4. Grief fills the room up of my absent child,
Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me,
Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words,
Remembers me of all his gracious parts,
Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form;
Then have I reason to be fond of grief.
5. My mother! when I learned that thou wast dead,
Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed?
Hovered thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son,
Wretch even then, life's journey just begun?
I heard the bell tolled on thy burial day,
I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away,
And, turning from my nursery window, drew
A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu.
6. The laurel shoots when those have passed away,
Once rivals for its crown, the brave, the free;
The rose is flourishing o'er beauty's clay,
The myrtle blows when love has ceased to be,
Green waves the bay when song and bard have fled,
And all that round us blooms, is blooming o'er the dead.
7. Death found strange beauty on that polished brow,
And dashed it out.
On cheek and lip;
And the rose faded.
There was a tint of rose
he touched the veins with ice
Forth from those blue eyes
There spake a wishful tenderness-a doubt
Whether to grieve or sleep, which innocence
Alone may wear. With ruthless haste he bound
The silken fringes of those curtaining lids
For ever. There has been a murmuring sound,
With which the babe would claim its mother's ear,
Charming her even to tears. The spoiler set
The seal of silence. But there beamed a smile
So fixed and holy from that cherub brow-
Death gazed, and left it there;-he dared not steal
The signet-ring of heaven.
8. Sleep on-sleep on-above thy corse
The winds their Sabbath keep,-
The wave is round thee-and thy breast
Heaves with the heaving deep;
O'er thee, mild eve her beauty flings,
And there the white gull lifts her wings;
And the blue halcyon loves to lave
Her plumage in the holy wave.
Sleep on-thy corse is far away,
But love bewails thee yet-
For thee the heart-wrung sigh is breathed,
And lovely eyes are wet :-
And she, the young and beauteous bride,
Her thoughts are hovering by thy side:
As oft she turns to view with tears
The Eden of departed years.
9. The thoughts are strange that crowd into my brain,
While I gaze upward to thee.-It would seem
As though God poured thee from his hollow hand,
And spake in that loud voice which seemed to him
Who dwelt in Patmos, for his Saviour's sake,
The sound of many waters, and had bid
Thy flood to chronicle the ages back,
And notch his centuries in the eternal rock.
10. In this example the words in italics, to be read with dramatic effect, should receive the Tremor.
Forsake me not thus, Adam! Witness, Heaven,
What love sincere, and reverence in my heart
I bear thee, and unwitting have offended,
Unhappily deceived! Thy suppliant,
I beg and clasp thy knees; bereave me not,
Whereon I live, thy gentle looks, thy aid,
Thy counsel in this uttermost distress,
My only strength and stay. Forlorn of thee,
Whither shall I betake me, where subsist?
While yet we live, scarce one short hour perhaps,
Between us two let there be peace, both joining,
As joined in injuries, one enmity
Against a foe by doom express assigned us
That cruel Serpent. On me exercise not
Thy hatred for this misery befallen;
On me already lost, me than thyself
More miserable? Both have sinned; but thou
Against God only, I, against God and thee,
And to the place of judgment will return,
There with my cries importune Heaven, that all
The sentence, from thy head removed, may light
On me, sole cause to thee of all this wo;
Me, me only, just object of his ire!
11. The dignity and deep pathos of the following stanzas cannot be fully expressed, but by the frequent union of the Monotone and the Tremor with the simpler elements of the Chromatic Melody.
The king stood still
Till the last echo died; then, throwing off
The sackcloth from his brow, and laying back
The pall from the stiff features of his child,
He bowed his head upon him, and broke forth
In the resistless eloquence of wo:-
"Alas! my noble boy! that thou shouldst die!
Thou, who wert made so beautifully fair!
That death should settle in thy glorious eye,
And leave his stillness in this clustering 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 pass 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!
But, 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 wo its bitterness had won thee.
May God 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 God,
He rose up calmly, and composed the pall
Firmly and decently, and left him there,
As if his rest had been a breathing sleep
Mental Suffering and Bodily Pain, when not excessive, employ the vocal symbols of deep plaintiveness, even the Semitone, the Tremor, the Aspiration, and the Broken Melody.
Excessive bodily pain however, often substitutes for feebleness of voice great Force-sometimes even on the Falsette.
Search there; nay, probe me; search my wounded reins-
Pull, draw it out——
Oh, I am shot! A forked burning arrow
Sticks across my shoulders: the sad venom flies
Like lightning through my flesh, my blood, my marrow.
Ha! what a change of torments I endure!
A bolt of ice runs hissing through my bowels:
"Tis, sure, the arm of death, give me a chair;
Cover me, for I freeze, and my teeth chatter,
And my knees knock together.
SECRECY, APPREHENSION, FEAR, &c. Secrecy is expressed by that perfect Aspiration which we call the Whisper.
Apprehension and Mystery combine the Aspiration with a suppressed voice. Curiosity, Suspicion, Eagerness, and Hope employ the same elements.
Suppressed Fear speaks in an under tone, and combines with this kind of vocality both the Tremor and the Aspiration.
1. Angels and ministers of grace defend us—
Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damned,
Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts from hell,
Be thy intents wicked or charitable,
Thou comest in such a questionable shape
That I will speak to thee.
Save me and hover o'er me with your wings,
You heavenly guards!-What would your gracious figure? 2. Hah! dost thou not see, by the moon's trembling light, Directing his steps, where advances a knight,
His eye big with vengeance and fate?
3. Then first, with amazement, fair Imogene found,
That a stranger was placed by her side;
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