Romance and 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 speech; 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, bowers; The other, no less fair in every part, "Which is the true, and which the false?" she said. Great Solomon was silent. All amazed, Each wondering courtier shook his puzzled head; For very rapture, ne'er would speak again. "Which is the true?" once more the woman asked, Pleased at the fond amazement of the King; "So wise a head should not be hardly tasked, Most learned Liege, with such a trivial thing!" But still the sage was silent; it was plain While thus he pondered, presently he sees, Hunting for honey in a withered rose. The window opened at the King's command; Romance and Reality 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, In a vale in the land of Moab And no man knows that sepulchre, And no man saw it e'er, 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 Grows into the great sun; Noiselessly as the spring-time Her crown of verdure weaves, Or voice of them that wept, Perchance the bald old eagle, Look'd on the wondrous sight; 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 and Reality 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. |