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of his breast when Hadad mentions the homage paid to Solomon by the envoys, and describes the workings of his father's face, when the old Chaldee lifted up his hands in wonder at the answers of the son of Bathsheba. Their conference is broken off by the appearance of Nathan. The seer, wondering that Hadad should always avoid him, exclaims,

Nath. Why doth that Syrian shun me? Always thus,
He, like a guilty thing, avoids my presence,
Where'er I find him,—and I find him ever
Closely conferring, whether in the streets,
Or gates, or chief resorts. If I appear,
His bright, mysterious eye, seems conscious of me,
And soon he vanishes. I touched him once-
He turned as he had felt a scorpion ; fear
And loathing glared from his enkindled orbs,
And paleness overspread his face, like one
Who smothers mortal pain. Fierce, subtle, dark,
Designing and inscrutable, he walks

Among us like an evil angel.”
We are reminded here of the touch of Ithuriel's spear, in
Milton, which causes Satan to assume his real shape, when
he sat near Eve in the shape of a toad.

The second scene represents King David and the seer conferring about the proposal of Hadad for the hand of Tamar. The prophet dissuades the marriage, for reasons which approve both his piety and his statesmanship; but, when the king is so blinded to the character of his son, that the prudence of man is insufficient to produce conviction, heaven itself interposes, and the spirit of prophecy rests upon the seer. The king is ready to submit to the will of heaven, but, in the unsuspecting nature of a father and an old soldier, is slow to entertain distrust. The hour of sacrifice having arrived, breaks off the conference; and the prophet gives him his blessing and retires.

K. David. Hath she escaped Syria's foul rites, to yield,
Even in the precincts of the sanctuary,
To an uncircumcised, the heart where faith
Glowed like the burning censer! O, beware
Of crafty policy! It wears a face
Too like ambition. Geshur cleaves to him ;

League but Damascus,—with his power in Israel,-
And Absalom may bend his father's bow.”

Nath. You know not what you utter.
Woe to the hour of his anointing !-King !
A dreadful vintage shall be trod that day,
With purple garinents! Lo! the noise of arms,
Chariots, and horsemen, and the shout of nations,
Are in my ears !—the wail of Zion !-Hark!
A cry, a cry, comes from her royal towers,
Of bitter anguish, like a monarch's voice !
My son! my People! Woe, Alas !

K. Darid. What! hath he not, since fourteen summers old, Served with me in the field, slept in my tent, Hungered and suffered, watched and toiled with me; Shed his young blood by veteran captains' sides, And wielded those bright weapons you dispraise Like a true son and a soldier ?" The third scene introduces us to Tamar, in the garden, by the side of a fountain. She sits musing, while her pure thoughts go up to heaven, like the exhalations of the flowers around her, until she is aroused from her reverie, by the sad strains of music, which always prelude the coming of her lover. Their first interview is so beautiful, that we extract it.

Tamar. How aromatic evening grows! the flowers
And spicy shrubs exhale like onycha ;
Spikenard and henna emulate in sweets.
Blest hour! which He who fashioned it so fair,
So softly glowing, so contemplative,
Hath set and sanctified to look on man.
And lo! the smoke of evening sacrifice
Ascends from out the tabernacle. Heaven,
Accept the expiation, and forgive
This days offences ! Ha! the wonted strain,
Precursor of his coming! Whence can this
It seems to flow from some unearthly hand.

Enter Hadad.

Had. Does beauteous Tamar view, in this clear fount,
Herself or heaven?

Tam. Nay, Hadad, tell me whence
Those sad mysterious sounds.
Had. What sounds, dear Princess ?
Tam. Surely thou knowest ; and now I almost think
Some spiritual creature waits on thee.
Had. I heard no sounds, but such as evening sends
Up from the city, to these quiet shades ;
A blended murmur, sweetly harmonizing
With flowing fountains, feathered minstrels,
And voices from the hills.
Tam. The sounds I inean
Floated like mournful music round my head,
From unseen fingers.
Had. When ?
Tam. Now, as thou camest.
Had. 'Tis but thy fancy, wrought
To ecstasy; or else thy grandsire's harp,
Resounding from his tower at eventide.
I've lingered to enjoy its solemn tones,
Till the broad moon, that rose o'er Olivet,
Stood listening in the zeinth ; yea, have deemed
Viols and heavenly voices answered him.”

