« AnteriorContinuar »
Solomon and the Bees
Reality When Solomon was reigning in his glory, Unto his throne the Queen of Sheba came(So in the Talmud you may read the story)
Drawn by the magic of the monarch's fame,
Nor this alone: much had her highness heard
What gems of wisdom dropped with every word:
What wholesome lessons he was wont to teach In pleasing proverbs; and she wished, in sooth, To know if Rumor spoke the simple truth.
Besides, the Queen had heard (which piqued her most)
How through the deepest riddles he could spy: How all the curious arts that women boast
Were quite transparent to his piercing eye;
And straight she held before the monarch's view,
The other, no less fair in every part,
"Which is the true, and which the false?" she said.
Great Solomon was silent. All amazed,
"Which is the true?" once more the woman asked,
Pleased at the fond amazement of the King;
But still the sage was silent; it was plain
While thus he pondered, presently he sees,
Hard by the casement-so the story goesA little band of busy bustling bees,
Hunting for honey in a withered rose.
The monarch smiled, and raised his royal head;
The window opened at the King's command;
Romance That wreath was Nature's; and the baffled Queen and Returned to tell the wonders she had seen. Reality
My story teaches (every tale should bear
Some useful lesson to enrich the mind-
The Burial of Moses
"And He buried him in a valley in the land of Moab, over against Beth-peor: but no man knoweth of his sepulchre unto this day."-Deut. xxxiv. 6.
By Nebo's lonely mountain,
On this side Jordan's wave,
For the angels of God upturn'd the sod,
That was the grandest funeral
That ever passed on earth;
Noiselessly as the daylight
Comes back when night is done,
And the crimson streak on ocean's cheek
Noiselessly as the spring-time
Her crown of verdure weaves,
Or voice of them that wept,
Perchance the bald old eagle,
On grey Beth-peor's height, Out of his lonely eyrie
Look'd on the wondrous sight; Perchance the lion stalking,
Still shuns that hallow'd spot,
For beast and bird have seen and heard
But when the warrior dieth,
His comrades in the war,
With arms reversed and muffled drum,
Follow his funeral car;
They show the banners taken,
They tell his battles won,
Romance and Reality
Romance And after him lead his masterless steed
While peals the minute gun.
Amid the noblest of the land
We lay the sage to rest,
And give the bard an honour'd place
With costly marble drest,
In the great minster transept
Where lights like glories fall
(And the organ rings, and the sweet choir sings) Along the emblazon'd wall.
This was the truest warrior
That ever breathed a word.
On the deathless page truths half so sage
As he wrote down for men.
And had he not high honour,
The hill-side for a pall,
To lie in state, while angels wait
With stars for tapers tall,
And the dark rock-pines, like tossing plumes,
Over his bier to wave,
And God's own hand in that lonely land
To lay him in the grave.