Voices from the Lakes, and Other Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

It was the golden harvest-time,
The fields stood thick with corn;
The valley blushed with clustered vines,
Purple and red as morn.
But though the vintage ripened stood,
And harvest fields were white,
No hand was placed amongst the grapes,
Nor flashed the sickle bright.

II

No song was heard from field or fold,
Nor echoed from the hill;
The land was silent all as death,
As gloomy and as still.
The Philistine was in the land,
And kept it far and wide;
His armies seized fair Bethlehem,
And held it in their pride.

137

III

They roamed about in armèd bands,
And pillaged far and near;
And in the homes of Israel
Was bitter dread and fear.
They drove the oxen from the stall,
The cattle from the plain;
And in the dark and deadly fray
Left many a brave man slain.

IV

The king knew well the fearful straits
In which the people stood,
And how in terror they had fled
To den, and cave, and wood.
So David leaves his royal state
To help his trembling men;
He hopes his presence will recal
Their courage back again.

V

He marches onward to the fight
With a lion-heart and bold;
His noble eye has still the light
That it had in days of old.

138

He summons to Adullam's cave,
With trumpet loud and clear,
The noble and the gallant souls
To whom the right is dear.

VI

He buckles on his sword and shield,
And dons his armour bright;
And, trusting in the living God,
Comes down to head the fight.
He dares to stand against a host,
Nor turns his face away;
The Lord Jehovah is his boast,
No foe can him dismay.

VII

He fears not man, nor living thing,
Nor shrinks from battle-field;
He loves to hear the clash and ring
Of broadsword and of shield.
And so against the Philistine
He mingles in the strife,
And, in the ghastly battle, strikes
For honoured death or life.

139

VIII

And now he gives the signal,
Is first to hurl the dart;
And sweeping onward with his men,
Like rush of river through a glen,
Or tiger springing from his den,
Cleaves many to the heart.
The deadly conflict thus begins,
Commences thus the fray;
And the king, from break of morning,
Fights bravely through the day.

IX

Nor backs he from the battle,
Nor draws he from the fight;
His arm is nerved with vigour,
And his eye is full of light.
Many champions fall before him,
Many warriors bite the ground;
The slain are piled in ghastly heaps,
And the dying lie around.

X

See how grand he looks and stately,
See what courage on his brow;

140

Not a man that he encounters
But before his feet doth bow.
Mark you how he stands so proudly,
Firm as any towering rock;
On his shield, unmoved, receiving
All the foemen's fiercest shock.

XI

Hear ye how his voice is lifted,
Clear as any trumpet's tone,—
“Strike for God, and strike for Jewry,
For your country, king, and throne.”
Loudly then his men make answer,
Quick responding to his call;
And his words wake noble echoes
In the hearts of one and all.

XII

Not for all the gold of Ophir
Would a man who heard him speak,
Have retreated from the battle,
Life or safety thus to seek.
No! they bravely rallied round him,
With a kindling cheek and eye,

141

Each resolved to win the conquest,
This their purpose—or to die!”

XIII

For their hearts beat high within them,
Theirs is valour strong as death;
Clenched their teeth and set their faces,
Firmly now they draw their breath.
Then, as some wild tempest rushes
Down the wintry mountain's side,
Dash they onward in their fury,
Nought can stem the furious tide.

XIV

Onward press these noble soldiers
In a goodly, gallant band,
Till they meet the armèd foemen
Foot to foot, and hand to hand.
Many knights and many captains
Go down in the bitter fray;
Many soldiers, stout and manly,
Close their eyes upon the day.

142

XV

But at noon the battle slackened,
In the heaven the sun was high,
Pouring down his rays upon them
From a fierce and burning sky.
Then there came a pause in fighting
All along the battle-field;
And each warrior loosed his helmet,
And unlaced his buckler-shield.

XVI

Then their slain they quickly bury,
Laying them in bloody grave;
And with words of bitter sorrow,
Mourn the valiant and the brave.
Soon the hurried rites are over;
And the men who fought so well
Are laid down in peace and honour
In the places where they fell.

XVII

Then the weary soldiers stretch them
By the hill, and rock, and plain,
Waiting till the trumpet shrilling
Calls them to the fight again.

143

And the king, with fight exhausted,
Fainting is, and sick with thirst;
From no spring the waters trickle,
From no rock the fountains burst.

XVIII

Comes there now before his vision,
Bubbling up a limpid pool,
Which, near Bethlehem's Eastern portal,
Gushes clear, and sweet, and cool.
In this weary hour of langour
Throbs his heart and burns his brain;
And he yearns with passionate yearning,
Fain would taste that well again.

XIX

Grows up in his heart a longing,
As of one about to die;
And the passion of his anguish
Takes shape in a thrilling cry,—
“God! that one would give me water
From fair Bethlehem's sparkling well,
Which lieth near to the city's gate,
Where my fathers used to dwell!”

144

XX

And then he paused; in haste he spake,
He knew that this fond wish was vain;
Those cooling waters might not slake
The fever of his heart and brain.
The Philistine kept all the town,
And held the Eastern gate;
He that would force this garrison,
Must meet a bloody fate.

XXI

But still there passed before his eyes
Fair dreams of pastures green,
Where once he kept his father's flock,
When a shepherd he had been.
And the sound of a trickling streamlet
Fell like music on his ear,
And mocked his hot and burning thirst
With dreams of water clear.

