Journeys Through Bookland Volume Iv Part 23

And he buried him in a valley in the land of Moab, over against Beth- peor: but no man knoweth of his sepulchre unto this day.

By Nebo's lonely mountain, On this side Jordan's wave, In a vale in the land of Moab There lies a lonely grave.

And no man knows that sepulchre, And no man saw it e'er, For the angels of G.o.d upturned the sod, And laid the dead man there.

That was the grandest funeral That ever pa.s.sed on earth; But no man heard the trampling, Or saw the train go forth-- Noiselessly as the daylight Comes back when night is done, And the crimson streak on ocean's cheek Grows into the great sun.

Noiselessly as the springtime Her crown of verdure weaves, And all the trees on all the hills Open their thousand leaves; So without sound of music, Or voice of them that wept, Silently down from the mountain's crown The great procession swept.

Perchance the bald old eagle, On gray Beth-peor's height, Out of his lonely eyrie Looked on the wondrous sight; Perchance the lion stalking, Still shuns that hallowed spot, For beast and bird have seen and heard That which man knoweth not.

But when the warrior dieth, His comrades in the war, With arms reversed and m.u.f.fled drums, Follow his funeral car; They show the banners taken, They tell his battles won, And after him lead his masterless steed, While peals the minute gun.

Amid the n.o.blest of the land We lay the sage to rest, And give the bard an honored place With costly marble drest, In the great minster transept, Where lights like glories fall, And the organ rings, and the sweet choir sings, Along the emblazoned wall.

This was the truest warrior That ever buckled sword; This the most gifted poet That ever breathed a word.

And never earth's philosopher Traced with his golden pen On the deathless page truths half so sage As he wrote down for men.

And had he not high honor?-- The hillside for a pall, To lie in state, while angels wait, With stars for tapers tall; And the dark rock-pines, like tossing plumes, Over his bier to wave, And G.o.d's own hand in that lonely land To lay him in the grave,--

In that strange grave without a name, Whence his uncoffined clay Shall break again, O wondrous thought!

Before the judgment day, And stand with glory wrapt around On the hills he never trod; And speak of the strife, that won our life, With the incarnate son of G.o.d.

O lonely grave in Moab's land!

O dark Beth-peor's hill!

Speak to these curious hearts of ours, And teach them to be still.

G.o.d hath his mysteries of grace, Ways that we cannot tell; He hides them deep, like the hidden sleep Of him He loved so well.

BERNARDO DEL CARPIO

_By_ FELICIA HEMANS

NOTE.--Bernardo del Carpio, a Spanish warrior and grandee, having made many ineffectual attempts to procure the release of his father, the Count Saldana, declared war against King Alphonso of Asturias. At the close of the struggle, the king agreed to terms by which he rendered up his prisoner to Bernardo, in exchange for the castle of Carpio and the captives confined therein. When the warrior pressed forward to greet his father, whom he had not seen for many years, he found a corpse on horseback.

The warrior bowed his crested head, and tamed his heart of fire, And sued the haughty king to free his long imprisoned sire: "I bring thee here my fortress keys, I bring my captive train, I pledge thee faith, my liege, my lord! O, break my father's chain!"

"Rise! Rise! even now thy father comes, a ransomed man this day!

Mount thy good horse: and thou and I will meet him on his way."

Then lightly rose that loyal son, and bounded on his steed, And urged, as if with lance in rest, the charger's foamy speed.

And, lo, from far, as on they pressed, there came a glittering band, With one that midst them stately rode, as a leader in the land: "Now haste, Bernardo, haste! for there, in very truth, is he, The father whom thy faithful heart hath yearned so long to see."

His dark eye flashed, his proud breast heaved, his cheek's hue came and went; He reached that gray-haired chieftain's side, and there, dismounting, bent; A lowly knee to earth he bent, his father's hand he took,-- What was there in its touch that all his fiery spirit shook?

