THE DEATH OF AMNON.

CANTO THE FIRST.

The Royal youth I sing, whose sister's charms
 Inspir'd his heart with love; a latent love
 That prey'd upon his health; he droop'd; so droops
 A beauteous flow'r, when in the stalk some vile
 Opprobrious insect 'bides. In conscious pain
 He pass'd the hapless hours, while in his breast
 Th' aspiring passion, yet by virtue sway'd,
 It's proper limits knew. I love, said he,
 Whom do I love? my sister — ah; my sister;
 Can I my misplac'd passion gratify,
 And bring disgrace on her? No, sweetest maid,
 I am thy brother; 'tis a brother's part
 Thy honour to protect and not destroy. 
When Shechem burning with untam'd desire
 Dishonour'd Dinah, how her brethren rag'd! 
Each took his sword, the princely ravisher,
 And every citizen a victim fell
 To their just fury. I'm an Isra'lite;
 Shall I forego this high prerogative,
 And plunge myself and sister into ruin? 
An act that ev'n an heathen would degrade. 
No; sooner shall my passion unreveal'd
 Lie cank'ring in my bosom, till it taints
 My very blood, and stops my panting breath. 
Better my lov'd companions pass my grave,
 And shed a tear to think I died so young,
 Than shun me living as a vile reproach
 To nature, royalty, and Israel. 
Already I perceive my strength to fail,
 The ruddy bloom of health forsakes my cheeks;
 Perhaps death's not far off. — O welcome guest,
 Hasten thy tardy steps, why linger'st thou,
 Or wait'st on those, who wish thee far away? 
O thou, that hast the pow'rs of life and death,
 Take hence my life, and end my wretchedness. 
A spacious land I see on ev'ry side
 Bless'd with fertility; the cultur'd vales
 Yield plenteous crops; the rising hills are rich,
 With verdant pasture mantled, crown'd with trees;
 My father's kingdom this. — What is't to me? 
It fires not my ambition, all I ask
 Is one small spot of earth to lay me down
 Beneath the turf, forgetting and forgot,
 A small request, and yet though small, denied. 
Methinks I feel my strength renew'd; 'tis so;
 Struggling with life I sigh for death in vain. 
Again my passions rise, again rebel;
 I still must live and live in misery. 
But I've a thought, that stings me yet more deep;
 Doubtless some happy rival will be crown'd
 With Tamar's love; O tort'ring thought, must I
 Behold her deck'd in bridal robes to bless
 A rival; 'tis too much; — I cannot bear
 E'en to suppose it, I'll from court retire;
 My gay companions now are irksome grown,
 And all my pleasures are transform'd to pains. 
My sister's cheering smiles, that once convey'd
 Soft raptures to my heart, awake such pangs,
 As I can scarce endure. Again I feel
 My spirits sink; Oh! welcome fading sickness! 
I'll cherish thee and aid thee with my sighs,
 To still this heart, that now rebellious beats
 Against my reason's strongest argument. 
Though Tamar's beauty prompts my warmest wish,
 Her fairer virtues keep me still in awe,
 Forbidding my aspir'ing love to soar. 
With sweet simplicity she smiles, secure
 In innocence, commanding my respect,
 And this command I must — I will obey;
 But fly her presence, lest some hapless smile
 Inflame my soul, and I in passions phrensy
 Should act against my final resolution
 To bear my griefs untold, and secret pine
 Till sadd'ning sorrow sinks me to the grave. 
Thus, to himself complaining, he resolv'd,
 Nor sought a confidant to share his grief. 
A friend he had, the son of Shimeah,
 Nam'd Jonadab; a man by nature subtle,
 Proud and ambitious; yet would meanly stoop
 To the most base and most ignoble acts,
 To serve his private ends. The artless youth
 Oft to his plausibilities gave ear,
 Not e'en suspecting, that beneath the cloak
 Of formal flatt'ries self-int'rest hides
 It's serpent head. Yet still the youth from him
 His wayward passion labour'd to conceal,
 By forcing smiles to veil his grief; nor knew,
 How little they resemble those, that spring
 From gentle impulses of hearts at ease. 
For Jonadab, with penetrating eye,
 Quickly discern'd the grief, he strove to hide. 
What cause, said he, can Amnon have to mourn? 
A King's son now, — a King in time may be. 
Was it in probability, that I
 Should be a King, the very contemplation
 Would shut my soul to sorrow. Oh! the thought
 Swells my imagination. Did but Amnon
 Aspire as much to greatness, I could plot
 Surprizing stratagems. But he poor Prince
 Has long imbib'd such close contracted notions,
 As bar his path to honour. Like a maid. 
He talks of virtue, weeps at others woes,
 Yet talks of greatness too; 'tis in the soul,
 He says, all greatness dwells; 'tis not the crown,
 That makes his father great, but 'tis his virtues;
 And those alone he wishes to inherit,
 Thereby to gain dominion o'er himself,
 And reign unenvi'd; but perchance there now
 Springs in his soul some change of sentiment;
 And he his principles, so long retain'd,
 Loth to renounce, may want a friend to prompt,
 And urge him to the attainment of his will. 
Then who so fit for such a talk as I? 
I'm great in his esteem, have free access
 To him at all times; but, if now I'm slack,
 Perhaps I may be rivall'd in his favour
 By some more forward to promote his wish. 
I'll to him straight, in these cool ev'ning hours
 Into his private garden he retires,
 Sighs to the winds, and to the moon complains. 
