HAGAR IN THE WILDERNESS.
The morning broke. Light stole upon the cloudsWith a strange beauty. Earth received againIts garment of a thousand dies; and leaves,And delicate blossoms, and the painted flowers,And every thing that bendeth to the dew,And stirreth with the daylight, lifted upIts beauty to the breath of that sweet morn.All things are dark to sorrow; and the lightAnd loveliness, and fragrant air were sadTo the dejected Hagar. The moist earthWas pouring odors from its spicy pores,And the young birds were caroling as lifeWere a new thing to them; but oh! it cameUpon her heart like discord, and she feltHow cruelly it tries a broken heart,To see a mirth in any thing it loves.She stood at Abraham’s tent. Her lips were pressedTill the blood left them; and the wandering veinsOf her transparent forehead, were swelled out,As if her pride would burst them. Her dark eyeWas clear and tearless, and the light of heaven,Which made its language legible, shot backFrom her long lashes, as it had been flame.Her noble boy stood by her with his handClasped in her own, and his round, delicate feet,Scarce trained to balance on the tented floor,Sandaled for journeying. He had looked upInto his mother’s face until he caughtThe spirit there, and his young heart was swellingBeneath his snowy bosom, and his formStraightened up proudly in his tiny wrath,As if his light proportions would have swelled,Had they but matched his spirit, to the man.Why bends the patriarch as he cometh nowUpon his staff so wearily? His beardIs low upon his breast, and his high brow,So written with the converse of his God,Beareth the swollen vein of agony.His lip is quivering, and his wonted stepOf vigor is not there, and though the mornIs passing fair and beautiful, he breathesIts freshness as it were a pestilence.Oh! man may bear with suffering; his heartIs a strong thing, and godlike in the graspOf pain that wrings mortality; but tearOne cord affection clings to, part one tieThat binds him to a woman’s delicate love,And his great spirit yieldeth like a reed.He gave to her the water and the bread,But spoke no word, and trusted not himselfTo look upon her face, but laid his handIn silent blessing on the fair-haired boy,And left her to her lot of loneliness.Should Hagar weep? May slighted woman turn,And as a vine the oak hath shaken off,Bend lightly to her tendencies again?Oh no! by all her loveliness, by allThat makes life poetry and beauty, no!Make her a slave; steal from her rosy cheekBy needless jealousies; let the last starLeave her a watcher by your couch of pain;Wrong her by petulance, suspicion, allThat makes her cup a bitterness—yet giveOne evidence of love, and earth has notAn emblem of devotedness like hers.But oh! estrange her once, it boots not how,By wrong or silence, any thing that tellsA change has come upon your tenderness—And there is not a high thing out of heavenHer pride o’ermastereth not.She went her way with a strong step and slow;Her pressed lip arched, and her clear eye undimmed,As it had been a diamond, and her formBorne proudly up, as if her heart breathed through.Her child kept on in silence, though she pressedHis hand till it was pained; for he had caught,As I have said, her spirit, and the seedOf a stern nation had been breathed upon.The morning past, and Asia’s sun rode upIn the clear heaven, and every beam was heat.The cattle of the hills were in the shade,And the bright plumage of the Orient layOn beating bosoms in her spicy trees.It was an hour of rest; but Hagar foundNo shelter in the wilderness, and onShe kept her weary way, until the boyHung down his head, and opened his parched lipsFor water; but she could not give it him.She laid him down beneath the sultry sky;For it was better than the close, hot breathOf the thick pines, and tried to comfort him;But he was sore athirst, and his blue eyesWere dim and bloodshot, and he could not knowWhy God denied him water in the wild.She sat a little longer, and he grewGhastly and faint, as if he would have died.It was too much for her. She lifted himAnd bore him farther on, and laid his headBeneath the shadow of a desert shrub;And shrouding up her face she went away,And sat to watch, where he could see her not,Till he should die—and watching him she mourned:—‘God stay thee in thine agony, my boy!I cannot see thee die; I cannot brookUpon thy brow to look,And see death settle on my cradle joy.How have I drunk the light of thy blue eye!And could I see thee die?‘I did not dream of this when thou wast straying,Like an unbound gazelle, among the flowers;Or wearing rosy hours,By the rich gush of water-sources playing,Then sinking weary to thy smiling sleep,So beautiful and deep.‘Oh no! and when I watched by thee the while,And saw thy bright lip curling in thy dream,And thought of the dark streamIn my own land of Egypt, the deep Nile,How prayed I that my fathers’ land might beAn heritage for thee!‘And now the grave for its cold breast hath won thee,And thy white, delicate limbs the earth will press;And oh! my last caressMust feel thee cold, for a chill hand is on thee.How can I leave my boy, so pillowed thereUpon his clustering hair!’She stood beside the well her God had givenTo gush in that deep wilderness, and bathedThe forehead of her child until he laughedIn his reviving happiness, and lispedHis infant thought of gladness at the sightOf the cool plashing of his mother’s hand.
