Classic Poem

Ladies , — who linger o'er this page
With pure and tranquil pleasure,
Moved by the words of Wit and Sage,
Or Bard's romantic measure, —
Deign to receive this random rhyme,
This brief and simple story,
Of Solomon's transcendent time
Of grandeur and of glory.

Fired at the splendour of his fame,
A proud and regal maiden
To Israel's distant kingdom came
With costly presents laden.
She brought bright gold from Ophir's mine,
Rich gems of mighty prices,
Raiment of colours half divine,
With perfumes and with spices.

With mingled majesty and grace,
A gorgeous crowd attending,
She met the monarch face to face,
In silent homage bending.
With dignified, but gentle, tone,
His eyes with kindness beaming,
The good king placed her on his throne,
In posture more beseeming.

The feast was spread, the hymn was sung,
The dancers bounded lightly;
Rare music through the palace rung,
And scented lamps burnt brightly:
Meanwhile the monarch urged his guest
To pleasure's sweet employment;
And both, by radiant looks, confessed
The depth of their enjoyment.

With questions subtle, deep, refined,
In changing conversation,
The maiden tasked the monarch's mind
With skilful penetration:
But still, like gold thrice tried by fire,
Wit, wisdom, lore, and learning
Came from the king, the sage, the sire,
With richer lustre burning.

The baffled queen was sorely tried,
And dumb with pleasing wonder;
But what can quell a woman's pride,
Or keep her spirit under?
Sheba, with persevering pains,
Assumes a modest meekness,
For one last question still remains
To prove her strength or weakness.

With quick and cunning hand she culled
A mass of seeming flowers,
And one of real sweetness pulled
From lavish Nature's bowers.
In equal parts, with silken tie,
She bound the blushing roses,
Till each appeared, to casual eye,
Twin pyramids of posies.

Within the spacious palace hall,
A fair and winsome thing;
She stood apart from each and all,
And thus addressed the king: —
" Pray tell me, thou of high command,
To whom great thoughts are given,
Which is the work of human hand —
Which drank the dews of heaven? "

He gazed with earnest look and long —
The question was repeated;
But still he held a silent tongue,
Half angry, half defeated.
The pleased spectators clustered nigh,
And whispered — almost loudly, —
While Sheba, with inquiring eye,
Stood patiently and proudly.

'Twas summer, and some bees had strayed
Away from fields and bowers;
They hovered round the royal maid,
And round the rival flowers:
To one gay group they clung at last, —
Their own strange instinct guiding;
But careless o'er the other passed,
Not one lone wing abiding.

" Fair queen! those floral gems of thine,
Where yet the wild bee lingers, —
Where all the rainbow hues combine,
Were trained by Nature's fingers! "
Thus spoke old Israel's king, aloud,
And every bosom started; —
The vanquished maiden blushed and bowed,
Then gracefully departed.

Of Solomon's exalted soul,
Of Sheba's mental merit,
A portion of the glorious whole,
'Tis well, if we inherit;
With sight to see, desire to know,
And reason our adviser,
Better and happier we may grow,
And surely something wiser.

Fair female flowers, which breathe and bloom
Where'er our lot hath bound us;
Flinging Affection's dear perfume
Delightfully around us:
Born with a beauty all your own,
In proud and pure completeness,
May well-deserving bees alone
Enjoy your summer sweetness!