THE TOMB OF ABSALOM.
Is this thy tomb, amid the mournful shades
Of the deep valley of Jehoshaphat,
Thou son of David? Kidron's gentle brook
Is murmuring near, as if it fain would tell
Thy varied history. Methinks I see
Thy graceful form, thy smile, thy sparkling eye,
The glorious beauty of thy flowing hair,
And that bright, eloquent lip, whose cunning stole
The hearts of all the people. Didst thou waste
The untold treasures of integrity,
The gold of conscience, for their light applause,
Thou fair dissembler?
Say, rememberest thou
When o'er yon flinty steep of Olivet
A sorrowing train went up? Dark frowning seers
Denouncing judgment on a rebel prince,
Past sadly on; and next a crownless king
Walking in sad and humbled majesty,
While hoary statesmen bent upon his brow
Indignant looks of tearful sympathy.
What caused the weeping there?
Thou heardst it not,
For thou within the city's walls didst hold
Thy revel brief and base. So thou could'st set
The embattled host against thy father's life,
The king of Israel, and the loved of God!
He 'mid the evils of his changeful lot,