The morning broke. Light stole upon the cloudsWith a strange beauty. Earth received againIts garment of a thousand dies; and leaves,And delicate blossoms, and the painted flowers,And every thing that bendeth to the dew,And stirreth with the daylight, lifted upIts beauty to the breath of that sweet morn.All things are dark to sorrow; and the lightAnd loveliness, and fragrant air were sadTo the dejected Hagar. The moist earthWas pouring odors from its spicy pores,And the young birds were caroling as lifeWere a new thing to them; but oh! it cameUpon her heart like discord, and she feltHow cruelly it tries a broken heart,To see a mirth in any thing it loves.She stood at Abraham’s tent. Her lips were pressedTill the blood left them; and the wandering veinsOf her transparent forehead, were swelled out,As if her pride would burst them. Her dark eyeWas clear and tearless, and the light of heaven,Which made its language legible, shot backFrom her long lashes, as it had been flame.Her noble boy stood by her with his handClasped in her own, and his round, delicate feet,Scarce trained to balance on the tented floor,Sandaled for journeying. He had looked upInto his mother’s face until he caughtThe spirit there, and his young heart was swellingBeneath his snowy bosom, and his formStraightened up proudly in his tiny wrath,As if his light proportions would have swelled,Had they but matched his spirit, to the man.Why bends the patriarch as he cometh nowUpon his staff so wearily? His beardIs low upon his breast, and his high brow,So written with the converse of his God,Beareth the swollen vein of agony.His lip is quivering, and his wonted stepOf vigor is not there, and though the mornIs passing fair and beautiful, he breathesIts freshness as it were a pestilence.Oh! man may bear with suffering; his heartIs a strong thing, and godlike in the graspOf pain that wrings mortality; but tearOne cord affection clings to, part one tieThat binds him to a woman’s delicate love,And his great spirit yieldeth like a reed.He gave to her the water and the bread,But spoke no word, and trusted not himselfTo look upon her face, but laid his handIn silent blessing on the fair-haired boy,And left her to her lot of loneliness.Should Hagar weep? May slighted woman turn,And as a vine the oak hath shaken off,Bend lightly to her tendencies again?Oh no! by all her loveliness, by allThat makes life poetry and beauty, no!Make her a slave; steal from her rosy cheekBy needless jealousies; let the last starLeave her a watcher by your couch of pain;Wrong her by petulance, suspicion, allThat makes her cup a bitterness—yet giveOne evidence of love, and earth has notAn emblem of devotedness like hers.But oh! estrange her once, it boots not how,By wrong or silence, any thing that tellsA change has come upon your tenderness—And there is not a high thing out of heavenHer pride o’ermastereth not.She went her way with a strong step and slow;Her pressed lip arched, and her clear eye undimmed,As it had been a diamond, and her formBorne proudly up, as if her heart breathed through.Her child kept on in silence, though she pressedHis hand till it was pained; for he had caught,As I have said, her spirit, and the seedOf a stern nation had been breathed upon.The morning past, and Asia’s sun rode upIn the clear heaven, and every beam was heat.The cattle of the hills were in the shade,And the bright plumage of the Orient layOn beating bosoms in her spicy trees.It was an hour of rest; but Hagar foundNo shelter in the wilderness, and onShe kept her weary way, until the boyHung down his head, and opened his parched lipsFor water; but she could not give it him.She laid him down beneath the sultry sky;For it was better than the close, hot breathOf the thick pines, and tried to comfort him;But he was sore athirst, and his blue eyesWere dim and bloodshot, and he could not knowWhy God denied him water in the wild.She sat a little longer, and he grewGhastly and faint, as if he would have died.It was too much for her. She lifted himAnd bore him farther on, and laid his headBeneath the shadow of a desert shrub;And shrouding up her face she went away,And sat to watch, where he could see her not,Till he should die—and watching him she mourned:—‘God stay thee in thine agony, my boy!I cannot see thee die; I cannot brookUpon thy brow to look,And see death settle on my cradle joy.How have I drunk the light of thy blue eye!And could I see thee die?