Classic Poem

The sun was dark in Israel! O'er the land
Spread, like a cloud, Philistia's hosts;—and Saul
Grew hopeless as he felt the light of heaven,
God's countenance, withdrawn. His pride of heart,
And insolent presumption, had o'erborne
The favor of his Sovereign. He had stood,
Resting on strength of will, and mortal powers,
And reckless of the warnings, night and day,
Vouchsafed, through holiest prophets, from on high;
Till sacred wrath o'erflow'd, and, from his hope,
Drew all its smiles and succor. O'er his soul
The cloud was dark, like that above the land;
Nor knew he whither, seeking light, to turn,
In the bewildering mazes of his fear.
Vainly he pray'd to Heaven. The usual signs
Denied him answer. In his dreams, no voice
Declared indulgence for the profligate heart,
So long a trespasser. Nor Urim spoke,
Nor prophet, to his pleadings: all were dumb.
And still the tempest grew before his eyes—
The twofold tempest of his mortal fear,
The outcast, he, of Heaven, in wrath denied—
And that which threaten'd, with as dark a doom,
His hapless people—o'er whose cities sped
The fierce invaders. They possess'd the land,
To Shunem, and in multitudes o'erawed
The brave in Israel. Trembling, as he saw
Their darkening hosts, he gather'd his array,
And pitch'd his tents in Gilboa. But the fear—
The feeling, like an instinct—which possess'd
His people, that the favor of their God
Their king no more might challenge—thaThe stood
The surely-doomed of Heaven—o'er all their hearts
Spread terror like a spell; and, with their king,
They look'd away from their dread enemy,
As seeking succor from the East and West,
Where succor there was none. In terror, then,
The monarch—of his fears, as of their own,
Now fully conscious—in himself no more
Assured, as in his days of innocence,
And hopeless of all answer from the God
His stubborn will had outraged—turn'd his eyes,
Seeking forbidden agencies—the powers
Of darkness—for that knowledge of the truth,
The powers of light withheld.
“Seek me out one,”
He said unto his servants, “some woman that hath
A spirit familiar, whose intelligence
May answer to my quest.”
They led him forth,
By night, in base disguise, until he came
To Endor, where a woman secretly
Pursued her dark, abominable trade,
Defying heaven, and mocking human law,
Which still denounced, with deadly penalty,
The practice loathed of God. With trembling feet,
He cross'd the threshold of evil, and beheld
The loathly one he sought. No stately rites
Embellish'd her sad service. Lowly place
She kept, for the reception of a king,
And the responses of her dubious gods.
But knew she not the monarch—a sure proof
How vain was the pretension of her craft
To supernatural knowledge.
“Show to me,”
He said, “by the familiar at thy beck,
Him I shall name to thee!”
A prudent fear
Possess'd her:—
“Wouldst thou spread for me a snare?
By what should I divine, and with what plea,
When, as thou knowest, that Israel's king hath slain
Such as divined by spirits? Wizard and witch
Hath he cut off, in vengeance, from the land;
And seek'st thou for my life?”
“As the Lord liveth,
I seek thee with no snare! Pursue thy art—
Bring me up him whom I shall name to thee,
And profit shall be thine, not punishment.”
“Whom wouldst thou?”
“Samuel, prophet of the Lord!”
With lowly heart, the monarch bow'd himself
Before strange altars; hooded his proud head
Submissive, and in anxious waiting, knelt,
While the weird woman, with her mystic rites,
Evoked the awful dead. Her subtle spells,
Sustain'd by potent but still evil powers,
Meant to evoke a semblance, and delude,
By magical presentments and blear shades,
Sufficient for the heart of humble fear,
Grew to a greater power, beneath the will
Of the Most High! He, with a terrible truth,
Responded to the summons that was meant
For the inferior deities. Instead
Of the gross mockery of the sainted shade,
Samuel himself arose; but with such state
Of mightiest angels issuing from the void,
That the weird woman bow'd herself, in dread
Of the true God, whose living rites she mock'd.
Then sank her heart with terror, as she knew
Such answer to such summons well declared
The monarch in her guest. To less than he,
Or in less straits, would Heaven accord a voice
Of such acknowledgment? She cried aloud:—
“Thou hast betray'd me; thou art Saul himself!
Thou whose keen sword hath swept, with glutless rage,
The wizard tribes from Israel!”
“Have no fear,”
The monarch reassured her. “Thou art safe
From sword of Israel's ruler. In his need
He seeks thee now, whom once he will'd to slay,
Having no refuge in a holier shrine,
And a more certain oracle. What seest,
That shakes thee with such terror?”
“Gods, that rise—
True gods, ascending from the depths of earth!—
And now an aged man, from head to foot
Clad in a mantle.”
“It is Samuel!”
And, as he spoke, headlong, and cowering low,
The king crouch'd humbly at the spectre's feet:—
The mantle fell—the prophet stood reveal'd!
Dread was the moment's pause that follow'd then:
The woman abash'd, and stricken with awe the king,
In the oppressive shadow of the dead.
Not long the silence—when the prophet spake:—
“Why hast thou vex'd the quiet of my sleep;
Thou, whose deaf ear unto my living word
Gave little tendance? Wherefore dost thou now,
Too lately, from the silence of the grave
Entreat my counsel?”
The familiar sounds
Of that remember'd teacher, sought too late,
Fell with rebuking, but in gentle tones,
On the king's senses. In his grief, he cried:—
“'Tis in my woe, in sore distress of heart,
That Saul now seeks for Samuel. Holiest man,
Too coldly heard when counsel had been worth,
I look to thee for succor. O'er the land
Spread our Philistine enemies. They rage,
In confidence of heavenly help withdrawn
From Israel, by the madness of her king;
And Israel, with a terror, of this fear
Born wholly, weeps and trembles in his tents.
Thou gone, and God against me, 'tis in vain
I seek the voice of Heaven from midnight dreams,
And prophets known for good. They fail me all;
And, in the bitterness of my blank despair,
I seek the wizard arts that rob the grave
To teach the living wisdom. Unto thee,
That first upon this head pour'd sacred oil,
I make appeal. O Samuel! man beloved,
And ever dear to Heaven, in this dread strait,
Show me the way of safety for my people,
Though Saul may plead in vain. On thee I call
For counsel in this peril.”
“Why to me,
Since God hath grown thine enemy? To Him!
Yet vainly wouldst thou plead against thy fate:
The evil is upon thee, long foreshown:
Thou hadst thy day of warning. From these lips
Went forth the proper oracles of God,
That told thee thou wert wanting: that thy realm
Should pass from out thy keeping, and thy crown
Descend to him thou still hast sought with hate—
The noble son of Jesse. He hath still
Obey'd the precepts of the living God,
And not as thou, outraging, with a will,
The fix'd decrees of Heaven. Thou didst contemn
His bidding, when thou dared spare Amalek,
On whom He swore to execute all wrath!
For this, the trouble of this day is thine,
And yet another day. To-morrow's sun
Shall set upon thy fortunes. Israel's hosts
Shall fail before the Philistines, and, ere night,
Thou with thy sons, O Saul! shalt be with me.”

The voice had ceased! The awful form was gone;
But the dread prophecy was ringing still
In the appall'd one's ears. Then fell the king
Prostrate, as one who, sudden shorn of strength,
Sinks helpless on his shadow, in a heap!