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Disquiet but if, haply heard, the breeze
Bring from the distant mountain low of kine,
With pipe of shepherd leading on his flock
To fold; oh then, on his remembrance rush
Those days so sweet; that roof, beneath the rock,
Which cradled him when sweeping snow-storms burst;
And those within, the peaceful household hearth,
With all its innocent pleasures. Him, far off,
Regret consumes, and inly-wasting grief,
That knows no solace, till in life's last hour,
When, o'er his gaze, in trance of bliss, once more
Helvetia and her piny summits float.'”

"Mr Sotheby's description of the approach of Saul and his guards to the camp of the twelve tribes is magnificent."

"Hark! hark! the clash and clang
Of shaken cymbals cadencing the pace
Of martial movement regular: the swell
Sonorous of the brazen trump of war;
Shrill twang of harps, sooth'd by melodious chime
Of beat on silver bars; and sweet, in pause
Of harsher instrument, continuous flow

Of breath, through flutes, in symphony with song,
Choirs, whose match'd voices fill'd the air afar
With jubilee, and chant of triumph hymn:

And ever and anon irregular burst

Of loudest acclamation, to each host

Saul's stately advance proclaim'd. Before him, youths
In robes succinct for swiftness: oft they struck
Their staves against the ground, and warn'd the throng
Backward to distant homage. Next, his strength
Of chariots roll'd with each an armed band;
Earth groan'd afar beneath their iron wheels:
Part arm'd with scythe for battle, part adorn'd

For triumph. Nor there wanting a led train
Of steeds in rich caparison, for show
Of solemn entry. Round about the king,
Warriors, his watch and ward, from every tribe
Drawn out. Of these a thousand each selects,
Of size and comeliness above their peers,
Pride of their race. Radiant their armour: some
In silver cased, scale over scale, that play'd
All pliant to the litheness of the limb;
Some mail'd in twisted gold, link within link
Flexibly ring'd and fitted, that the eye
Beneath the yielding panoply pursued,
When act of war the strength of man provoked,
The motion of the muscles, as they work'd
In rise and fall. On each left thigh a sword
Swung in the broider'd baldric: each right hand
Grasp'd a long shadowing spear. Like them, their chiefs

Array'd; save on their shields of solid ore,

And on their helm, the graver's toil had wrought

Its subtlety in rich device of war:

And o'er their mail, a robe, Punicean dye,
Gracefully play'd; where the wing'd shuttle, shot
By cunning of Sidonian virgins, wove
Broidure of many-coloured figures rare.

Bright glow'd the sun, and bright the burnish'd mail
Of thousands ranged, whose pace to song kept time;
And bright the glare of spears, and gleam of crests,
And flaunt of banners flashing to and fro
The noon-day beam. Beneath their coming, earth
Wide glitter'd. Seen afar, amidst the pomp,
Gorgeously mail'd, but more by pride of port
Known, and superior stature, than rich trim
Of war and regal ornament, the king,
Throned in triumphal car, with trophies graced,
Stood eminent. The lifting of his lance
Shone like a sunbeam. O'er his armour flow'd

A robe, imperial mantle, thickly starr'd

With blaze of orient gems; the clasp, that bound
Its gather'd folds his ample chest athwart,
Sapphire; and o'er his casque, where rubies burnt,
A cherub flamed, and waved his wings in gold."

"The song of the virgins is also written with spirit and elegance.”


Daughters of Israel! praise the Lord of Hosts!
Break into song! with harp and tabret lift
Your voices up, and weave with joy the dance:
And to your twinkling footsteps toss aloft
Your arms; and from the flash of cymbals shake
Sweet clangor, measuring the giddy maze.

Shout ye! and ye! make answer, Saul hath slain
His thousands; David his ten thousands slain.

Sing a new song. I saw them in their rage, I saw the gleam of spears, the flash of swords, That rang against our gates. The warder's watch Ceased not. Tower answer'd tower: a warning voice Was heard without; the cry of wo within! The shriek of virgins, and the wail of her, The mother, in her anguish, who fore-wept, Wept at the breast her babe, as now no more.

Shout ye! and ye! make answer, Saul hath slain His thousands; David his ten thousands slain.

Sing a new song. Spake not th' insulting foe? I will pursue, o'ertake, divide the spoil. My hand shall dash their infants on the stones: The ploughshare of my vengeance shall draw out The furrow, where the tower and fortress rose. Before my chariot Israel's chiefs shall clank Their chains. Each side, their virgin daughters groan ; Erewhile to weave my conquest on their looms.

Shout ye! and ye! make answer, Saul hath slain His thousands; David his ten thousands slain.

Thou heard'st, O God of battle! Thou, whose look Knappeth the spear in sunder. In thy strength A youth, thy chosen, laid their champion low. Saul, Saul pursues, o'ertakes, divides the spoil; Wreaths round our necks these chains of gold, and robes Our limbs with floating crimson. Then rejoice, Daughters of Israel! from your cymbals shake Sweet clangor, hymning God, the Lord of Hosts!

Ye! shout! and ye! make answer, Saul hath slain His thousands; David his ten thousands slain.

Such the hymn'd harmony, from voices breath'd
Of virgin-minstrels, of each tribe the prime
For beauty, and fine form, and artful touch
Of instrument, and skill in dance and song;
Choir answering choir, that on to Gibeah led
The victors back in triumph. On each neck
Play'd chains of gold; and, shadowing their charms
With colour like the blushes of the morn,
Robes, gift of Saul, round their light limbs, in toss
Of cymbals, and the many-mazed dance,

Floated like roseate clouds. Thus these came on
In dance and song: then multitudes that swell'd
The pomp of triumph, and in circles ranged
Around the altar of Jehovah, brought
Freely their offerings; and with one accord

Sang, Glory, and praise, and worship, unto God.'
Loud rang the exultation. 'Twas the voice
Of a free people, from impending chains
Redeem'd: a people proud, whose bosom beat
With fire of glory and renown in arms,
Triumphant. Loud the exultation rang.

There, many a wife, whose ardent gaze from far
Singled the warrior, whose glad eye gave back
Her look of love. There, many a grandsire held
A blooming boy aloft, and midst th' array

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In triumph, pointing with his staff, exclaim'd,
Lo, my brave son! I now may die in peace.'
There, many a beauteous virgin, blushing deep,
Flung back her veil, and, as the warrior came,
Hail'd her betroth'd. But chiefly on one alone
All dwelt."



"I WISH," said Egeria, one evening after Benedict
had come home to their chambers in the Paper
Buildings, from his nightly potched egg and pint of
Burton at Offley's, "that some judicious editor
would compile a volume of striking passages from
the different numerous publications which we have
recently had respecting Africa. It is impossible to
read them all;-indeed it would be a task like that
of crossing the deserts to attempt it, so many pages
are filled with arid and uninteresting details; and
yet I am not aware of any class of books which con-
tain more new and curious matter concerning man,
than the works of the African travellers. This
evening I have been looking over Burckhardt's
Travels in Nubia, which, though far from being an
entertaining performance, would, nevertheless, fur-
nish several agreeable and impressive sketches.-
Take, for example, his account of the distress of
thirst in a caravan."

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