The
TALE
of
CUSHI
.
From
II
.
Samuel
,
Chap.
xviii
.
HOW
fares
my
Son
?
the
trembling
Monarch
cry'd
,
Why
wouldst
thou
ask
?
afflicted
Cush
reply'd
;
A
Fate
like
his
may
all
that
hate
thee
feel
,
Whose
Blood
,
alas
!
has
stain'd
the
guilty
Steel
.
He
fell
beneath
the
Hand
of
David's
Friend
,
But
to
my
Story
let
my
Lord
attend
.
When
the
pale
Morning
shew'd
her
languid
Face
,
And
the
dim
Sun
began
his
usual
Race
;
Whose
sullen
Orb
receiv'd
a
crimson
Dye
,
And
Tempests
hover'd
in
the
frowning
Sky
,
As
tho'
the
Heavens
wept
a
Mortal's
Fate
,
And
Nature
trembl'd
at
domestick
Hate
;
Within
the
Shade
of
Ephraim's
dusky
Wood
,
In
just
Array
the
meeting
Armies
stood
;
The
frowning
Hosts
with
equal
Fury
glow
,
And
each
to
Death
defy'd
his
meeting
Foe
;
All
tender
Thoughts
were
lost
in
horrid
Rage
,
And
with
a
Shout
the
charging
Hosts
engage
:
Then
Clouds
of
Arrows
hide
the
darken'd
Sky
,
And
hissing
Lances
lighten
as
they
fly
:
Dreadful
the
Sight
and
horrid
was
the
Cry
.
Here
groan'd
a
Steed
that
felt
its
smarting
Wound
,
And
there
a
Soldier
pinion'd
to
the
Ground
:
At
length
,
proud
Israel
began
to
fail
,
Our
juster
Cause
cou'd
o'er
their
Strength
prevail
;
The
vanquish'd
Army
rais'd
a
fearful
Cry
,
And
thro'
the
Wood
their
mighty
Numbers
fly
;
There
horrid
Brambles
tore
their
Wounds
anew
,
And
thousand
Deaths
their
flying
Heels
pursue
:
Then
rag'd
our
Gen'ral
thro'
the
dreadful
Gloom
,
Pale
Terror
hover'd
on
his
waving
Plume
;
From
his
known
Spear
the
shrieking
Numbers
run
,
And
from
his
Fury
fled
your
conquer'd
Son
;
Grim
Danger
urg'd
him
on
with
fatal
Speed
,
And
thro'
black
Shades
he
lash'd
the
weary
Steed
:
In
the
dark
Center
of
this
Forest
stood
A
lofty
Oak
,
which
overlook'd
the
Wood
.
Thro'
its
thick
Arms
he
ventur'd
careless
in
,
They
springing
caught
him
by
the
beauteous
Chin
;
His
curling
Locks
among
the
Branches
flew
;
His
Spirit
fails
him
,
and
his
Foes
pursue
;
Around
in
vain
he
cast
a
mournful
Eye
,
And
wish'd
a
Friend
;
for
none
,
alas
!
was
nigh
:
But
hostile
Shouts
invade
his
frighted
Ears
,
And
soon
beneath
him
shone
a
Grove
of
Spears
:
Now
,
Traitor
,
fall
—
our
mighty
Leader
cries
:
(
While
glowing
Vengeance
sparkl'd
in
his
Eyes
)
Then
step'd
a
Captain
of
the
loyal
Band
,
And
vainly
strove
to
stay
his
fatal
Hand
.
That
cruel
Arm
impell'd
the
flying
Dart
,
And
the
keen
Weapon
sunk
within
his
Heart
:
Then
those
fair
Cheeks
resign'd
their
rosy
Dye
,
Yet
Life
a
Moment
struggl'd
in
his
Eye
;
As
from
so
fair
a
Mansion
loth
to
fly
,
Till
the
red
Torrent
stain'd
his
throbbing
Tide
;
Then
with
a
Groan
the
beauteous
Rebel
dy'd
.
Hold
,
—
"
stop
thy
Story
,
"
—
cries
the
weeping
King
,
Thy
horrid
Tale
has
left
a
mortal
Sting
;
My
Soul
tho'
practis'd
in
the
Paths
of
Woe
,
Grows
sick
and
staggers
at
this
mighty
Blow
:
From
its
cold
Fountain
Life
forgets
to
run
;
Oh
Absalom
—
Oh
Absalom
,
my
Son
,
Eternal
Shade
has
seal'd
thy
chearful
Eyes
;
And
on
the
Ground
thy
breathless
Beauty
lies
:
Curst
be
the
Hand
that
all
my
Hopes
beguil'd
,
And
left
a
Parent
to
lament
his
Child
:
Without
a
Tear
let
none
his
Story
tell
,
But
curse
the
Forest
where
my
Darling
fell
:
While
these
wan
Eyes
with
lasting
Sorrows
run
,
Lost
to
the
World
,
and
Strangers
to
the
Sun
;
Let
milder
Songs
attend
his
noon-tide
Ray
,
For
mine
will
best
become
the
closing
Day
,
While
round
my
Lyre
afflicted
Fathers
throng
,
And
Orphans
listen
to
the
mournful
Song
.