills the proud monarch's regal hall,
There's madness on the kingly brow,
There's frenzy in the soul of Saul.
Where is the bard whose soothing song
Can solace to the mind impart?
Whose lips can utter words of peace,
And drive the demon from the heart?
Fills the proud monarch's regal hall,
There's madness on the kingly brow,
There's frenzy in the soul of Saul.
Where is the bard whose soothing song
Can solace to the mind impart?
Whose lips can utter words of peace,
And drive the demon from the heart?
He comes, the shepherd-minstrel comes,
His hallow'd fingers sweep the lyre;
He comes, he comes, the holy bard,
All radiant with prophetic fire.
And thus, preluding on the strings,
A bold and joyous song he sings:
His hallow'd fingers sweep the lyre;
He comes, he comes, the holy bard,
All radiant with prophetic fire.
And thus, preluding on the strings,
A bold and joyous song he sings:
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“Fill, fill the bowl with rosy wine,
To cheer the bosom of the king,
Deep in the goblet let it shine,
And wreathe it round with flowers of spring;
The morn of life is on the wing,
The time that flies returns no more:
Joy hath its grief—love hath its sting—
But wine rejoices to the core.”
To cheer the bosom of the king,
Deep in the goblet let it shine,
And wreathe it round with flowers of spring;
The morn of life is on the wing,
The time that flies returns no more:
Joy hath its grief—love hath its sting—
But wine rejoices to the core.”
The minstrel ceased—the monarch smiled,
But still the song was vain,
It could not calm the frenzy wild
That burn'd within his brain.—
He raves! he raves!—O minstrel mild!
Re-tune thy lyre again.
But still the song was vain,
It could not calm the frenzy wild
That burn'd within his brain.—
He raves! he raves!—O minstrel mild!
Re-tune thy lyre again.
“Where shall the gloom that prompts the sigh
Find light, if not in Beauty's eye?
Where shall the aching forehead rest,
If not upon her snowy breast?
Love is the solace and relief,
Love is the balm for care and grief.”
Find light, if not in Beauty's eye?
Where shall the aching forehead rest,
If not upon her snowy breast?
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Love is the balm for care and grief.”
The monarch scarcely heard the lay,
Delicious though it were,
And as its murmurs died away,
His eyes began to glare.
O minstrel! still thy song is vain;
Perchance some sadder air
May drive the fury from his brain.
Hark! how the numbers fall, he strikes the lyre again!
Delicious though it were,
And as its murmurs died away,
His eyes began to glare.
O minstrel! still thy song is vain;
Perchance some sadder air
May drive the fury from his brain.
Hark! how the numbers fall, he strikes the lyre again!
“The Lord is good, the Lord is great!
Long doth his loving-kindness last;
The heart that hath for pardon sued,
Ne'er weeps in vain its errors past.
'Tis He can heal the suffering soul,
'Tis He can cheer in sorrow's day—”
The monarch heard—then smiled—then wept—
The evil spirit pass'd away.
Long doth his loving-kindness last;
The heart that hath for pardon sued,
Ne'er weeps in vain its errors past.
'Tis He can heal the suffering soul,
'Tis He can cheer in sorrow's day—”
The monarch heard—then smiled—then wept—
The evil spirit pass'd away.
| The Hope of the World and other poems | |