Chapter III

Westward ho! Far away to the East is a cottage that looks to the shore--
Though each drop in the sea were a tear, as it was, I can see it no more;
For the heart of its pride with the flowers of the “Vale of the Shadow”
reclines,
And--hushed is the song of the sea and hoarse is the moan of the pines.

RIZPAH.

(2 SAMUEL xxi. 10.)

It 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!

NATALIE.

I.

Such a pretty, siren face
Thine was, Natalie!
Such a merry, winning grace
Drew my heart to thee,
In those distant, happy days
When thy heart was free.

II.

Fearless then we gathered joy,
Not a care had we,
Happier girl and happier boy
Well there could not be;
In our bliss was no alloy,
Playmate, Natalie.

III.

Time is cruel. Thou and I
Parted, Natalie!
And thy kissed lips said “Good bye!
Surely write to me.”
Thou wast then too young to sigh,
Little Natalie!

IV.

One day, after years had flown,
Something came to me,
’Twas a portrait of my own
Playmate, Natalie,--
Natalie,--but not my own,
Never mine to be!

V.

There she sat, so lovely grown,
Like a queen to see,--
There she sat--but not alone,--
With her--who is he?
So my boyish dream has flown,
Faithless Natalie!

VI.

In my heart there is a place
Still for Natalie!
For the pretty, siren face,
For the sweetly, winning ways,
That were dear to me,
In those happy far-off days,
When her heart was free.

THE FENIAN RAID.

_June, 1866._

I.

The breath of the south wind was laden with woe
As it moaned to the Northland “Prepare for the foe!”
And the Northland was silent a moment, and then
There was hieing and arming and marching of men.

II.

To the front! There’s a struggle--the crisis is past!
The foemen are flying! woe, woe to the last!
There’s a hush, only stirred by the zephyr of peace,
Wafting thanks to the God who makes fighting to cease.

III.

But, oh! with the voice of that zephyr a cry
Strives up after justice that seemeth to fly
From the nations of earth.--O our God have regard
To that cry; let the cause of the injured be heard!