|
Saul
Thou whose spell can raise the dead,
Bid the prophet`s form appear.
`Samuel, raise thy buried head!
King, behold the phantom seer!`
Earth yawn`d; he stood the centre of a cloud:
Light changed its hue, retiring from his shroud.
Death stood all glassy in his fixed eye:
His hand was wither`d, and his veins were dry;
His foot, in bony whiteness, glitter`d there,
Shrunken and sinewless, and ghastly bare;
From lips that moved not and unbreathing frame,
Like cavern`d winds, the hollow acccents came.
Saul saw, and fell to earth, as falls the oak,
At once, and blasted by the thunderstroke.
`Why is my sleep disquieted?
Who is he that calls the dead?
Is it thou, O King? Behold,
Bloodless are these limbs, and cold:
Such are mine; and such shall be
Thine to-morrow, when with me:
Ere the coming day is done,
Such shalt thou be, such thy son.
Fare thee well, bur for a day,
Then we mix our mouldering clay.
Thou, thy race, lie pale and low,
Pierced by shafts of many a bow;
And the falchion by thy side
To thy heart thy hand shall guide:
Crownless, breathless, headless fall,
Son and sire, the house of Saul!`
|
