University of Virginia Library

1. PART I.

SCENE, a Shepherd's Tent on a Plain.
DAVID
, under a spreading tree, plays on his harp, and sings.
[He lays down his harp, and rises.

DAVID.

JESSE, DAVID.
JESSE.
Blest be the gracious Pow'r who gave my age
To boast a son like thee! Thou art the staff
Which props my bending years, and makes me bear
The heavy burthen of declining age
With fond complacence. How unlike thy fate,
O venerable Eli! But two sons,
But only two, to gild the dim remains
Of life's departing day, and bless thy age,
And both were curses to thee! Witness, Heav'n!
In all the tedious catalogue of pains
Humanity turns o'er, if there be one
So terrible to human tenderness,
As an unnatural child!

DAVID.
O, my lov'd father!
Long may'st thou live, in years and honours rich;
To taste, and to communicate the joys,
The thousand fond, endearing charities
Of tenderness domestic; Nature's best
And loveliest gift, with which she well atones
The niggard boon of fortune.

JESSE.
O, my son!
Of all the graces which adorn thy youth,
I, with a father's fondness, must commend
Thy tried humility. For tho' the Seer
Pour'd on thy chosen head the sacred oil,
In sign of future greatness, in sure pledge
Of highest dignity; yet here thou dwell'st,
Content with toil, and careless of repose;
And (harder still for an ingenuous mind)
Content to be obscure: content to watch,
With careful eye, thine humble father's flock!
O, earthly emblem of celestial things!
So Israel's shepherd watches o'er his fold;
The weak ones in his soft'ring bosom bears,
And gently leads, in his sustaining hand,
The feeble ones with young.

DAVID.
Know'st thou, my father,
Ought from the field? for tho' so near the camp,
Tho' war's proud ensigns stream on yonder plain,
And all Philistia's swarming hosts encamp,
Oppos'd to royal Saul, beneath whose banners
My brothers lift the spear; I have not left
My fleecy charge, by thee committed to me,
To learn the present fortune of the war.

JESSE.
And wisely hast thou done. Thrice happy land,
Who shall submit one day to his command
Who can so well obey! Obedience leads
To certain honours. Not the tow'ring wing
Of eagle-plum'd ambition mounts so surely
To Fortune's highest summit, as obedience.
[A distant sound of trumpets.
But why that sudden ardour, O my son?
That trumpet's sound (tho' so remote its voice,
We hardly catch the echo as it dies)
Has rous'd the mantling blood in thy young cheek:
Kindled the martial spirit in thine eye,
And my young shepherd feels an hero's fire!

DAVID.
Thou hast not told the posture of the war,
And much my beating bosom pants to hear.

JESSE.
Uncertain is the fortune of the field.
I tremble for thy brothers, thus expos'd
To constant peril; nor for them alone,
Does the quick feeling agonize my heart.
I too lament, that desolating war
Hangs his fell banner o'er my native land,
Belov'd Jerusalem! O war, what art thou?
After the brightest conquest, what remains
Of all thy glories? For the vanquish'd, chains!
For the proud victor, what? Alas! to reign
O'er desolated nations! a drear waste,
By one man's crime, by one man's lust of pow'r,
Unpeopled! Naked plains and ravag'd fields
Succeed to smiling harvests, and the fruits
Of peaceful olive, luscious fig and vine!
Here, rifled temples are the cavern'd dens
Of savage beasts, or haunt of birds obscene.
There, populous cities, blacken in the sun,
And in the gen'ral wreck, proud palaces
Lie undistinguish'd, save by the dun smoke
Of recent conflagration. When the song
Of dear-bought joy, with many a triumph swell'd,
Salutes the victor's ear, and sooths his pride,
How is the grateful harmony profaned
With the sad dissonance of virgins' cries,
Who mourn their brothers slain! Of matrons hoar,
Who clasp their wither'd hands, and fondly ask,
With iteration shrill, their slaughter'd sons!
How is the laurel's verdure stain'd with blood,
And soil'd with widows' tears!

DAVID.
Thrice mournful truth!
Yet when our country's rights, her sacred laws,
Her holy faith are scorn'd and trampled on,
Then, then religion calls; then God himself
Commands us to defend his injur'd name.
'Twere then inglorious weakness, mean self-love,
To lie inactive, when the stirring voice
Of the shrill trumpet wakes to desp'rate deeds;
Nor with heroic valour boldly dare
Th' idolatrous heathen bands, ev'n to the death.

JESSE.
God and thy country claim the life they gave,
No other cause can sanctify resentment.

DAVID.
Sure virtuous friendship is a noble cause!
O were the princely Jonathan in danger,
How wou'd I die, well-pleas'd, in his defence!
When ('twas long since, then but a stripling boy)
I made short sojourn in his father's palace,
(At first to sooth his troubled mind with song,
His armour-bearer next); I well remember
The gracious bounties of the gallant prince.
How wou'd he sit, attentive to my strain,
While to my harp I sung the harmless joys
Which crown a shepherd's life! How wou'd he cry,
Bless'd youth! far happier in thy native worth,
Far richer in the talent Heav'n has lent thee,
Than if a crown hung o'er thy anxious brow.
The jealous monarch mark'd our growing friendship;
And as my favour grew with those about him,
His royal bounty lessen'd, till at length,
For Bethl'hem's safer shades I left the court.
Nor wou'd these alter'd features now be known,
Grown into manly strength; nor this chang'd form,
Enlarg'd with age, and clad in russet weed.

