| |
| ’T WAS daybreak, and the fingers of the dawn | |
| Drew the night’s curtain, and touched silently | |
| The eyelids of the king. And David woke, | |
| And robed himself, and prayed. The inmates, now, | |
| Of the vast palace were astir, and feet | 5 |
| Glided along the tessellated floors | |
| With a pervading murmur, and the fount | |
| Whose music had been all the night unheard, | |
| Played as if light had made it audible; | |
| And each one, waking, blessed it unaware. | 10 |
| The fragrant strife of sunshine with the morn | |
| Sweetened the air to ecstasy! and now | |
| The king’s wont was to lie upon his couch | |
| Beneath the sky-roof of the inner court, | |
| And, shut in from the world, but not from heaven, | 15 |
| Play with his loved son by the fountain’s lip; | |
| For, with idolatry confessed alone | |
| To the rapt wires of his reproofless harp, | |
| He loved the child of Bathsheba. And when | |
| The golden selvedge of his robe was heard | 20 |
| Sweeping the marble pavement, from within | |
| Broke forth a child’s laugh suddenly, and words— | |
| Articulate, perhaps, to his heart only— | |
| Pleading to come to him. They brought the boy, | |
| An infant cherub, leaping as if used | 25 |
| To hover with that motion upon wings, | |
| And marvellously beautiful! His brow | |
| Had the inspired uplift of the king’s, | |
| And kingly was his infantine regard. * * * * * | |
| It was the morning of the seventh day. | 30 |
| A hush was in the palace, for all eyes | |
| Had woke before the morn; and they who drew | |
| The curtains to let in the welcome light | |
| Moved in their chambers with unslippered feet, | |
| And listened breathlessly. And still no stir! | 35 |
| The servants who kept watch without the door | |
| Sat motionless; the purple casement-shades | |
| From the low windows had been rolled away, | |
| To give the child air; and the flickering light | |
| That, all the night, within the spacious court, | 40 |
| Had drawn the watcher’s eyes to one spot only, | |
Paled with the sunrise and fled in.
And hushed | |
| With more than stillness was the room where lay | |
| The king’s son on his mother’s breast. His locks | |
| Slept at the lips of Bathsheba unstirred,— | 45 |
| So fearfully, with heart and pulse kept down, | |
| She watched his breathless slumber. The low moan | |
| That from his lips all night broke fitfully | |
| Had silenced with the daybreak; and a smile— | |
| Or something that would fain have been a smile— | 50 |
| Played in his parted mouth; and though his lids | |
| Hid not the blue of his unconscious eyes, | |
| His senses seemed all peacefully asleep, | |
| And Bathsheba in silence blessed the morn, | |
| That brought back hope to her! But when the king | 55 |
| Heard not the voice of the complaining child, | |
| Nor breath from out the room, nor foot astir, | |
| But morning there, so welcomeless and still, | |
| He groaned and turned upon his face. The nights | |
| Had wasted, and the mornings come; and days | 60 |
| Crept through the sky, unnumbered by the king, | |
| Since the child sickened; and without the door, | |
| Upon the bare earth prostrate, he had lain, | |
| Listening only to the moans that brought | |
| Their inarticulate tidings, and the voice | 65 |
| Of Bathsheba, whose pity and caress, | |
| In loving utterance all broke with tears, | |
| Spoke as his heart would speak if he were there, | |
| And filled his prayer with agony. O God! | |
| To thy bright mercy-seat the way is far! | 70 |
| How fail the weak words while the heart keeps on! | |
| And when the spirit, mournfully, at last, | |
| Kneels at thy throne, how cold, how distantly | |
| The comforting of friends falls on the ear,— | |
| The anguish they would speak to, gone to thee! | 75 |
| |
| But suddenly the watchers at the door | |
| Rose up, and they who ministered within | |
| Crept to the threshold and looked earnestly | |
| Where the king lay. And still, while Bathsheba | |
| Held the unmoving child upon her knees, | 80 |
| The curtains were let down, and all came forth, | |
| And, gathering with fearful looks apart, | |
Whispered together.
And the king arose | |
| And gazed on them a moment, and with voice | |
| Of quick, uncertain utterance, he asked, | 85 |
| “Is the child dead?” They answered, “He is dead!” | |
| But when they looked to see him fall again | |
| Upon his face, and rend himself and weep,— | |
| For, while the child was sick, his agony | |
| Would bear no comforters, and they had thought | 90 |
| His heartstrings with the tidings must give way,— | |
| Behold! his face grew calm, and, with his robe | |
| Gathered together like his kingly wont, | |
He silently went in.
And David came, | |
| Robed and anointed, forth, and to the house | 95 |
| Of God went up to pray. And he returned, | |
| And they set bread before him, and he ate,— | |
| And when they marvelled, he said, “Wherefore mourn? | |
| The child is dead, and I shall go to him,— | |
| But he will not return to me.” | 100 |
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