‘I did not dream of this when thou wast straying,Like an unbound gazelle, among the flowers;Or wearing rosy hours,By the rich gush of water-sources playing,Then sinking weary to thy smiling sleep,So beautiful and deep.‘Oh no! and when I watched by thee the while,And saw thy bright lip curling in thy dream,And thought of the dark streamIn my own land of Egypt, the deep Nile,How prayed I that my fathers’ land might beAn heritage for thee!‘And now the grave for its cold breast hath won thee,And thy white, delicate limbs the earth will press;And oh! my last caressMust feel thee cold, for a chill hand is on thee.How can I leave my boy, so pillowed thereUpon his clustering hair!’She stood beside the well her God had givenTo gush in that deep wilderness, and bathedThe forehead of her child until he laughedIn his reviving happiness, and lispedHis infant thought of gladness at the sightOf the cool plashing of his mother’s hand.
The morning broke. Light stole upon the cloudsWith a strange beauty. Earth received againIts garment of a thousand dies; and leaves,And delicate blossoms, and the painted flowers,And every thing that bendeth to the dew,And stirreth with the daylight, lifted upIts beauty to the breath of that sweet morn.
The morning broke. Light stole upon the clouds
With a strange beauty. Earth received again
Its garment of a thousand dies; and leaves,
And delicate blossoms, and the painted flowers,
And every thing that bendeth to the dew,
And stirreth with the daylight, lifted up
Its beauty to the breath of that sweet morn.
All things are dark to sorrow; and the lightAnd loveliness, and fragrant air were sadTo the dejected Hagar. The moist earthWas pouring odors from its spicy pores,And the young birds were caroling as lifeWere a new thing to them; but oh! it cameUpon her heart like discord, and she feltHow cruelly it tries a broken heart,To see a mirth in any thing it loves.She stood at Abraham’s tent. Her lips were pressedTill the blood left them; and the wandering veinsOf her transparent forehead, were swelled out,As if her pride would burst them. Her dark eyeWas clear and tearless, and the light of heaven,Which made its language legible, shot backFrom her long lashes, as it had been flame.Her noble boy stood by her with his handClasped in her own, and his round, delicate feet,Scarce trained to balance on the tented floor,Sandaled for journeying. He had looked upInto his mother’s face until he caughtThe spirit there, and his young heart was swellingBeneath his snowy bosom, and his formStraightened up proudly in his tiny wrath,As if his light proportions would have swelled,Had they but matched his spirit, to the man.
All things are dark to sorrow; and the light
And loveliness, and fragrant air were sad
To the dejected Hagar. The moist earth
Was pouring odors from its spicy pores,
And the young birds were caroling as life
Were a new thing to them; but oh! it came
Upon her heart like discord, and she felt
How cruelly it tries a broken heart,
To see a mirth in any thing it loves.
She stood at Abraham’s tent. Her lips were pressed
Till the blood left them; and the wandering veins
Of her transparent forehead, were swelled out,
As if her pride would burst them. Her dark eye
Was clear and tearless, and the light of heaven,
Which made its language legible, shot back
From her long lashes, as it had been flame.