That hand was cold,--a frozen thing,--it dropped from his like lead; He looked up to the face above,--the face was of the dead!

A plume waved o'er the n.o.ble brow,--the brow was fixed and white; He met, at last, his father's eyes,--but in them was no sight!

Up from the ground he sprang and gazed; but who could paint that gaze?

They hushed their very hearts that saw its horror and amaze: They might have chained him, as before that stony form he stood; For the power was stricken from his arm, and from his lip the blood.

"Father!" at length, he murmured low, and wept like childhood then: Talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears of warlike men!

He thought on all his glorious hopes, and all his young renown; He flung his falchion from his side, and in the dust sat down.

Then covering with his steel-gloved hands his darkly mournful brow,-- "No more, there is no more," he said, "to lift the sword for now; My king is false,--my hope betrayed! My father,--O the worth, The glory, and the loveliness are pa.s.sed away from earth!

"I thought to stand where banners waved, my sire, beside thee, yet; I would that there our kindred blood on Spain's free soil had met!

Thou wouldst have known my spirit, then; for thee my fields were won; And thou hast perished in thy chains, as though thou hadst no son!"

Then, starting from the ground once more, he seized the monarch's rein, Amidst the pale and wildered looks of all the courtier train; And with a fierce, o'ermastering grasp, the rearing war-horse led, And sternly set them face to face,--the king before the dead:

"Came I not forth, upon thy pledge, my father's hand to kiss?

Be still, and gaze thou on, false king! and tell me what is this?

The voice, the glance, the heart I sought,--give answer, where are they?

If thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul, send life through this cold clay;

"Into these gla.s.sy eyes put light;--be still! keep down thine ire!

Bid these white lips a blessing speak,--this earth is not my sire: Give me back him for whom I strove,--for whom my blood was shed.

Thou canst not?--and a king!--his dust be mountains on thy head!"

He loosed the steed,--his slack hand fell; upon the silent face He cast one long, deep, troubled look, then turned from that sad place.

His hope was crushed, his after fate untold in martial strain: His banner led the spears no more amidst the hills of Spain.

DAVID

INTRODUCTION

You will never meet a more interesting character in history than David, the great king of the Israelites, who, it is usually claimed, reigned from about 1055 B.C. to 1015 B.C. Under David the Jews reached the height of their power, and he is regarded as their greatest conqueror.

A full biography would be an account of a succession of battles with his enemies the Philistines in which he was always victorious unless, as a punishment for some of the sins his fiery nature led him into, he was temporarily in defeat. Out of the many instances which the Bible gives, we have selected as the most vivid and interesting the accounts of his victory over Goliath, his relations to Saul and Jonathan and the rebellion of his own son Absalom. The story is told as it appears in Hebrew scriptures and is taken from the first and second books of Samuel, but in order to make the story continuous the arrangement of the verses has been changed somewhat. For greater clearness, the scheme of paragraphing has been changed, quotation marks have been used, and other departures made from the old form of printing in bibles.

The interesting story is told with all the vivid directness of the Jewish scriptures, and every one must admire the poetic beauty so characteristic of oriental writings. David's compact with Jonathan, his sad lament over the death of his traitorous son, and the grand anthem which he sings in grat.i.tude for his victories, show that the great king was more than a warrior and ruler.

In truth, David was as much a poet and musician as he was a warrior and king, for not only did he, by his skill on the harp, quiet the raging fury of Saul's anger, but he wrote, also, the grandest psalms in existence. The _Twenty-third Psalm_ and the _One Hundred Third Psalm_ which, among others, are printed elsewhere in this work, are fine examples of his skill and art.

DAVID AND GOLIATH

Now the Philistines gathered together their armies to battle against Israel. And Saul and the men or Israel were gathered together and set the battle in array against the Philistines.

And the Philistines stood on a mountain on the one side, and Israel stood on a mountain on the other side: and there was a valley between them.