The conversation proceeds, and Hadad endeavors to shake her faith by the most artful insinuations. Under the disguise of a compliment, in which he would regard her as the favorite of a naiad, he makes his introduction to a comparison between the Syrian and Jewish theology and worship. Trusting to the tender sympathies of the female heart, he indirectly impugns the benevolence of God, in permitting the introduction of evil ; openly assails his punishment of man at the fall and the deluge, as unreasonable; and endeavours to awaken emotions of horror, by contrasting the bloody sacrifices of the temple with the fruits and flowers of the Syrian shrine.

Had. Were we in Syria, I might say
The Naiad of the fount, or some sweet nymph,
The goddess of these shades, rejoiced in thee,
And gave thee salutations ; but I fear
Judah would call me infidel to Moses.

Had. Delicious to behold the world at rest,
Meek labor wipes his brow, and intermits
The curse, to clasp the younglings of his cot ;
Herdsmen and shepherds fold their flocks, and, hark,
What merry strains they send from Olivet!
The jar of life is still; the city speaks
In gentle murmurs ; voices chime with lutes
Waked in the streets and gardens ; loving pairs
Eye the red west in one another's arms;
And nature, breathing dew and fragrance, yields
A glimpse of happiness, which He, who formed
Earth and the stars, had power to make eternal.
Tam. Ah Hadad, meanest thou to reproach the Friend
Who gave so much, because he gave not all ?
Had. Is this benevolence ?
Nay, loveliest, these things sometimes trouble me ;
For I was tutored in a brighter faith.
Our Syrians deem each lucid fount and stream,
Forest and mountain, glade and bosky dell,
Peopled with kind divinities, the friends
Of man, a spiritual race, allied
To him by many sympathies, who seek
His happiness, inspire him with gay thoughts,
Cool with their waves, and fan him with their airs.
O’er them the Spirit of the Universe,
Or Soul of Nature, circumfuses all
With mild, benevolent, and sunlike radiance ;
Pervading, warming, vivifying earth,
As spirit does the body, till green herbs,
And beauteous flowers, and branchy cedars rise ;
And shooting stellar influence through her caves,
Whence minerals and gems imbibe their lustre.
Tam. Dreams, Hadad, empty dreams.
Had. These deities,
They invocate with cheerful, gentle rites,
Hang garlands on their altars, heap their shrines
With nature's bounties, fruits and fragrant flowers.
Not like yon gory mount that ever reeks
Tam. Cast not reproach upon the holy altar.
Had. I meant not to displease, love ; but my

soul Revolts, because I think thy gentle nature Shudders at him and yonder bloody rites.

How dreadful! when the world awakes to light, And life and gladness, and the jocund tide Bounds in the veins of every happy creature, Morning is ushered by a murdered victim, Whose wasting members reek upon the air, Polluting the pure firmament; the shades Of evening scent of death ; almost the shrine Itself, o'ershadowed by the Cherubim ; And where the clotted current from the altar Mixes with Kedron, all its waves are gore. Nay, nay, I grieve thee ; 'tis not for myself, But that I fear these gloomy things oppress Thy soul, and cloud its native sunshine.” Tamar, often wounded at his impiety, had reproved it, at once, with sorrow and with indignation. She now finds all her anticipations of winning him over to the faith of Israel vain ; and that she had leaned her young heart upon a reed, which breaks but to pierce her inmost soul. Yet, she holds fast her integrity, and asserts her determination never to wed him, till he acknowledges the God of her fathers. Her passionate exclamations, at the close of his remarks on the sacrifice, show the triumphs of religion over the power of mere earthly affection. Hadad, moved by fear of losing her, owns her God, in language which calls to mind the language of the apostle, “the devils believe, and tremble."

Tam. (in tears, clasping her hands.)
Witness, ye Heavens ! Eternal Father, witness !
Blest God of Jacob! Maker ! Friend ! Preserver !
That with my heart, my undivided soul,
I love, adore, and praise thy glorious name,
Confess thee Lord of all, believe thy laws
Wise, just and merciful, as they are true.
O, Hadad, Hadad ! you misconstrue much
The sadness that usurps me ; 'tis for thee
I grieve,--for hopes that fade-for your lost soul
And my lost happiness.
Had. O say not so,
Beloved Princess! Why distrust my faith?
Tam. Thou knowest, alas, my weakness; but remember
I never, never will be thine, although
The feast, the blessing and the song were past ;
VOL. I.-NO. 1.


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