44

THE MEETING OF DAVID AND JONATHAN
I Samuel xviii. 1-3

All day the battle raged. Ere eventide
Came Abner to the tent of Saul, and cried:
"Would'st thou this eve, O king, behold the boy
Whose single arm turned Israel's grief to joy?"
"Yea," spake the king. So Abner bowed and went
Forth to the sunlight from the shadowy tent;
And on his spear leaned Jonathan to greet,
With Saul, the coming of victorious feet.

A little space was silence, while the king
Bowed his huge forehead black and pondering;
But Jonathan, with eager eyes, afire

Because of this great deed, in strong desire

Gazed at the tent-door. Then a sound was heard Of one who swiftly ran, yet scarcely stirred

The withered grass on the parched sward without: And far away thundered the people's shout.

The curtain rose: in poured the ruddy sun Sphering a slender stripling, dim and dun Amid that glory, like an olive-tree High on a hilltop you can hardly see For all the fire behind it. Round his hair, Flaming like gold, God set the golden glareA coronal whereof the radiance smote Saul's eyes; and in the centre, like a mote, Swam the sweet boy's face, marvellously wan With wonder and with awe for thinking on

The miracle his sling and stone had wrought;
Since now the deed was grown a thing for thought
To feed on, much he pondered how the Lord
Had stayed him, trusting not to spear or sword.
Yea, in his hand the hideous bulk he swung,
With shattered forehead, and with stiffening tongue
Thrust through those spasm-tortured lips of death,
Seemed like a shape of dreams that vanisheth
When we awake, and lo, the morn is new
O'er field and forest in the birth of dew.

The curtain fell behind him. Then he stood
In twilight at the knees of Saul, whose mood
Was troubled. Next he knelt, and laid the head,
Tawny with tangled hair, with death-drops red,
Prone neath the monarch's stool; then raised his

eyes.

Like stars forth-leaning from the western skies.
That still hold daylight, wonderful and dim,
They caught the souls of those that gazed at him.
Saul loved him: but in Jonathan was stirred
More love than Saul's soul held; yet not one word
As yet was spoken. Then the monarch cried,

66

Whose son art thou, thou young man?" He replied,

"I am thy servant Jesse's son, who dwell

At Bethlehem."-As some still mountain well
Is silvered on its surface by the slow
Arising of the full moon orbed and low,
From star-set peaks impendent, so the tone
Of that melodious voice, thrilling alone

Through the tent's stillness, changed the yearning deep

Within the breast of Jonathan, and sleep

Fell from his soul. A man by love new-made,
His every hope upon the heart was laid

Of Jesse's son. Then, as he bent and burned,
The eyes of David on his eyes were turned;
And in that moment their twin lives became
The single splendor of one fiery flame,

Shooting from sundered brands to blend the might.
Of married fires, and leap aloft with light.

JOHN ADDINGTON SYMONDS

45

DAVID'S LAMENT

Let the voice of the mourner be heard on the mountain,

And woe breathe her sigh over Besor's blue wave; Upon Gilboa's hill there is opened a fountain,

And its fast-flowing stream is the blood of the brave!

Oh! dry be that hill from the rains of the morning,
On its brow may no dew of the evening fall,
But the warriors of Israel, from conquest returning,
View herbless and withered the death-place of

Saul!

From the borders of Judah let gladness be banished, Ye maidens of Israel, be deep in your woe;

For the pride of the mighty in battle is vanished,

The chief of the sword, and the lord of the bow.

And long shall the chieftains of Gilead deplore them, And mourn the dark fate of the high and the

brave;

The song of the minstrel will oft be breathed o'er

them,

And holy the tear that shall fall on their grave.

DAVID AND JONATHAN

On the brow of Gilboa is war's bloody stain,
The pride and the beauty of Israel is slain;
O publish it not in proud Askelon's street,
Nor tell it in Gath, lest in triumph they meet,
For how are the mighty fallen!

O mount of Gilboa, no dew shalt thou see,
Save the blood of the Philistine fall upon thee;
For the strong-pinioned eagle of Israel is dead,
Thy brow is his pillow, thy bosom his bed!

O how are the mighty fallen!

Weep, daughters of Israel, weep o'er his grave! What breast will now pity, what arm will now save? O my brother! my brother! this heart bleeds for

thee,

For thou wert a friend and a brother to me!

Ah, how are the mighty fallen!

LUCRETIA DAVIDSON

47

THE LAMENTATION OF DAVID OVER SAUL AND JONATHAN

II Samuel i. 19-27

Thy beauty, Israel, is fled,

Sunk to the dead;

How are the valiant fallen! The slain

Thy mountains stain.

Oh, let it not in Gath be known,

Nor in the streets of Askelon!

Lest that sad story should excite
Their dire delight;

Lest in the torrent of our woe
Their pleasure flow;

Lest their triumphant daughters ring
Their cymbals, and their paeans sing.

You hills of Gilboa, never may
You offerings pay;

No morning dew nor fruitful showers
Clothe you with flowers;

Saul and his arms there made a spoil,
As if untoucht with sacred oil.

The bow of noble Jonathan

Great battles won;

His arrows on the mighty fed

With slaughter red;

Saul never raised his arm in vain,

His sword still glutted with the slain.