But I must him approach with seeming awe,
 As fearful to disturb his solitude,
 And with a gentle flow of soothing words
 Insinuate myself into his soul,
 Then guide him as I please. The love-sick youth
 Beneath the thickest solitary shade
 Was wand'ring, lost in melancholy mood,
 So deep in thought, he ne'er perceiv'd th' approach
 Of Jonadab, till startled by his voice;
 Then smil'd, as usual, as his friend drew near,
 Who thus the Royal youth address'd — Oh! why
 Dost thou, a King's son, pine in discontent? 
Can there be ought, that's unattainable
 To crown thy soul with peace? Thy father's kind,
 Too fond and too indulgent to refuse
 A son's request, be what it will methinks. 
But why from me conceal thy griefs? am I
 A friend, unworthy of thy confidence? 
Have I e'er been unfaithful to my trust? 
Or has some jealous whisperer impos'd
 Upon my Royal friend's credulity,
 To vilify his faithful Jonadab? 
Half lost in thought, the Prince made no reply. 
And Jonadab a while suspended stood;
 But, recollecting, took his hand and said;
 Why weeps my Prince? what sorrow wounds thy heart? 
I love, says Amnon; and his hand withdrew
 To wipe his tears, and turn'd from Jonadab:
 Then seems returning, then he onward goes
 In pensive sadness. Jonadab pursues,
 Resolv'd to urge his full confession, lest
 Some other should be made his confidant,
 And he discarded, lose the Prince's favour. 
Amnon return'd, as ready to confess
 As he to hear, and thus his speech began. 
O friend, I love — I love thee as my friend,
 And such thou art, the sharer of my joys;
 All my delights were doubled, shar'd with thee. 
But now a strange dilemma has befall'n me;
 I would not speak it to an ear but thine;
 I love my sister Tamar; tell it not,
 My reason almost fails to be my guide. 
This passion, Oh! this wild rebellious passion,
 If cherish'd, fast it grows as noisome weeds,
 And, if suppress'd, still strengthens in the stalk. 
So let it strengthen, till, too strong for me,
 I sink beneath its weight. But Jonadab,
 Ne'er let the secret pass thy lips, for I
 So much respect and honour her I love,
 That for the richest diadem on earth
 I would not give her pain; her heart's so prone
 To pity, it would burst in grief for me,
 Did she but know the half I feel for her. 
Then Jonadab, with seeming kind affection,
 And tears of sympathy reply'd; kind Prince,
 Distrust me not, thy confidence I claim;
 Thou know'st the feelings of my friendly heart
 Admit no rest, if Amnon is unhappy;
 Shall David's meanest subjects smile secure
 Beneath his prudent equitable sway,
 Their least complaints regarded? and his son
 Repine without redress? It must not be. 
Amnon reply'd, I cannot thee distrust,
 And if thou know'st a way to ease my heart,
 Discover it my friend, for I despair. 
Dispel those useless tears, says Jonadab:
 Think not to drown it in those briny floods;
 Love is a flame those waters cannot quench;
 Nor is there any cure short of enjoyment. 
Then there's no hope for me, the Prince reply'd,
 Till the kind earth receive me; for can I? 
I cannot — Oh! I cannot injure her. 
Droop not, my gentle friend, says Jonadab;
 This tim'rous tenderness but ill becomes
 A Royal Prince, the hope of Israel,
 The son of David; think but who thou art,
 The eldest son of Israel's mighty King;
 Whose dreaded name thro' all the nations round
 Strikes terror to his enemies, and fills
 The grateful hearts of all his friends with joy;
 Whose tongues with pleasure tell his mighty deeds,
 And virgins celebrate his fame in songs;
 While Amnon thus effeminately weeps,
 Like some fair captive maid, snatch'd from the arms
 Of her fond lover. O my Royal friend,
 Better ten thousand injur'd virgins mourn,
 Than David's son thus live inglorious. 
There is a sort of viand she prepares,
 Unparallel'd, of which none other knows
 The just proportion of ingredients us'd. 
A sickness feign'd might veil the deep design,
 And put her in thy power; by this excuse
 That thou canst take nought else; nor fear but she
 Will keep the secret, to preserve her fame. 
After a little pause the youth reply'd,
 It shall be so; — but yet I doubt — I fear —
 If I — I'll think no more of consequences,
 I am determin'd — yes, it shall be so. 
To-morrow be it done, said Jonadab. 
Amnon reply'd — to-morrow is the day. 
So parted they that night; and Jonadab,
 In conscious pride of self-sufficiency,
 Thus to himself his Royal friend derides. 
Poor thing, how easily he's wrought upon? 
In time the kingdom will be his, and I,
 In fact, shall reign, though he the title bears. 
That time might be anticipated, but
 Amnon wants courage for so bold a stroke. 
He's unambitious, nor has resolution
 To seize a tempting crown within his reach;
 But should it gently fall upon his head,
 Perhaps he'll wear it, if some bolder hand
 Don't snatch it off. But this Amour may prove
 A clew to guide to greater enterprizes. 
When these precise ones once extend beyond
 The bounds their narrow minds have circumscrib'd,
 From step to step insensibly they go,
 Till so familiariz'd by custom, they
 With calmness will transact the very things,
 Which but to mention, ere they launch'd so far,
 They'd shudder at. But I must wait th' event. 
So saying, he retir'd to take repose,
 The common blessing graciously diffus'd
 Through Nature, to refresh her wearied sons;
 That with new strength and vigour they may hail
 The rising day, rejoicing in the light. 

CANTO II.

