With all his loftiness, seemed struck with eld.
Even his voice was changed-a languid moan
Taking the place of the clear, silver key;
And brain and sense grew faint, as if the light,
And very air, were steeped in sluggishness.
He strove with it awhile, as manhood will,
Ever too proud for weakness, till the rein
Slackened within his grasp, and in its poise
The arrowy jereed like an aspen shook.
Day after day he lay as if in sleep;

His skin grew dry and bloodless, and white scales,
Circled with livid purple, covered him.

And then his nails grew black, and fell away
From the dull flesh about them, and the hues
Deepened beneath the hard, unmoistened scales,
And from their edges grew the rank white hair,
-And Helon was a leper!

Day was breaking
When at the altar of the temple stood

The holy priest of God. The incense lamp
Burned with a struggling light, and a low chant
Swelled through the hollow arches of the roof
Like an articulate wail, and there alone,
Wasted to ghastly thinness, Helon knelt.
The echoes of the melancholy strain
Died in the distant aisles, and he rose up,

Struggling with weakness, and bowed down his head
Unto the sprinkled ashes, and put off

His costly raiment for the leper's garb,

And with the sackcloth round him, and his lip
Hid in a loathsome covering, stood still,

Waiting to hear his doom:

Depart! depart, O child

Of Israel, from the temple of thy God;

For He has smote thee with his chastening rod,
And to the desert wild,

From all thou lovest, away thy feet must flee,
That from thy plague His people may be free.

Depart! and come not near

The busy mart, the crowded city, more;
Nor set thy foot a human threshold o'er.
And stay thou not to hear

Voices that call thee in the way; and fly
From all who in the wilderness pass by.

Wet not thy burning lip

In streams that to a human dwelling glide;
Nor rest thee where the covert fountains bide;
Nor kneel thee down to dip

The water where the pilgrim bends to drink,
By desert well, or river's grassy brink.

And pass not thou between

The weary traveller and the cooling breeze,
And lie not down to sleep beneath the trees
Where human tracks are seen;

Nor milk the goat that browseth on the plain,
Nor pluck the standing corn, or yellow grain."

And now depart! and when

Thy heart is heavy, and thine eyes are dim,
Lift up thy prayer beseechingly to Him
Who, from the tribes of men,

Selected thee to feel his chastening rod.
Depart, oh leper! and forget not God!

And he went forth-alone; not one, of all The many whom he loved, nor she whose name Was woven in the fibres of the heart

Breaking within him now, to come and speak
Comfort unto him. Yea, he went his way,
Sick, and heart-broken, and alone, to die;
For God hath cursed the leper!

It was noon,
And Helon knelt beside a stagnant pool
In the lone wilderness, and bathed his brow,
Hot with the burning leprosy, and touched
The loathsome water to his parched lips,
Praying that he might be so blessed-to die!
Footsteps approached, and with no strength to flee,
He drew the covering closer on his lip,
Crying, "Unclean! Unclean!" and, in the folds
Of the coarse sackcloth, shrouding up his face,
He fell upon the earth till they should

pass.

Nearer the stranger came, and bending o’er
The leper's prostrate form, pronounced his name,
-"Helon!"-the voice was like the master-tone
Of a rich instrument-most strangely sweet;
And the dull pulses of disease awoke,
And for a moment beat beneath the hot
And leprous scales with a restoring thrill.

"Helon, arise!" and he forgot his curse, And rose and stood before him.

Love and awe

Mingled in the regard of Helon's eye
As he beheld the stranger. He was not
In costly raiment clad, nor on his brow
The symbol of a princely lineage wore;
No followers at his back, nor in his hand
Buckler, or sword, or spear;-yet in his mien
Command sat throned serene, and, if he smiled,
A kindly condescension graced his lips,
The lion would have crouched to in his lair.
His garb was simple, and his sandals worn;
His statue modelled with a perfect grace;
His countenance, the impress of a God,
Touched with the open innocence of a child;
His eye was blue and calm, as is the sky
In the serenest noon; his hair, unshorn,
Fell on his shoulders; and his curling beard
The fulness of perfected manhood bore.
He looked on Ĥelon earnestly awhile,

As if his heart was moved, and stooping down,
He took a little water in his hand,

And laid it on his brow, and said, "Be clean!"
And lo! the scales fell from him, and his blood
Coursed with delicious coolness through his veins,
And his dry palms grew moist, and on his brow
The dewy softness of an infant's stole.
His leprosy was cleansed, and he fell down
Prostrate at Jesus' feet, and worshipped him.

