  RIZPAHIT is growing dark. At such a sunset I have been with Saul— But saw it not. I only saw his eyes And the wild beauty of his roaming locks, And—oh! there never was a man like Saul! Strong arm, and gentle heart and tender ways To win a woman's very soul, were his. When he would take my hand and look on me, And whisper "Rizpah"—ah! those days are gone! Why should I weep? was I not loved by Saul? And Saul was king of all the Land of God. "God save the king!" But, hush! what noise was that? Oh heaven! to think a mother's eyes should look On such a sight! Away! vile carrion-beast! Those are the sons of Saul,—poor Rizpah's sons. O my dead darlings! O my only joy! O sweet twin treasure of my lonely life, Since that most mournful day upon Gilboa, Torn from me thus! I have no tears to shed. O God! my heart is broken! Let me die! Gilboa! David wrote a song on it, And had it put in Jasher—"Weep for Saul." Armoni used to sing it to his harp. Poor blackened lips!... I wonder if they dream, My pretty children.... Come, Mephibosheth, Here is your father; say "God save the king!" The Gibeonites! Ah! that was long ago. Why should they die for what they never did? No; David never would consent to that? Whose son is he, this youth? Dost know him, Abner? Ha, ha! they shout again "God save the king!" Was I asleep? I came not here to sleep. O poor old eyes, sorrow has made you weak. My sons! No, nought has touched them. O, how cold! Cold, cold! O stars of God, have pity on me, Poor lonely woman! O my sons, Saul's sons! Kind stars, watch with me; let no evil beast Rend that dear flesh. O God of Israel, Pardon my sins! My heart is broken! I HERE is the old church. Now I see it all— The hills, the sea, the bridge, the waterfall. The dear old sleepy town is still abed Although the eastern clouds are tinged with red. And everything is as this graveyard still, Except the soldiers at their morning drill, And in the Pool a fishing boat or two Belated, homeward pulled with weary oar, And the dim curlews on the distant shore, And the lark soaring through the ether blue. But now the lazy smoke curls through the air— I will go down and see who tenant there, And meet old friends. "First, wanderer, look around And see what friends of thine are underground!" II The mountains gather round thee as of yore, O holy lake, across whose tranquil breast Was borne the saint who to the farthest west Brought the sweet knowledge that transcends all lore. There on the islet at the chapel door The penitents are kneeling, while along There flows the mystic tide of sacred song To where I stand upon the rugged shore. But now there is a silence weird and dread— And utter loneliness is in my heart. I came to seek the living but the dead— This is their welcome. Slowly I depart, Nor read the name beneath a single cross— He still is rich who doth not know his loss. III There is the school-house; there the lake, the lawn; And there, just fronting it, the barrack square; But of all those I knew not one is there— Even the old gate-keeper—he is gone. Ah, me! ah, me! when last I stood upon This grassy mound, with what proud hopes elate I was to wrestle with the strength of fate And conquer! Now—I live and that is all. Oh! happier those whose lot it was to fall In noble conflict with their country's foes Far on the shores of Taurie Chersonese! Nay, all are blest who answer duty's call. But—do I dream or wake? What ghosts are these? Hush, throbbing heart! these are the sons of those. IV Oh! what could wake to life that first sweet flame That warmed my heart when by the little bay On blissful summer evenings I lay Beneath our thorn-bush, waiting till she came Who was to me far more than wealth or fame, But yet for whom I wished all fair things mine, To make her, if she could be, more divine By outer splendor and a noble name. Now I may wait in vain from early morn Till sunset for the music of her feet. And yet how little change has come upon This fairy scene her beauty made so sweet! It weareth still the glory of her smile. Ah! if she were but here a little while. IN my heart are many chambers through which I wander free; Some are furnished, some are empty, some are sombre, some are light; Some are open to all comers, and of some I keep the key, And I enter in the stillness of the night. But there's one I never enter,—it is closed to even me! Only once its door was opened, and it shut forevermore; And though sounds of many voices gather round it, like a sea, It is silent, ever silent as the shore. In that chamber long ago my love's casket was concealed, And the jewel that it sheltered I knew only one could win; And my soul foreboded sorrow, should that jewel be revealed, And I almost hoped that none might enter in. Yet day and night I lingered by that fatal chamber door, Till—she came at last, my darling one, of all the earth my own; And she entered—and she vanished with my jewel, which she wore; And the door was closed—and I was left alone. She gave me back no jewel, but the spirit of her eyes Shone with tenderness a moment, as she closed that chamber door, And the memory of that moment is all I have to prize— But that, at least, is mine forevermore. Was she conscious, when she took it, that the jewel was my love? Did she think it but a bauble she might wear or toss aside? I know not, I accuse not, but I hope that it may prove A blessing, though she spurn it in her pride. O GIFTED son of our dear land and thine, We joy with thee on this thy joyous day, And in thy laurel crown would fain entwine A modest wreath of our own simple bay! Shamrock and thistle and sweet roses gay, Both red and white, with parted lips that smile, Like some bright maiden of their native isle— These, with the later maple, take, we pray, To mingle with thy laurelled lily, long Pride of the brave and theme of poet's song. They err who deem us aliens. Are not we Bretons and Normans, too? North, south and west Gave us, like you, of blood and speech their best, Here, re-united, one great race to be. AS hills seem Alps, when veiled in misty shroud, Some men seem kings, through mists of ignorance; Must we have darkness, then, and cloud on cloud, To give our hills and pigmy kings a chance? Must we conspire to curse the humbling light, Lest some one, at whose feet our fathers bowed, Should suddenly appear, full length, in sight, Scaring to laughter the adoring crowd? Oh, no! God send us light!—Who loses then? The king of slaves, and not the king of men. True kings are kings for ever, crowned of God, The King of Kings,—we need not fear for them. 'Tis only the usurper's diadem That shakes at touch of light, revealing fraud. CANADA, Canada, land of the maple, Queen of the forest and river and lake, Open thy soul to the voice of thy people, Close not thy heart to the music they make. Bells, chime out merrily, Trumpets, call cheerily, Silence is vocal, and sleep is awake! Canada, Canada, land of the beaver, Labor and skill have their triumph to-day; Oh! may the joy of it flow like a river, Wider and deeper as time flies away. Bells, chime out merrily, Trumpets, call cheerily, Science and industry laugh and are gay. Canada, Canada, land of the snow-bird, Emblem of constancy change cannot kill, Faith, that no strange cup has ever unsobered, Drinketh, to-day, from love's chalice her fill. Bells, chime out merrily, Trumpets, call cheerily, Loyalty singeth and treason is still! Canada, Canada, land of the bravest, Sons of the war-path, and sons of the sea, Land of no slave-lash, to-day thou enslavest Millions of hearts with affection for thee. Bells, chime out merrily, Trumpets, call cheerily, Let the sky ring with the shout of the free. Canada, Canada, land of the fairest, Daughters of snow that is kissed by the sun, Binding the charms of all lands that are rarest, Like the bright cestus of Venus in one! Bells, chime out merrily, Trumpets, call cheerily, A new reign of beauty on earth is begun! |
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