From Ammon's wasted cities, with the crown
 Of Hanun, their proud contumacious King,
 Whose insolence had caus'd his overthrow,
 The conquering King of Israel return'd
 In glorious triumph to Jerusalem;
 There from exhausting toils of bloody war
 In safety to repose his wearied soul,
 And taste the sweets of calm domestic bliss. 
But ere the tumults of triumphal joy
 Subsided, and the sacred rites perform'd
 Of general praises with the harp and song,
 The King's long-wish'd tranquility's disturb'd
 By the sad news, that Amnon, his dear son,
 A captive now to dang'rous sickness lies,
 While life and death dispute their doubtful right. 
The pious King laid down his harp, the song
 Unfinish'd, and with anxious haste repair'd
 To Amnon, whose dissimulation pass'd
 Quite unsuspected. How could he suspect
 A fraud of such sort in a virtuous son? 
Full oft a partial parent overlooks
 An obvious fault, or by affection blind
 Discerns it not; but here no cause appear'd
 T' awake suspicion, for his languid eyes
 And palid cheeks gave signals of disease. 
While thus the son in feeble tone complain'd,
 The tender father stooping low to hear, —
 I'm very sick, and whatsoever food
 My servants here prepare, gives me disgust. 
My sister Tamar, with superior skill,
 Prepares a cake delicious to my taste;
 This I could eat methinks from her kind hand,
 Was she permitted to attend me here. 
The King with fond solicitude retir'd,
 And speedily dispatch'd a messenger
 To Tamar, saying, 'twas his royal will,
 That she should go direct to Amnon's house,
 And there administer, with friendly aid,
 Whate'er his sickly appetite demands. 
The hour had pass'd, at which the royal maid
 Came from her closet, splendidly attir'd;
 Her hair with precious sparkling gems beset,
 Faint mimicks of her more illustrious eyes. 
About her neck a shining golden chain,
 And o'er her loosely thrown, in careless folds,
 A various colour'd robe, which, as she mov'd,
 Trail'd on the ground, or flutter'd in the wind. 
Thus all the virgin daughters of the King
 In splendid raiment shone; but none so bright
 In beauty, as the daughter of Maacah. 
Soon as the sun had drank the morning dew,
 Into her garden walk'd the lovely fair;
 Not like a proud imperious haughty Queen,
 With tossing head and scornful eyes, that glar'd
 Malignant, scattering discontent around,
 And vain in fancied greatness. Greater she
 In inoffensive modesty, and bright
 In virtue, as the rays that gild the morn,
 Warming the flow'rs to ripeness, and exhaling
 Their various sweets to fill the garden air. 
Pleas'd with the grateful smell, she skips about
 From flow'r to flow'r, and cautiously selects
 The sweetest in a wreath, to deck that breast,
 Which never yet inflam'd by vicious thought,
 Or by unreasonable rebukes depress'd,
 Had felt a secret pang, or learn'd to sigh. 
But oh! how happy for the mortal race,
 That from their eyes the future is obscur'd;
 Did we but know the secret ills that wait
 In darkness to surprize us, what would be
 Our life, but one sad scene of misery? 
All present pleasures would be bitter made
 By aggravating thoughts of ills to come. 
But blind to future things the present bless. 
When peace and plenty smile auspiciously,
 The heart with sense of Providence impress'd
 O'erflows with gratitude, and conscious joy. 
Such joy now fill'd the royal fair one's breast,
 Intent on the formation of her wreath;
 When lo! her handmaid came to her in haste,
 With tidings, that a message had arriv'd
 Straight from the King, declaring his desire,
 That she to Amnon's house immediately
 Would go, and dress him cakes, for he is sick. 
The King's command she instantly obey'd;
 Down dropt the unfinish'd wreath; she skimm'dalong
 O'er the parterres, nor stay'd to find the path. 
Her sweeping garments gently brush'd the flow'rs;
 The ripest shedding, strew'd the way she went
 With variegated fragments. So the breeze
 Whisks o'er the forest, and some shatt'ring leaves
 Fall gently rustling thro' the shrubs beneath. 
Then, gath'ring up her robe, she onward sprang,
 And sisterly affection urg'd her haste. 
Amnon in highest expectation lyes
 Counting the-slow-pac'd moments as they pass'd;
 Now thinks his scheme's discover'd — he's betray'd —
 Or some curs'd intervening accident
 Delays, perhaps prevents her coming. Thus
 Doubts, fears, and wild impatience in his breast
 Tumultuously contended, till she came,
 With all the feelings of a tender sister;
 But not a thought of vile licentious love
 Profan'd her breast; to see him thus she wept,
 But turning, wip'd her tears, suppress'd her grief,
 And with officious haste the cakes prepar'd. 
Wisdom has pow'r, like the meridian fun,
 To hide all other brightness in its glare;
 But virgin modesty, with winning smiles,
 Shines a perpetual morning. So she shone
 Serenely mild, nor knew her pow'r to please. 
But oh! the graceful dignity of virtue
 Unthinking captivates the worthy soul,
 The feebly good with emulation fires,
 And strikes the very libertines with awe. 
So Amnon, aw'd to see her lovely form,
 Became irresolute; and recantation
 Stagger'd his purpose. — First he paus'd; then thus
 Expostulating with himself he lay;
 Oh! how can I despoil this lovely maid,
 This fairest of the fair? I cannot — no —
 I'll let her go untouch'd. But then must I
 Still pine in languishment, as heretofore;
 And Jonadab will at my weakness laugh. 
At last some wine he snatch'd, and eager drank
 To drown his scruples, and to fire his soul. 
