Classic Poem

Dav. Eternal justice! in whose awful scale
Th' event of battle hangs! Eternal Truth!
Whose beam illumines all! Eternal Mercy!
If, by thy attributes I may, unbiam'd,
Address thee; Lord of glory! hear me now;
O teach these hands to war, these arms to fight!
Thou ever present help in time of need!
Let thy broad mercy, as a shield, defend,
And let thine everlasting arms support me!
Strong in thy strength, in thy protection safe.
Then, though the heathen rage, I shall not fear.
J ENOVAH , be my buckler! Mighty Lord!
Thou who hast deign'd by humble instruments
To manifest the wonders of thy might,
Be present with me now! 'Tis thine own cause!
Thy wisdom sees events, thy goodness plans
Schemes baffling our conception — and, 'tis still
Omnipotence which executes the deed
Of high design, though by a feeble arm!
I feel a secret impulse drive me on;
And my soul springs impatient for the fight!
'Tis not the heated spirits or warm blood
Of sanguine youth with which my bosom burns;
And though I thirst to meet th' insulting foe,
And pant for glory, 'tis not, witness heaven!
'Tis not the sinful lust of fading fame,
The perishable praise of mortal man;
His praise I covet, whose applause is life.

D AVID , E LIAS , I SRAELITES .

El. What do I hear? thou truant! thou hast dar'd
E'en to the awful presence of the king
Bear thy presumption!
Dav. He who fears the Lord
Shall holdly stand before the face of kings,
And shall not be asham'd.
El. But what wild dream
Has urged thee to this deed of desperate rashness?
Thou mean'st, so I have learn'd, to meet Goliath,
His single arm to thine.
Dav. 'Tis what I purpose,
E'en on this spot. Each moment I expect
His wish'd approach.
El. Go home; return, for shame!
Nor madly draw destruction on thy head.
Thy doting father, when thy shepherd's coat,
Drench'd in thy blood, is brought him, will lument,
And rend his furrow'd cheek and silver hair,
As if some mighty loss had touch'd his age;
And mourn, e'en as the partial patriarch mourn'd
When Joseph's bloody garment he receiv'd
From his less dear, not less deserving, sons.
But whence this glitt'ring ornament which hangs
Useless upon thy thigh?
Dav. 'Tis the king's gift.
But thou art right; it suits not me, my brother!
Nor sword I mean to use, nor spear to polse,
Lest men should say I put my trust in arms,
Not in the Lord of hosts.
El. Then thou indeed
Art bent to seek thy death?
Dav. And what is death?
Is it so terrible to die, my brother?
Or grant it terrible, is it for that
The less inevitable? If, indeed,
We could by stratagem elude the blow,
When some high duty calls us forth to die,
And thus for ever shun it, and escape
The universal lot, — then fond self-love,
Then cautious prudence, holdly might produce
Their fine-spun arguments, their learn'd harangues,
Their cobweb arts, their phrase sophistical,
Their subtile doubts, and all the specious tricks
Of selfish cunning labouring for its end.
But since, howe'er protracted, death will come,
Why fondly study, with ingenious pains,
To put it off? — To breathe a little longer
Is to defer our fate, but not to shun it.
Small gain! which wisdom, with indifferent eye,
Beholds. Why wish to drink the bitter dregs
Of life's exhausted chalice, whose last runnings,
E'en at the best, are vapid! Why not die
(If heaven so will) in manhood's op'ning bloom,
When all the flush of life is gay about us;
When sprightly youth, with many a new-born joy.
Solicits every sense! so may we then
Present a sacrifice, unmeet indeed,
(Ah, how unmeet!) but less unworthy far,
Than the world's leavings; than a worn-out heart,
By vice enfeebled, and by vain desires
Sunk and exhausted!
El. Hark! I hear a sound
Of multitudes approaching!
Dav. 'Tis the giant!
I see him not, but hear his measured pace.
El. Look, where his pond'rous shield is borne before him!
Dav. Like a broad moon its ample disk protends.
But soft! — what unknown prodigy appears?
A moving mountain cased in polished brass!
El. ( getting behind D AVID )
How's this? thou dost not tremble. Thy firm joints
Betray no fear; thy accents are not broken;
Thy cheek retains its red; thine eye its lustre!
He comes more near! Dost thou not fear him now?
Dav. No.
The vast colossal statue nor inspires
Respect nor fear. Mere magnitude of form,
Without proportion'd intellect and valour,
Strikes not my soul with reverence or with awe.
El. Near, and more near, he comes! I hold it rash
To stay so near him, and expose a life
Which may hereafter serve the state. Farewell.
Gol. Where is the mighty man of war, who dares
Accept the challenge of Philistia's chief?
What victor king, what gen'ral drench'd in blood,
Claims this high privilege? What are his rights?
What proud crudentials does the bonster bring
To prove his claim? What cities laid in ashes?
What ruin'd provinces? What slaughter'd realms?
What heads of heroes and what hearts of king,
In battle kill'd, or at his altars slain,
Has he to boast? Is his bright armoury
Thick set with spears, and swords, and coats of mail
Of vanquish'd nations by his single arm
Subdued? Where is the mortal man so bold,
So much a wretch, so out of love with life,
To dare the weight of this uplifted spear,
Which never fell innoxious? Yet I swear,
