HADAD.

[1 Kings xi. 21.]

'WITH me what hast thou lackèd?' Pharaoh said, As Hadad stood before him with bowed head And folded hands and downcast eyes.

'Here hast thou had in Egypt goodly lands, Cornfields and pasture, and large servant bands, And all the heart of man should prize.

I have exalted thee next to the throne;
Of strangers thou art honoured, thou alone.

Thou hast to wife the sister of my queen,

Tahpnes. Thy word must all attend; Obsequious crowds must in thy presence bend;

Thy vesture flashes with the jewels' sheen; Thy chests are stored with gold; a goodly pile Thy new white palace, mirrored in the Nile,

With glittering courts and stately towers,

C

And colonnades above the sacred stream,

Which washes past them with a golden gleam,

Watering thy gardens sweet with flowers.

What hast thou lacked, that thou wouldst fare away?'
'Nothing,' he answered; 'yet let me go, I pray.
Thou hast been good to me, ay, passing kind;
Yet, with enough to satisfy the mind,

The heart is empty. Let me go!'

'What! hast thou not a dearly treasured wife, Whose love is poured into thy cup of life,

To fill thy heart to overflow,

Whose white arms lace thee to a faithful breast?

In a true woman's love is perfect rest.'

'No, Sire!' said Hadad sadly, 'no!'

'What hast thou lackèd?' once more asked the King.

Then Hadad slowly raised his head.

'Nothing :

Sire! many years ago, a feeble child,
I was brought up in Edom's barren wild,
Upon a hill-side, underneath a tent.

Before were soft brown hills, a gravelly dell,
Seven stately palm-trees by a leaking well;

A torrent bed, the water spent.

I used to watch the morning sun arise
Over sharp mountain ridges, into skies

Bluer than turquoise in this ring;

And floods of glory down the valleys rolled,
Turning the seven palms into palms of gold,
And gilding birds on passing wing.

I heard the rock-doves calling with soft coo
Among the fragments where the wild pinks grew,
And avens scrambled sunny-eyed.

I saw the jackal skulking to his lair,
And from the dewy herb upstart the hare,

And lizards from their hollows glide;

And where white rocket to the cliffs would cling,
Danced sulphur butterflies on flickering wing.
I watched the lively cricket leap,

And with the burnished beetle I would play,
Or climb the rocks for flowers-thus pass my day,
Or steal into the shade to sleep.

Sire! I must Edom see again once more;
This land is exile, and my heart is sore,

Thinking of Edom and the past.

As in my rustling silks my hall I pace,
I think not of its splendour, beauty, grace;
Nothing my heart will satisfy.

I value not my riches, nor the pride

Of rank and rule; I but half love my bride.

I must see Edom, or I die!

There lived my father and my mother'-his head, As he spoke, sank lower-' but they are dead. O'er Edom Joab's fury rolled;

He swept our pleasant land with sword and flame, Carried our sisters off to toil and shame,

As slaves our little brothers sold.

The land was purpled with our people's blood,
Their carcasses were cast as vultures' food.

I saw my aged father fall.

About him were my mother's sweet arms wound; She lay with him upon the trampled ground.

I spoke. She answered not my call!

There is a purple glen with shingle slides,
And mossy ledges where the gentian hides.
There, in a narrow rock-hewn cell,

I laid them, gently sleeping, side by side,
Alone, with arms entangled, as they died.

Years have gone by, and yet full well

I know the place where is their humble grave.
Above it, fragrant juniper bushes wave;

Below it is a bubbling well.

At night I hear the raven's doleful cry,

And, starting, wake, and turn upon my bed and sigh,

And think upon that lonely tomb.

I have no rest. I made that grave alone,

Trembling and hastily-ill-secured the stone.
And when the hyæna in the gloom

Snarleth, I fear- -.' Then his utterance failed.
And Pharaoh said, 'What thou hast now detailed
Should be forgotten; past recall

Are childish years. Those things are lost for e'er
That made to thee thy barren Edom dear.

There, thou hast nothing; here, hast all.'

"Something there is. Still is that mountain line,
The same birds and flowers; and the same lights shine
At morn and eve. I know that slain,

Or gone, are those who clasped me in their arms;
Hewn down by Joab are those seven green palms;
And yet, may be, their stumps remain.

And there are father's, mother's bones, I know.
Sire !-brother man !-I pray thee, let me go!'