Such aid the most abandoned oft require,
 When unsuspecting innocence at once
 Tempts and forbids, more pow'rfully forbids,
 Than the persuasive eloquence of speech. 
But the defence, which innocence can boast
 With tears and mild intreaties, is but weak,
 When love and wine unite their frantick pow'rs,
 And leaving virtue fainting in the rear,
 Rush on impetuous. — Hapless Tamar thus
 To lawless outrage falls th' unwilling prey. 

CANTO III.

Heav'n gave to man superior strength, that he
 The weaker sex might succour and defend;
 But he that dares pervert this giv'n blessing,
 To ruin and destroy their innocence,
 Shall feel pursuing vengeance, nor escape
 Her rod uplifted, nor avert the stroke. 
Conviction's sword shall pierce him, and remorse
 With all the tortures of the mind assail,
 Till he a victim falls to grim despair;
 Except repentance timely to his aid
 Come with her tears, to sooth, to mitigate;
 While her attendant hope extends a ray,
 To point where mercy spreads her healing wings,
 Nor e'en with this is vengeance satisfied,
 She'll still pursue with some external ills,
 Exhausted health and spirits; — drooping — drear,
 An outcast of society he roams,
 Alike discarded by his friends and foes;
 Perhaps assassination proves his end. 
The hapless Amnon from his couch arose,
 Inflam'd with hatred more than once with love. 
Frantick with keen remorse and conscious guilt,
 He rav'd — he stamp'd — when to him Jonadab
 Came to congratulate him; but the Prince
 Shot from his eyes a keen malignant glance,
 That spoke displeasure, and with threat'ning hand
 Upheld, thus in an angry tone began:
 Hence from my sight, thou basest, worst of fiends,
 Nor ever dare approach my presence more. 
Struck with this strange reception, Jonadab
 Step'd back, and bowing with respectful awe,
 Said, — O my Prince, why am I thus discarded? 
I still remain thy well affected friend,
 Ready to — prompt me, (interrupts the Prince)
 To do some greater crime than I have done. 
Curse on thy instigations; to my heart,
 My inexperienc'd heart thou drilld'st a way
 T' infuse licentiousness; and thou a friend? 
Ere thou presum'st to take that sacred name,
 Abandon thy base principles, and learn
 'Tis virtue only constitutes a friend. 
He paus'd — th' astonish'd Jonadab approach'd
 Nearer to Amnon; beg'd him to resume
 His wonted calmness, but to hear him speak. 
I'll hear no more of thee, reply'd the Prince;
 I'm lost, I'm irrecoverably lost:
 What were the pains I felt to those I feel? 
An hell within me burns, and deep remorse,
 That never dying worm, now gnaws my soul;
 And thou, my instigator. Villain, flee,
 Lest this my crime I complicate with murder. 
Then Jonadab withdrew chagrin'd, and full
 Of ran'crous malice; mutt'ring as he went,
 Shall murder crown thy crime young man? — it shall;
 But thou the murder'd, — not the murderer. 
I'll hence to Absalom, the brother kind
 Of this fair injur'd maid; he doubtless will
 Avenge her wrongs, and shew himself a brother. 
He has a noble, calm, undaunted spirit;
 Deliberately resolute, and fit
 For such an enterprize; and Jonadab
 Shall not be slack to aggravate the crime,
 And urge him on, or aid him, if requir'd. 
But I must veil my real sentiments
 With counterfeited sorrow, and observe
 Each secret movement of his varying soul,
 And sympathise with him. Young Absalom
 Returning from the fields, where he had been
 To view his teeming flocks, jocund and gay,
 In all the sprightliness of youth and beauty,
 Upon his slow-pac'd mule rode gently on
 In careless attitude, and smil'd to see
 All nature smile around; when Jonadab,
 With solitary gait, approach'd, then turn'd
 Aside, as if to shun the Royal youth;
 Which Absalom perceiving, stopp'd his mule,
 And leaning on his neck, with courteous air
 Thus Jonadab in gentlest tone address'd:
 What mean those solemn looks, that down-cast eye? 
Now peace and plenty bless our happy land:
 Joy should methinks extend its cheering ray
 To ev'ry individual; but thou
 Look'st half dejected, wand'ring in the fields
 At this late hour; the day is in decline;
 The shepherds to their folds have led their flocks,
 And to their peaceful homes are hast'ning. Come,
 Return with me, my friend, nor farther go;
 If ought distress thee, hide it not from me,
 I have an heart to feel for the distress'd;
 An hand too ever ready to revenge
 The wrongs impos'd by violence and injustice
 Smile and be happy, said the Royal youth;
 And rising from his leaning posture, look'd
 So gracefully endearing and so kind,
 That Jonadab thus ventur'd to begin: —
 'Tis not for me to smile, most noble Prince,
 While inconsolable and unredress'd,
 Dishonour'd Tamar weeps in bitter woe,
 Dishonour'd, and by whom? says Absalom,
 Name but the villain, vengeance on his head
 Shall instant fall; this hand shall strike the blow. 
Earth, canst thou bear the wretch's feet to touch
 Thy surface, and not groan? Whoe'er he be,
 The miscreant shall not see to-morrow' sun. 
Too hasty, Prince, says Jonadab; be calm;
 Recall the fatal sentence; tis too much
 To raise thine hand against a brother's life,
 Thine elder brother — Brother, said the Prince,
 And is it possible my brother thus
 Sould be deprav'd? my brother Amnon too? 
