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IT IS THE HOUR.
It is the houR when from the boughs
Seem sweet in every whispered word;
Each flower the dews have lightly wet,
And in the sky the stars are met;
And on the wave is deeper blue,
And on the leaf a browner hue;
And in the Heaven that clear obscure,
That follows the decline of day
As twilight melts beneath the moon away.
SONG OF SAUL BEFORE HIS LAST
WARRIORS and Chiefs! should the shaft or the sword
Pierce me in leading the host of the Lord,
Heed not the corse, though a king's, in your path :
Bury your steel in the bosoms of Gath!
Thou who art bearing my buckler and bow,
Should the soldiers of Saul look away from the foe,
Stretch me that moment in blood at thy feet!
Mine be the doom which they dared not to meet.
Farewell to others, but never we part,
THOU whose spell can raise the dead, roz vda donE
Bid the prophet's form appear.
"Samuel, raise thy buried head!
King, behold the phantom seer!"
Earth yawn'd; he stood the centre of a cloud :
Light changed its hue, retiring from his shroud.
Death stood all glassy in his fixed eye;
His hand was withered, and his veins were dry;
Why is my sleep disquieted?
"Who is he that calls the dead? "Is it thou, Oh King? Behold "Bloodless are these limbs, and cold: "Such are mine: and such shall be "Thine, to-morrow, when with me: "Ere the coming day is done, "Such shalt thou be, such thy son. "Fare thee well, but for a day; "Then we mix our mouldering clay. "Thou, thy race, lie pale and low, "Pierced by shafts of many a bow; "And the falchion by thy side, "To thy heart, thy hand shall guide:
Crownless, breathless, headless fall, "Son and sire, the house of Saul!"