Her noble boy stood by her with his hand
Clasped in her own, and his round, delicate feet,
Scarce trained to balance on the tented floor,
Sandaled for journeying. He had looked up
Into his mother’s face until he caught
The spirit there, and his young heart was swelling
Beneath his snowy bosom, and his form
Straightened up proudly in his tiny wrath,
As if his light proportions would have swelled,
Had they but matched his spirit, to the man.
Why bends the patriarch as he cometh nowUpon his staff so wearily? His beardIs low upon his breast, and his high brow,So written with the converse of his God,Beareth the swollen vein of agony.His lip is quivering, and his wonted stepOf vigor is not there, and though the mornIs passing fair and beautiful, he breathesIts freshness as it were a pestilence.Oh! man may bear with suffering; his heartIs a strong thing, and godlike in the graspOf pain that wrings mortality; but tearOne cord affection clings to, part one tieThat binds him to a woman’s delicate love,And his great spirit yieldeth like a reed.
Why bends the patriarch as he cometh now
Upon his staff so wearily? His beard
Is low upon his breast, and his high brow,
So written with the converse of his God,
Beareth the swollen vein of agony.
His lip is quivering, and his wonted step
Of vigor is not there, and though the morn
Is passing fair and beautiful, he breathes
Its freshness as it were a pestilence.
Oh! man may bear with suffering; his heart
Is a strong thing, and godlike in the grasp
Of pain that wrings mortality; but tear
One cord affection clings to, part one tie
That binds him to a woman’s delicate love,
And his great spirit yieldeth like a reed.
He gave to her the water and the bread,But spoke no word, and trusted not himselfTo look upon her face, but laid his handIn silent blessing on the fair-haired boy,And left her to her lot of loneliness.
He gave to her the water and the bread,
But spoke no word, and trusted not himself
To look upon her face, but laid his hand
In silent blessing on the fair-haired boy,
And left her to her lot of loneliness.
Should Hagar weep? May slighted woman turn,And as a vine the oak hath shaken off,Bend lightly to her tendencies again?Oh no! by all her loveliness, by allThat makes life poetry and beauty, no!Make her a slave; steal from her rosy cheekBy needless jealousies; let the last starLeave her a watcher by your couch of pain;Wrong her by petulance, suspicion, allThat makes her cup a bitterness—yet giveOne evidence of love, and earth has notAn emblem of devotedness like hers.But oh! estrange her once, it boots not how,By wrong or silence, any thing that tellsA change has come upon your tenderness—And there is not a high thing out of heavenHer pride o’ermastereth not.
Should Hagar weep? May slighted woman turn,
And as a vine the oak hath shaken off,
Bend lightly to her tendencies again?
Oh no! by all her loveliness, by all
That makes life poetry and beauty, no!
Make her a slave; steal from her rosy cheek
By needless jealousies; let the last star
Leave her a watcher by your couch of pain;
Wrong her by petulance, suspicion, all
That makes her cup a bitterness—yet give
One evidence of love, and earth has not
An emblem of devotedness like hers.
But oh! estrange her once, it boots not how,
By wrong or silence, any thing that tells
A change has come upon your tenderness—
And there is not a high thing out of heaven
Her pride o’ermastereth not.
She went her way with a strong step and slow;Her pressed lip arched, and her clear eye undimmed,As it had been a diamond, and her formBorne proudly up, as if her heart breathed through.Her child kept on in silence, though she pressedHis hand till it was pained; for he had caught,As I have said, her spirit, and the seedOf a stern nation had been breathed upon.
She went her way with a strong step and slow;
Her pressed lip arched, and her clear eye undimmed,
As it had been a diamond, and her form
Borne proudly up, as if her heart breathed through.
Her child kept on in silence, though she pressed
His hand till it was pained; for he had caught,
As I have said, her spirit, and the seed
Of a stern nation had been breathed upon.