O virtue, where dost thou reside, if not
 In Amnon? but if he's thus lost to shame,
 It cancels all the duty that I owe him;
 Henceforth shall intercourse between us cease,
 Till I have form'd a scheme to be reveng'd;
 Amnon shall die, and die by Absalom. 
Go Jonadab, go home, and secret keep
 This purpose of my soul; — I'll be thy friend,
 Said Absalom. — Then, onward as he pass'd,
 Thus Jonadab congratulates himself:
 Oh! happy I, no sooner have I lost
 The favour of one Prince, but I have gain'd
 Another; Absalom is more aspiring;
 Not cool and passive, like the silly Amnon,
 But pants to rule; he has a kingly spirit. 
Once in his garden, as I lay conceal'd,
 I heard him in soliloquy, "Oh! to reign —
 To wield a sceptre and establish laws;
 Oh! did the people seek to me for judgment,
 And Princes wait for my decisive voice,
 Ere they the cause determin'd; could I hear
 The loud applauding multitude exclaim,
 Long live King Absalom. " — He's fit to rule. 
When Amnon is dispatch'd, perhaps he may
 Assume the kingdom — Be it so, and I
 Will be his ready agent, if he please,
 To aid his plots, or form them. Oh! how sweet
 The counsel that is fram'd to please our wills,
 How readily adopted; how despis'd
 That which is adverse, be it e'er so good. 
But dear, dear self stands first in the account
 Of friends, and that's the friend I'll ever serve:
 Whether to Amnon or to Absalom
 I pay external homage. If to me
 This Absalom proves too imperious,
 I'll aid the King, and keep myself secure. 
Ay — that's the centre to which I must point
 All schemes and plots; then smiling as he went,
 With eager pace he hasten'd to his home. 
Grief and revenge now labour'd in the breast
 Of Absalom; but artfully he hides
 The struggling passions; a composure feign'd,
 Sits on his countenance with placid ease;
 And he in seeming gaiety rode home. 
His servants there in readiness attend,
 Each anxious to receive the first command;
 Nor fear unjust reproofs, nor angry frowns,
 Th' unwelcome greetings of imperious Lords. 
Too oft do masters, void of judgment, check,
 By froward peevishness and discontent,
 The many little assiduities,
 Which otherwise a servant's zeal would mark,
 Nor make distinction between good and bad;
 But Absalom, with nicest judgment, scans
 Their merits and defects; he in reproof
 Is slowly cautious, and exactly just;
 No clam'rous oaths re-eccho thro' his hall,
 Nor mutt'ring servants whisper imprecations;
 Tho' affable and courteous, yet he ne'er
 To low familiarity descends;
 But with great dignity is nobly kind,
 Reigns in their hearts, and by enliv'ning smiles
 Encourag'd, they spontaneously attend,
 And love completes their servitude with joy,
 So now, as always at their lord's approach,
 A secret transport thrill'd thro' ev'ry heart. 
The gate one open'd, one receiv'd the mule,
 Whilst he dismounting with a sprightly bound,
 Tripp'd lightly o'er the pavement; and those eyes
 Which ever spread serenity around,
 Sparkled with seeming pleasure till he came,
 Ent'ring his mansion, to where Tamar sat
 In the most striking attitude of woe;
 Her head, bestrew'd with ashes and reclin'd,
 One trembling hand supported; th' other hid
 Among the fragments of her robe, which she
 In the first agonies of her grief had torn. 
He stopp'd, turn'd pale; then in his changing face
 Resentment flush'd, and sorrow swell'd his heart,
 Which lab'ring to suppress he trembling stood;
 But like a torrent, which breaks down a bank
 New rais'd to stop its course, so burst his grief
 Thro' all his feign'd composure. In his arms
 He clasp'd the grieving fair, and mutual tears
 Proclaim'd the anguish of their burden'd hearts,
 But tho' his sorrow thus had burst its bounds,
 Revenge in ambush lurk'd, while thus the Prince
 With soothing words his sister thus address'd, —
 I know the sad occasion of thy woe;
 But he's thy brother; silent bear thy wrongs,
 Nor by immod'rate grief enhance the ill
 Which cannot be redress'd. No blame is thine;
 My sister still in heart is undesil'd. 
Tamar attempts reply; but from their springs
 In swifter currents flow'd the briny pearls;
 At length the pow'r of speech return'd, the fair
 Heav'd a deep sigh, and thus her moan began, —
 O injury unparallel'd! O deed
 More cruel than the murd'rers deadly blow! 
He takes our life, 'twas lent but for a time;
 Perhaps some years — perhaps a day — an hour:
 But he that robs a woman of her honour,
 Robs her of more than life; — a brother too
 Still aggravates the guilt. — O purity,
 Thou first of female charms, to thee we owe
 Our dignity; which, if in meekness clad,
 Gives us insuperable pow'r; but, if
 Of this depriv'd, our most presumpt'ous claim
 Is cool compassion. O dejected state! 
That humble homage we receive from men,
 In such proportion as our virtue fails,
 Diminishes. Th' inestimable gem,
 More precious than fine gold or rubies, — far
 Outvies the dazzling rays of beaut'ous forms,
 Which like gay meteors but excite our gaze,
 Then fade away. But this pre-eminence
 No more I boast; now stamp'd with infamy,
 That due respect, that def'rence ever paid
 To my exalted state shall hence be chang'd
 To scorn: tho' by the dignity of birth
 Protected from low insult, can I 'scape
 The meaning leer, the vain contemptuous smile,
 Or, the more humbling pity of the proud? 
