So long they looked--but never spied His welcome step again, Nor knew the fearful death he died, Far down that narrow glen.

DAVID'S LAMENT OVER ABSALOM.

N.P. WILLIS.

This admirable composition gives ample scope for gentle, mournful, tear-stricken recitation. The thoughts prompt the speaker to natural expression:

The king stood still Till the last echo died: then throwing off The sackcloth from his brow, and laying back The pall from the still features of his child, He bowed his head upon him and broke forth In the resistless eloquence of woe:--

"Alas! my n.o.ble boy! that thou should'st die Thou, who wert made so beautifully fair!

That death should settle in thy glorious eye, And leave his stillness in this cl.u.s.tering hair.

How could he mark _thee_ for the silent tomb, My proud boy, Absalom!

"Cold is thy brow, my son! and I am chill, As to my bosom I have tried to press thee; How was I wont to feel my pulses thrill, Like a rich harp-string, yearning to caress thee, And hear thy sweet '_my father_' from these dumb And cold lips, Absalom!

"The grave hath won thee. I shall hear the gush Of music, and the voices of the young; And life will pa.s.s me in the mantling blush, And the dark tresses to the soft winds flung; But thou no more, with thy sweet voice, shall come To meet me, Absalom!

"And, oh! when I am stricken, and my heart, Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken, How will its love for thee, as I depart, Yearn for thine ear to drink its last deep token!

It were so sweet, amid death's gathering gloom, To see thee, Absalom!

"And now, farewell! 'Tis hard to give thee up, With death so like a gentle slumber on thee:-- And thy dark sin!--Oh! I could drink the cup, If from this woe its bitterness had won thee.

May G.o.d have called thee, like a wanderer, home, My erring Absalom!"

He covered up his face, and bowed himself A moment on his child: then, giving him A look of melting tenderness, he clasped His hands convulsively, as if in prayer; And, as a strength were given him of G.o.d, He rose up calmly, and composed the pall Firmly and decently, and left him there, As if his rest had been a breathing sleep.

THE BOY ARCHER.

SHERIDAN KNOWLES.

The fire and energy of Tell contrasts n.o.bly with the youthful ambition of his son's young and n.o.ble heart. It is a charming exercise, and exceedingly effective when well delivered:

SCENE.--_Exterior of_ TELL'S _cottage. Enter_ ALBERT (TELL'S _son_) _with bow and arrows, and_ VERNER.

_Verner._ Ah! Albert! What have you there?

_Albert._ My bow and arrows, Verner.

_Ver._ When will you use them like your father, boy?

_Alb._ Some time, I hope.

_Ver._ You brag! There's not an archer In all Helvetia can compare with him.

_Alb._ But I'm his son; and when I am a man I may be like him. Verner, do I brag, To think I some time may be like my father?

If so, then is it he that teaches me; For, ever as I wonder at his skill, He calls me boy, and says I must do more Ere I become a man.

_Ver._ May you be such A man as he--if heaven wills, better--I'll Not quarrel with its work; yet 'twill content me If you are only such a man.

_Alb._ I'll show you How I can shoot (_goes out to fix the mark._)

_Ver._ Nestling as he is, he is the making of a bird Will own no cowering wing.

_Re-enter_ ALBERT.

_Alb._ Now, Verner, look! (_shoots_) There's within An inch!

_Ver._ Oh, fy! it wants a hand. [_Exit_ VERNER.

_Alb._ A hand's An inch for me. I'll hit it yet. Now for it.

_While_ ALBERT _continues to shoot,_ TELL _enters and watches him some time, in silence._

_Tell._ That's scarce a miss that comes so near the mark?

Well aimed, young archer! With what ease he bends The bow. To see those sinews, who'd believe Such strength did lodge in them? That little arm, His mother's palm can span, may help, anon, To pull a sinewy tyrant from his seat, And from their chains a prostrate people lift To liberty. I'd be content to die, Living to see that day! What, Albert!

_Alb._ Ah!

My father!

_Tell._ You raise the bow Too fast. (ALBERT _continues shooting._) Bring it slowly to the eye.--You've missed.

How often have you hit the mark to-day?

_Alb._ Not once, yet.

_Tell._ You're not steady. I perceive You wavered now. Stand firm. Let every limb Be braced as marble, and as motionless.

Stand like the sculptor's statue on the gate Of Altorf, that looks life, yet neither breathes Nor stirs. (ALBERT _shoots_) That's better!

See well the mark. Rivet your eye to it There let it stick, fast as the arrow would, Could you but send it there. (ALBERT _shoots_) You've missed again! How would you fare, Suppose a wolf should cross your path, and you Alone, with but your bow, and only time To fix a single arrow? 'Twould not do To miss the wolf! You said the other day, Were you a man you'd not let Gesler live-- 'Twas easy to say that. Suppose you, now, Your life or his depended on that shot!-- Take care! That's Gesler!--Now for liberty!

Right to the tyrant's heart! (_hits the mark_) Well done, my boy!

Come here. How early were you up?

_Alb._ Before the sun.

_Tell._ Ay, strive with him. He never lies abed When it is time to rise. Be like the sun.

_Alb._ What you would have me like, I'll be like, As far as will to labor joined can make me.

_Tell._ Well said, my boy! Knelt you when you got up To-day?

_Alb._ I did; and do so every day.