JESSE.
I have employment for thee, my lov'd son,
Will please thy active spirit. Go, my boy!
Haste to the field of war, to yonder camp,
Where, in the vale of Elah, mighty Saul
Commands the hosts of Israel. Greet thy brothers:
Observe their deeds; note their demeanor well;
And mark if wisdom on their actions waits.
Bear to them too (for well the waste of war
Will make it needful) such plain healthful viands,
As furnish out our frugal shepherd's board.
And to the valiant captain of their host,
Present such rural gifts as suit our fortune.
Heap'd on the board within my tent thou'lt find them.

DAVID.
With joy I'll bear thy presents to my brothers,
And to the valiant captain of their host,
The rural gifts thy gratitude assigns him.
What transport to behold the tented field,
The pointed spear, the blaze of shields and arms,
And all the proud accoutrements of war!
But, oh! far dearer transport wou'd it yield me,
Cou'd this right arm alone avenge the cause
Of injur'd Israel, and preserve the lives
Of guiltless thousands, doom'd perhaps to bleed!

JESSE.
Let not thy youth be dazzled, O my son!
With deeds of bold emprize, as valour only
Were virtue; and the gentle arts of peace,
Of truth and justice, were not worth thy care.
When thou shalt view the splendors of the war,
The gay caparison, the burnish'd shield,
The plume-crown'd helmet, and the glitt'ring spear,
Scorn not the humble virtues of the shade;
Nor think that Heav'n views only with applause
The active merit, and the busy toil
Of heroes, statesmen, and the bustling sons
Of public care. These have their just reward
In wealth, in honours, and the well-earn'd fame
Their high atchievements bring. 'Tis in this sense
That virtue is her proper recompence.
Wealth, as its natural consequence, will flow
From industry; toil with success is crown'd:
From splendid actions high renown will spring.
Such is the usual course of human things.
For Wisdom Infinite permits that thus
Effects to causes be proportionate,
And nat'ral ends by nat'ral means atchiev'd.
But in the future estimate which Heav'n
Will make of things terrestrial, know, my son,
That no inferior recompence belongs
To the mild passive virtues; meek Content,
Heroic self-denial, nobler far
Than all th' atchievements noisy Fame reports,
When her shrill trump proclaims the proud success
Which desolates the nations. But, on earth,
These are not always fortunate; because
Eternal Justice keeps them for the bliss
Of final recompence, for the dread day
Of gen'ral retribution. O my son!
The ostentatious virtues which still press
For notice, and for praise; the brilliant deeds
Which live but in the eye of observation,
These have their meed at once. But there's a joy
To the fond votaries of Fame unknown;
To hear the still small voice of conscience speak
Its whisp'ring plaudit to the silent soul.
Heav'n notes the sigh afflicted Goodness heaves;
Hears the low plaint by human ear unheard,
And from the cheek of patient Sorrow wipes
The tear, by mortal eye unseen or scorn'd.

DAVID.
As morning dews their grateful freshness shed,
And cheer the herbage, and the flow'rs renew;
So do thy words a quick'ning balm infuse,
And grateful sink in my delighted soul.

JESSE.
Go then, my child! and may the Gracious God,
Who bless'd our fathers, bless my much-lov'd son!

DAVID.
Farewell, my father! and of this be sure,
That not a precept from thy honour'd lips
Shall fall, by me unnoticed; not one grace,
One venerable virtue, which adorns
Thy daily life, but I, with watchful care,
And due observance, will in mine transplant it.
[Exit David.

JESSE.
He's gone! and still my aching eyes pursue,
And strain their orbs still longer to behold him.
Oh! who can tell when I may next embrace him?
Who can declare the counsels of the Lord?
Or when the moment pre-ordain'd by Heav'n
To fill his high designs may come? This son,
This blessing of my age, is set apart
For high exploits; the chosen instrument
Of all-disposing Heav'n for mighty deeds.
Still I recal the day, and to my mind
The scene is ever present, when the Seer,
Illustrious Samuel, to the humble shades
Of Bethlehem came, pretending sacrifice,
To screen his errand from the jealous king.
He sanctify'd us first, me, and my sons;
For sanctity increas'd should still precede
Increase of dignity. When he declar'd
He came, commission'd from on High, to find,
Among the sons of Jesse, Israel's king;
Astonishment entranc'd my wond'ring soul.
Yet was it not a wild tumultuous bliss;
Such rash delight as promis'd honours yield
To light, vain minds: no, 'twas a doubtful joy
Chastis'd by tim'rous virtue, lest a gift
So splendid, and so dang'rous, might destroy
Him it was meant to raise. My eldest born,
Young Eliab, tall of stature, I presented;
But God, who judges not by outward form,
But tries the heart, forbad the holy prophet
To chuse my eldest born. For Saul, he said,
Gave proof, that fair proportion, and the grace
Of limb or feature, ill repaid the want
Of virtue. All my other sons alike
By Samuel were rejected: till, at last,
On my young boy, on David's chosen head,
The prophet pour'd the consecrated oil.
Yet ne'er did pride elate him, ne'er did scorn
For his rejected elders swell his heart.
Not in such gentle charity to him
His haughtier brothers live: but all he pardons.
To meditation, and to humble toil,
To pray'r, and praise, devoted here he dwells.
O may the Graces, which adorn retreat,
One day delight a court! record his name
With saints and prophets, dignify his race,
Instruct mankind, and sanctify a world!