Such moving strains in Absalom call'd forth
 All the fond raptures of fraternal love;
 Who thus consol'd her grief, — thou ne'er shalt be
 Abandon'd to the scorn of taunting dames,
 Who triumph in the downfal of the fair. 
My home be ever thine; in me behold
 Thy guardian, brother, friend, companion kind. 
'T shall be my earliest and my latest care,
 With chearful converse to enliv'n thy hours;
 All thou canst with, which I have pow'r to grant,
 Expect from me. His sister gave her hand,
 An earnest of conformity — he press'd
 The giv'n pledge; her grateful heart reply'd, —
 O brother, always kind, now doubly so,
 To ope thy friendly arms in this distress,
 And take me to protection: I accept
 Thy offer'd boon. Farewell, ye courtly scenes;
 No more shall Tamar shine in your resorts;
 But here recluse and tranquil ever 'bide;
 Regaling in that never-cloying feast,
 Th' internal calm of an untainted mind. 
This none can ravish from me; this is life. 
That God which rais'd my father to the throne,
 And still protects him with his pow'rful arm,
 Shall be my all in all. To him I'll pray
 Incessant, and the great Jehovah's name
 Shall fire my theme, and fill my heav'nly song. 

CANTO IV.

Now solemn evening drew her silent veil
 O'er smiling nature, and the pious King
 In supplication spent the sacred hour
 With special fervour, making intercession
 To the great sole dispenser of all good
 To bless his son, and soon restore his health. 
He scarce had ended prayer, when tidings came
 That Jonadab beg'd audience. — The King
 Eager to learn, thus instantly reply'd,
 Go send him hither; welcome to my soul
 Is Jonadab, my Amnon's social friend;
 He doubtless comes to bring me news of him. 
He enters. — Thus the King, — O Jonadab,
 How does thy friend, my son, my Amnon now? 
Amnon is well, O King, says Jonadab. 
Is well! return'd the astonish'd King, is well! 
'Tis but few hours since I myself him saw,
 And saw him sick, — and say'st thou now he's well;
 Thou know'st it not, which much I wonder at,
 Because I know he loves thee; go now to him,
 Go act a friendly part, go comfort him,
 I tell thee he is sick. — Says Jonadab,
 I can inform thee of the whole device
 Of his pretended sickness. Then the King, —
 Say'st thou pretended sickness? If there is
 Dissimulation in my son, declare it;
 I'll hear thee; — but take heed thou slander not,
 Nor censure him unjustly, on thy life. 
Amnon has not been sick, says Jonadab;
 'Twas but a feint to lure his sister there
 To his embraces, and he has succeeded. 
What do I hear? reply'd the King; my son
 Defil'd my daughter! Rising as he spoke,
 With indignation flashing from his eyes;
 Forth from his house he rush'd with hasty steps
 To Amnon, who was unprepar'd to see
 This unexpected visitant: The youth
 Already self-convicted, now abash'd,
 Ne'er ventur'd once to raise his down-cast eyes,
 But speechless and confounded stood to hear
 His sharp rebuke; when thus the King began: —
 O son, thou shameful troubler of my house;
 What hast thou done? Where are thy princely virtues
 Inculcated so long? Now blasted all. 
My elder-born, my first, my greatest joy,
 Thus to debase thyself, thou that should'st be
 The first in virtue, as the first in birth. 
How can a Prince, himself debas'd with crimes,
 Aspire to judge and punish wicked men? 
In which of all my sons can I confide,
 Now Amnon fails, whom I have faultless deem'd? 
Thou bitter herb, — thou blemish of my honour;
 How can I brook this foul disgrace? Must I
 For ever bear confusion in my face,
 And blush for thee, thou worse than enemy? 
Amnon, no longer able to support
 Such just reproof, in silence turn'd away,
 And bursting into tears withdrew. — The King
 Return'd with anger burning in his breast,
 Mingled with sorrow for his daughter's wrongs;
 My daugher! Oh! my daughter! he exclaim'd,
 I would avenge thy wrongs; but oh! if I
 Avenge my daughter, I destroy my son. 
Then, all a father's tenderness prevail'd,
 He wept, — his wrath subsided and he paus'd,
 His own past failings rising in his mind;
 His guilty love for Bathsheba — he sigh'd
 Her murder'd husband; shudd'ring at the thought,
 He saw no way to sooth the present ills
 But suff'ring and forbearance. — Then the King,
 As if the stroke came from the hand of Heav'n,
 Fell prostrate to the earth, submitting thus:
 Righteous art thou, O Lord, and all thy judgments just,
 Amnon mean while, with piercing grief oppress'd,
 Doubled by th' fore displeasure of the King,
 Sat down and wept, while tears supply'd their streams. 
Then rising, walk'd about with restless steps,
 And thus in bitter agonies complain'd:
 What am I now, and where? Of late I pin'd
 In hopeless love, yet then I had some stay,
 An heart-felt innocence, that could support
 And cheer the drooping spirits. But alas! 
Virtue has left me now, and I'm expos'd;
 Expos'd to what? to what, alas! I know not;
 'Tis Hell itself bursts in upon my soul,
 And pours forth all its torments. — Terrors! Death! 
O irrecoverable innocence! 
Where art thou gone? for ever banish'd hence. 
Arise ye thickest mists, ye darkest clouds
 O'er-cast those twinkling stars. O sable night,
 Wrap me in deepest shades, nor let a beam
 Of penetrating light expose me more;
 Darkness is fitted to the guilty mind
 That shrinks and starts at ev'ry glimmering ray. 