XXII

Three mighty men of David's band
Were standing at his head;
Not one of them or felt or knew
A thought of craven dread.

145

They heard King David's deep desire,
They saw his longing glance;
And each man's bosom burned with fire,
And each man grasped his lance.

XXIII

They will themselves to Bethlehem go,
And from the bubbling pool
Will bring their weary master back
Some water fresh and cool.
But how can three, however great,
Break through a host of men?
How, matched against such fearful odds,
Can they return again?

XXIV

Surely they hasten to their death,
These noble men and brave;
O'erpowered by numbers, they will fill
A stark and bloody grave.
But, see! like whirlwind on they dash
Across the spreading plain;
Their path is marked by stir and crash,
And hundreds of the slain.

146

XXV

The foe gives way, they speed right on,
They reach the city's gate;
Before their swords the garrison,
Meets with a bloody fate.
Onward they dash, and all the way
Is marked by heaps of slain
Who fall, as to the sickle falls
The ripe and bearded grain.

XXVI

So pass they onward to the place
Where the Well of Bethlehem lay;
Each step upon a foeman's corse,
Whose body marks the way.
Now, quickly stooping down, each takes
The helmet from his brow,
And dips the great and hollow casque
Where the cooling waters flow.

XXVII

They fill the helmet from the spring,
But not a drop themselves they taste;
No time there is to lose or waste,
They hurry back in hottest haste

147

To bear it to the king.
Now march they on, nor does the foe
Place hand on sword or spear;
They all fall back to let them pass,
Held fast in coward fear.

XXVIII

But they curse them by their father's gods,
Cursing beneath their breath;
And on their brows sits scowling
A hate as grim as death.
And their craven souls are daunted,
And they dare not lift a hand
'Gainst the valiant three, who scorn them
In the places where they stand.

XXIX

Now all this time king David
Knew what his warriors dared;
And anxious for their safety,
Prays God their lives be spared.
Now feels he all his rashness,
Now sees he was to blame;
And his face it glows like scarlet,
With a blush that owns his shame.

148

XXX

What if these men should perish—
Fall o'erpowered by the foe?
Can he e'er forget his folly
That wrought them such a woe?
As the king is rapt in silence,
Rings a shout throughout the tent—
Thrilling shout of men who conquer,
And the air around is rent.

XXXI

'Tis the welcome of the soldiers,
As the chiefs return again;
All their armour stained and gory
From the life-blood of the slain.
With joy the three draw near the king,
And at his feet themselves they fling;
While again the shouting thousands
Make the sounding welkin ring.

XXXII

They place the helmet in his hand,
Filled with the waters cool,
Which at risk of life, in the deadly strife,
They bring from Bethlehem's pool.

149

What! will the king not taste them?
Will he not quench his thirst?
No, his heart grows hot within him,
And it swells as though 'twould burst.

XXXIII

Silently he takes the helmet,
Reverently looks up to God;
And the casque he turneth downward,
Pours the waters on the sod.
For though burning thirst consumes him,
And the fever fills each vein,
Yet the waters fresh and cooling,
Won at such cost and pain,

XXXIV

Look like the blood of the mighty men,
The chieftains three, who bravely burst
Thro' the serried ranks of the foe accurst,
And daring all to do their worst,
Stormed the foeman in his den.
So he pours the dear-won waters
Upon the grassy sward;
And he offers them in solemn prayer
An oblation to the Lord.

150

XXXV

“Far from me, Lord, be such a thing,
That I should drink so dear a draught,
'Twere all unworthy of a king;
'Twould be as tho' hot blood I quaffed—
Blood flowing from the hearts' warm spring.
This water is the very life—
The life of those who in the strife
Did jeopardise their all for me;
Did risk their life and liberty.
Forbid it, God, in Thy good grace,
That I should do a thing so base!”

XXXVI

He turned to thank the captains
Who braved so much for him;
Who, at his lightest wishes,
Had faced the battle grim.
To them he gives the station,
The nearest to his throne;
That they well deserve such guerdon,
The people freely own.

151

XXXVII

And the king himself men honour—
Honour more than e'er before,
Since in his hour of trial
So well himself he bore.
And David holds for ever dear,
These warriors true and bold—
These men who, scorning craven fear,
Stormed Bethlehem's mighty hold.

XXXVIII

Their names were woven into song,
Men kindle at their deeds;
And e'en the strong man grows more strong
As he the story reads.
God in His book records their name,
And ranks them with the great and brave,
To whom belongs eternal fame,
Who dead, yet speak from out their grave.

XXXIX

The world has heroes, whom it gives
A niche within the house of fame;
The record of their prowess lives
From age to age the same.

152

But God has His own heroes too:
Men strong to suffer, great to do—
Men who are able to control
All impulses of flesh and soul.

XL

Great men who live, yet daily die,
Who noble conquests win;
Their worser self who mortify,
Their body's deeds who crucify,
Triumphant over sin.
No greater men, I trow, than these,
Who never seek themselves to please,
Obedient to a higher will.

XLI

Who count their gain but utter loss,
Content to bear the shameful cross,
And when God speaks are still;
And they who their own spirits rein,
Who keep their selfish passions down,
Are greater far than those who gain
Battles, at cost of many slain,
Or take a fortress'd town.