The morning past, and Asia’s sun rode upIn the clear heaven, and every beam was heat.The cattle of the hills were in the shade,And the bright plumage of the Orient layOn beating bosoms in her spicy trees.It was an hour of rest; but Hagar foundNo shelter in the wilderness, and onShe kept her weary way, until the boyHung down his head, and opened his parched lipsFor water; but she could not give it him.She laid him down beneath the sultry sky;For it was better than the close, hot breathOf the thick pines, and tried to comfort him;But he was sore athirst, and his blue eyesWere dim and bloodshot, and he could not knowWhy God denied him water in the wild.She sat a little longer, and he grewGhastly and faint, as if he would have died.It was too much for her. She lifted himAnd bore him farther on, and laid his headBeneath the shadow of a desert shrub;And shrouding up her face she went away,And sat to watch, where he could see her not,Till he should die—and watching him she mourned:—
The morning past, and Asia’s sun rode up
In the clear heaven, and every beam was heat.
The cattle of the hills were in the shade,
And the bright plumage of the Orient lay
On beating bosoms in her spicy trees.
It was an hour of rest; but Hagar found
No shelter in the wilderness, and on
She kept her weary way, until the boy
Hung down his head, and opened his parched lips
For water; but she could not give it him.
She laid him down beneath the sultry sky;
For it was better than the close, hot breath
Of the thick pines, and tried to comfort him;
But he was sore athirst, and his blue eyes
Were dim and bloodshot, and he could not know
Why God denied him water in the wild.
She sat a little longer, and he grew
Ghastly and faint, as if he would have died.
It was too much for her. She lifted him
And bore him farther on, and laid his head
Beneath the shadow of a desert shrub;
And shrouding up her face she went away,
And sat to watch, where he could see her not,
Till he should die—and watching him she mourned:—
‘God stay thee in thine agony, my boy!I cannot see thee die; I cannot brookUpon thy brow to look,And see death settle on my cradle joy.How have I drunk the light of thy blue eye!And could I see thee die?
‘God stay thee in thine agony, my boy!
I cannot see thee die; I cannot brook
Upon thy brow to look,
And see death settle on my cradle joy.
How have I drunk the light of thy blue eye!
And could I see thee die?
‘I did not dream of this when thou wast straying,Like an unbound gazelle, among the flowers;Or wearing rosy hours,By the rich gush of water-sources playing,Then sinking weary to thy smiling sleep,So beautiful and deep.
‘I did not dream of this when thou wast straying,
Like an unbound gazelle, among the flowers;
Or wearing rosy hours,
By the rich gush of water-sources playing,
Then sinking weary to thy smiling sleep,
So beautiful and deep.
‘Oh no! and when I watched by thee the while,And saw thy bright lip curling in thy dream,And thought of the dark streamIn my own land of Egypt, the deep Nile,How prayed I that my fathers’ land might beAn heritage for thee!
‘Oh no! and when I watched by thee the while,
And saw thy bright lip curling in thy dream,
And thought of the dark stream
In my own land of Egypt, the deep Nile,
How prayed I that my fathers’ land might be
An heritage for thee!
‘And now the grave for its cold breast hath won thee,And thy white, delicate limbs the earth will press;And oh! my last caressMust feel thee cold, for a chill hand is on thee.How can I leave my boy, so pillowed thereUpon his clustering hair!’
‘And now the grave for its cold breast hath won thee,
And thy white, delicate limbs the earth will press;
And oh! my last caress
Must feel thee cold, for a chill hand is on thee.
How can I leave my boy, so pillowed there
Upon his clustering hair!’
She stood beside the well her God had givenTo gush in that deep wilderness, and bathedThe forehead of her child until he laughedIn his reviving happiness, and lispedHis infant thought of gladness at the sightOf the cool plashing of his mother’s hand.
She stood beside the well her God had given
To gush in that deep wilderness, and bathed
The forehead of her child until he laughed
In his reviving happiness, and lisped
His infant thought of gladness at the sight
Of the cool plashing of his mother’s hand.