But oh! it is not in the pow'r of darkness
 To hide the hated self from self; within
 A sacred light perpetually shines,
 Exposingev'ry failure to the sense,
 That vainly struggles to compose the mind,
 And hush her sad inquietudes to peace. 
But peace, the guest of innocence alone,
 Takes an eternal leave when guilt intrudes,
 And now has took eternal leave of me. 
Ah! wretched me! Oh! curse on vicious friends! 
Had Jonadab advis'd me virtuously,
 I'd still been innocent, and Tamar pure;
 My father still had smil'd on me with joy,
 Nor had I trembled at his chiding frowns;
 Absalom would have call'd me brother still,
 But now he'll own me not. — This slight is just,
 And this the least part of my punishment;
 For inward guilt has yet severer pangs. 
So wander'd he, complaining half the night,
 Then sought for rest in sleep, but sought in vain:
 Terrific dreams invade his wish'd repose. 
He sleeps, starts, wakes; — then sleeps and starts again;
 And rises soon, but not to meet the morn
 With joy as heretofore; but to bewail
 The loss of that sweet calm that ever dwells
 Within the guiltless breast; and in the world
 Dwells no one more entitled to the bliss
 That waits on virtue, than was Amnon once:
 He therefore more severely feels the loss
 For having tasted in its first degree
 Its sov'reign blessedness. — Who'd then forsake
 The peaceful path of virtue to pursue
 Alluring vice through folly's labyrinth,
 Grasping at shadows of felicity,
 'Till overtaken by her evil train
 Of shame, remorse, confusion, and despair? 
Such evils now the hapless Amnon haunt,
 While in th' avenging hand of Absalom
 Death lurking lies. — Th' ambitious Prince, resolv'd
 At once t' avenge his sister, and remove
 An obstacle betwixt him and the crown,
 With unremitting vigilance attends
 The silent shades and unfrequented paths
 Where Amnon used to walk, and meditate,
 Hoping to meet defenceless and alone
 The destin'd youth, and steal away his life. 
But Amnon now as cautiously avoids
 His dreaded presence; not with dread of death;
 Such fear ne'er fill'd his unsuspicious breast;
 But conscious guilt, that daunter of the soul,
 That few can brave, deter'd the timid youth. 
Two years within the breast of Absalom
 Revenge in ambush lurk'd, while in his face
 The mildest gentleness and sweetness play'd:
 Thus secrèt burns the subterraneous fire,
 While on earth's teeming surface gaily smiles
 The verdant herbage strew'd with various flowers,
 Till, bursting from beneath, the sulph'rous fumes
 O'erturn the mountains, and the crumbling mould
 Buries the blooming beauties that it bore:
 So he unable longer to contain
 The hidden rancour burning in his breast
 Determin'd by some bold and desp'rate stroke
 T' effect his purpose; and with Jonadab
 Consulted, who thus readily advis'd: —
 Assume the friend, — entice him to thine house;
 The cred'lous youth will ne'er suspect a fraud. 
Now is the time, now comes the yearly feast
 When shepherds fleece their flocks: make him thy guest
 With all thy brothers: when with mirth and wine
 His heart's elate, how easy will it be
 To give the final blow. With lowring brow
 Revengeful Absalom the rash advice
 Adopted, and a sullen gloom o'ercast
 His lively features. Stern as that grim Lord
 That through the forest takes his fearless way,
 With high deportment Absalom retir'd. 

CANTO V.

Returning summer now came smiling on,
 Exciting ev'ry peaceful breast to mirth;
 But Amnon meets with tears the fatal season:
 This sad remembrancer of his past crime
 Awoke his grief, and from his couch he rose
 Ere yet th' approaching day began to dawn,
 While the full moon reign'd mistress of the night. 
Sleep on, ye sons of innocence and ease,
 (The restless Amnon with a sigh exclaim'd,
 As from his window high he cast a look
 Over the silent streets, for not a voice
 Disturb'd the solemn hour) sleep on — sleep on:
 So was I wont to sleep away the night,
 Rise with the morn, and in the day rejoice:
 But now in morn or night, or sleep or 'wake,
 I feel no joy. Oh that I could forget
 I once was happy! Oh that this one step,
 One erring step, should kill my peace for ever. 
O moon, I blush beneath thy silver beams;
 I've ost beheld thee with exulting heart,
 But now I shrink at ev'ry thing that's pure:
 A modest virgin, innocent and fair,
 Strikes terror to my soul: to me she seems
 Exalted high above my fallen state:
 If such an one I venture to approach,
 I instantly recoil, and justly pay
 A secret adoration to the breast
 Of innocence; for Oh! what parity
 Can there subsist 'twixt innocence and guilt? 
The world's reproaches and censorious sneers
 Harrow the heart and aggravate the sense:
 But yet that aggravation poiz'd against
 The pangs of guilt, is of but little weight:
 The world offended may again be won,
 Or all its vain reproaches set at nought,
 When the heart, firmly steel'd with innocence,
 Shrinks not, but rises with true nobleness,
 Superior to the grov'ling sons of vice,
 And smiles at pow'rless envy. — But alas! 
To me returns, whether of day or night,
 Aid sharp reflection and new point its spears. 
Now waking birds in chearful concert join. 
Their ev'ry note proclaims them innocent. 