ABSALOM.

THE waters slept. Night's silvery veil hung low
On Jordan's bosom, and the eddies curled
Their glassy rings beneath it, like the still,
Unbroken beating of the sleeper's pulse.

The reeds bent down the stream: the willow-leaves,
With a soft cheek upon the lulling tide,
Forgot the lifting winds; and the long stems,
Whose flowers the water, like a gentle nurse,
Bears on its bosom, quietly gave way,
And leaned, in graceful attitudes, to rest,
How strikingly the course of nature tells,

By its light heed of human suffering,

That it was fashioned for a happier world!

King David's limbs were weary. He had fled
From far Jerusalem; and now he stood,
With his faint people, for a little rest
Upon the shore of Jordan. The light wind
Of morn was stirring, and he bared his brow
To its refreshing breath; for he had worn
The mourner's covering, and he had not felt
That he could see his people until now.
They gathered round him on the fresh green bank,
And spoke their kindly words; and, as the sun
Rose up in heaven, he knelt among them there,
And bowed his head upon his hands to pray.
Oh! when the heart is full-when bitter thoughts
Come crowding thickly up for utterance,
And the poor common words of courtesy
Are such a very mockery-how much
The bursting heart may pour itself in prayer!
He prayed for Israel; and his voice went up
Strongly and fervently. He prayed for those
Whose love had been his shield; and his deep tones
Grew tremulous. But oh! for Absalom-
For his estranged, misguided Absalom-

The proud, bright being, who had burst away
In all his princely beauty, to defy

The heart that cherished him-for him he poured,

In agony that would not be controlled,
Strong supplication, and forgave him there,
Before his God, for his deep sinfulness,

*

*

*

*

*

The pall was settled. He who slept beneath
Was straightened for the grave; and, as the folds
Sunk to the still proportions, they betrayed
The matchless symmetry of Absalom.
His hair was yet unshorn, and silken curls
Were floating round the tassels as they swayed
To the admitted air, as glossy now

As when, in hours of gentle dalliance, bathing
The snowy fingers of Judea's girls.

His helm was at his feet: his banner, soiled
With trailing through Jerusalem, was laid
Reversed, beside him: and the jewelled hilt,
Whose diamonds lit the passage of his blade,

Rested, like mockery on his covered brow.
The soldiers of the king trod to and fro,
Clad in the garb of battle; and their chief,
The mighty Joab, stood beside the bier,
And gazed upon the dark pall steadfastly,
As if he feared the slumberer might stir.
A slow step startled him. He grasped his blade
As if a trumpet rang; but the bent form
Of David entered, and he gave command,
In a low tone, to his few followers,

And left him with his dead. The king stood still
Till the last echo died: then throwing off
The sackcloth from his brow, and laying back
The pall from the still features of his child,
He bowed his head upon him, and broke forth
In the resistless eloquence of woe!-

"Alas! my noble boy! thou that shouldst die!
Thou, who wert made so beautifully fair!
That death should settle in thy glorious eye,
And leave his stillness in this clustering hair!
How could he mark thee for the silent tomb,
My proud boy, Absalom!

"Cold is thy brow, my son! and I am chill.
As to my bosom I have tried to press thee,
How was I wont to feel my pulses thrill,

Like a rich harp-string, yearning to caress thee, And hear thy sweet, 'My father,' from these dumb And cold lips, Absalom!

"The grave hath won thee. I shall hear the gush Of music, and the voices of the young;

And life will pass me in the mantling blush,
And the dark tresses to the soft wind flung;

But thou no more, with thy sweet voice, shalt come
To meet me, Absalom!

"And, oh! when I am stricken, and my heart, Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken, How will its love for thee, as I depart,

Yearn for thine ear to drink its last deep token! It were so sweet, amid death's gathering gloom, To see thee, Absalom!

"And now, farewell! 'Tis hard to give thee up, With death so like a gentle slumber on thee.And thy dark sin!-Oh! I could drink the cup,

If from this woe its bitterness had won thee. May God have called thee, like a wanderer, home, My erring Absalom!"