I grudge the glory to his parting soul
To fall by this right hand. 'Twill sweeten death,
To know he had the honour to contend
With the dread son of Anak. Latest time
From blank oblivion shall retrieve his name
Who dar'd to perish in unequal fight
With Gath's triumphant champion. Come, advance.
Philistia's gods to Israel's. Sound, my herald —
Sound for the battle straight.
Dav. Behold thy'foe!
Gol. I see him not.
Dav. Behold him here!
Gol. Say, where?
Direct my sight. I do not war with boys.
Dav. I stand prepar'd; thy single arm to mine.
Gol. Why, this is mockery, minion! it may chance
To cost then dear. Sport not with things above thee!
But tell me who of all this numerous host
Expects his death from me? WhicHis the man
Whom Israel sends to meet my hold defiance?
Dav. The election of my sov'reign falls on me.
Gol. On thee! On thee! By Dagon, 'tis too much!
Thou curled minion! thou a nation's champion!
'Twould move my mirth at any other time;
But trilling's out of tune. Begone, light boy!
And tempt me not too far.
Dav. I do defy thee,
Thou foul idolater! Hast thou not scorn'd
The armies of the living God I serve?
By me he will avenge upon thy head
Thy nation's sins and thine. Arm'd with his name,
Unshrinking, I dare meet the stoutest foe
That ever bath'd his hostile spear in blood.
Gol. Indeed! 'tis wondrous well. Now, by my gods,
The stripling plays the orator! Vain boy!
Keep close to that same bloodless war of words,
And thou shalt still be safe. Tongue-valiant warrior!
Where is thy sylvan crook, with garlands hung,
Of idle field-flowers? Where thy wanton harp,
Thou dainty-finger'd hero? better strike
Its notes lascivious, or the lulling lute
Touch softly, than provoke the trumpet's rage.
I will not stain the honour of my spear
With thy inglorious blood. Shall that fair cheek
Be scarr'd with wounds unseemly? Rather go,
And hold fond dalliance with the Syrian maids;
To wanton measures dance, and let them braid
The bright luxuriance of thy golden hair;
They, for their lost Adonis, may mistake
Thy dainty form.
Dav. Pence, thou unhallow'd railer!
O tell it not in Gath, nor let the sound
Reach Askelon, how once your slaughter'd lords
By mighty Samson found one common grave:
When his broad shoulder the firm pillars heav'd,
And to its base the tott'ring fabric shook.
Gol. Insulting boy! perhaps thou hast not heard
The infamy of that inglorious day,
When your weak hosts at Ebenezer pitch'd
Their quick-abandon'd tents? Then, when your ark,
Your talisman, your charm, your boasted pledge
Of safety and success, was tamely last!
And yet not tamely, since by me 'twas won.
When with this good right arm I thinn'd your ranks,
And bravely crush'd, beneath a single blow,
The chosen guardians of this vaunted shrine,
Hophni and Phinehas. The fam'd ark itself
I bore to Ashdod.
Dav. I remember too,
Since thou provok'st th' unwelcome truth, how all
Your blushing priests beheld their idol's shame,
When prostrate Dagod fell before the ark,
And your frail god was shiver'd. Then Philistia,
Idolatrous Philistia, flew for succour,
To Israel's help, and all her smitten nobles
Confess'd the Lord was God; and the bless'd ark,
Gladly, with reverential awe restor'd.
Gol. By Ashdod's fame, thou liest. Now will I meet thee,
Thou insect warrior, since thou dar'st me thus!
Already I behold thy mangled limbs,
Discover'd each from each, ere long to feed
The fierce blood-snuffing vulture. Mark me well.
Around my spear I'll twist thy shining locks,
And tose in air thy hand all gash'd with wounds,
Thy lip yet quiv'ring with the dire convulsion
Of recent death! — Art thou not terrified?
Dav. No:
True courage is not mov'd by breath of words:
While the rash bravery of boiling blood,
Impetuous, knows no settled principle.
A fev'rish tide, it has its ebbs and flows,
As spirits rise or fall, as wine inflames,
Or circumstances change. But inborn courage,
The gen'rous child of furtitude and faith,
Holds its firm empire in the constant soul;
And, like the stedfast pole-star, never once
From the same fix'd and faithful point declines.
Gol. The curses of Philistia's gods be on thee!
This fine-drawn speecHis meant to lengthen out
That little life thy words pretend to scorn.
Dav. Ha! say'st thou so? Come on then. Mark us well.
Thou com'st to me with sword, and spear, and shield: —
In the dread name of Israel's God I come;
The living Lord of hosts, whom thou defiest!
Yet though no shield I bring, no arms except
These five smooth stones I gather'd from the brook,
With such a simple sling as shepherds use, —
Yet all expos'd, defenceless as I am,
The God I serve shall give then up a prey
To my victorious arm. This day I mean
To make th' uncircumcised tribes confess
There is a God in Israel. I will give thee,
Spite of thy vaunted strength and giant bulk,
To glut the carrion kites. Nor thee alone;
The mangled careases of your thick hosts
Shall spread the plains of Eiah, till Philistia,
Through all her trembling tents and flying bands,
Shall own that Judah's God is God indeed!
— I dare thee to the trial.
Gol. Follow me —
In this good spear I trust.
Dav. I trust in heaven!
The God of battle stimulates my arm,
And fires my soul with ardour not its own.