The fun arises and the world awakes;
 The Prince retires with melancholy steps
 Into his garden, where recluse and still
 Beneath the arching boughs of shady trees,
 With head declin'd and arms lock'd round his breast,
 He sigh'd the heavy slow-pac'd hours away;
 'Till interrupted by a messenger,
 Who, with due deference approaching near,
 Thus spake: O Prince, I come from Absalom,
 His sheep he shears to-morrow, and intreats
 Thee, with thy Royal brothers, to partake
 The feast, and spend with him the day in mirth. 
Surprize and pleasure rush'd into his heart
 At such an unexpected invitation,
 Which he accepted, nor did hesitate
 One moment to resolve; for Amnon still
 Was unsuspicious as an infant child,
 That fearless trusts itself to ev'ry arm
 That opens to recieve it. With quick step
 He paces to and fro; his bosom glows,
 And thus anticipates th' expected bliss. 
O joyful day when I again shall meet
 My dear offended brother, whom so long
 I've cautiously avoided: his good will
 Greatly exceeds my most advent'rous hope:
 Forgetful of my faults, he kindly now
 Invites me to his house, without reproach
 Or intimation of my late misdeeds. 
Yes, my good brother, I will be thy guest —
 My grateful heart o'erflows; I now could fall
 Down at thy feet, and from thy hand receive
 The death I do deserve. Thus Amnon still,
 In humble strain and true repentant heart,
 Pour'd forth his soul in such foliloquies
 All day and night, till in the morning fair,
 The foremost of the princely cavalcade,
 He gladly hasted to the fatal feast. 
Now Absalom with secret pleasure sees
 The long wisth'd day arrive, and in the morn
 Assiduously in comely dress array'd
 His lovely person, lovely in extreme:
 Not in all Israel's num'rous tribes was found
 His peer in beauty; for from head to foot
 No blemish, no deformity was seen,
 But well proportion'd limbs, and features fair,
 With ev'ry natural, ev'ry borrow'd grace
 That gives to beauty power. The conscious Prince
 Omitted no external ornament
 That might, if possible, such gifts improve:
 But looking at his spotless hands, he said, —
 Must these be dy'd in blood? a brother's blood? 
No, I have servants, they shall give the blow. 
Then to and fro he through his chamber stalk'd,
 Revolving in his mind the consequence
 Of op'ning his design. He paus'd, he thought
 His servants might refuse — or worse, betray. 
At length he says, — I'm wrong to censure them;
 Great proofs I've had of their sidelity;
 I'll trust them now. Then call'd he those he lov'd:
 They came. He says, You have done all things well
 According to my order for this feast,
 But on your cares I can so well depend,
 That whatsoever is given to your charge
 I think no more of, for I've always found
 You true and faithful; therefore I make choice
 Of you for my accomplices this day:
 'Tis not intended for a day of mirth,
 As it appears, and must as yet appear
 Till I've fulfill'd the purpose of my soul. 
Our guests must sumptuously be entertain'd:
 But when they have partook the rich repast,
 And wine exhilerates and mirth prevails,
 Be you prepar'd, and when I give the word,
 Pierce Amnon to the heart, for he must die. 
His servants tremble at the dire command. 
Why tremble ye? said Absalom, fear not,
 'Tis I command you — all the deed is mine;
 Ye are but instruments within my grasp,
 And of his blood are spotless: if there's guilt
 In taking vengeance for the atrocious crime,
 Let all that guilt be mine: since justice sleeps
 In his fond father's hand, 'tis right that I
 Assume the pow'r, and on his impious head
 Hurl vengeance. But observe, it next behoves
 Us to evade the storm that will ensue:
 In Geshur we shall find a safe retreat:
 My fleetest horses for the flight prepare:
 Soon as the wound is given, we'll mount and flee;
 Swift as the sweeping winds we'll o'er the hills,
 And leave the King to bury him, and mourn. 
His servants, more by love than duty bound,
 All bow'd obedient to his sov'reign will. 
Now came the Royal guests, and Amnon first
 Dismounting from his mule, with conscious blush
 And fault'ring voice thus ventur'd to address
 Th' offended brother: — O my Absalom,
 Forgive, he said — and interrupting tears
 Pleading more pow'rfully than eloquence,
 Stagger'd the purpose of Maacah's son,
 And in his feeling soul a conflict rais'd
 Betwixt his brother's life and sister's fame:
 He silent paus'd; but in his breast revenge
 Was too deep rooted by a two year's growth
 For one soft moment to eradicate:
 He therefore wip'd away a piteous tear,
 And made to Amnon this compos'd reply:
 I did not send for thee to weep and mourn;
 To-day I have a feast; this prosp'rous year
 Increasing flocks increase the shepherds joy:
 Rejoice with me, my brother, and be glad. 
Then did he warmly press his hand, and point
 The chiefest place. The Prince shed tears of joy,
 Then fat him down, forgot his grief and smil'd. 
Wine in profusion sparkled in the bowls,
 Inspiring social mirth; they freely quaff'd;
 But Absalom th' emolient draught evades,
 Lest it relax his stern determination;
 But quick replenishes the sinking bowls,
 Pressing on all the intoxicating cup,
 'Till mirth predominates, and ev'ry heart
 Expands with social freedom; Absalom
 Then gives the fatal word; his servants plunge
 The destin'd dart, and from the Prince's side
 Gush'd forth life's reeking stream — he fell — uprose
 In consternation those whom vengeance spar'd,
 Each trembling for his life; confus'd they fled:
 Mingling with gore, the wine in currents flow'd;
 While, rolling in the flood, the murder'd Prince
 Alone, in all the agonies of woe,
 Groan'd out his soul, and clos'd his eyes in death.