I say then--my song While I sang thus, assuring the monarch, and ever more strong Made a proffer of good to console him--he slowly resumed His old motions and habitudes kingly. The right hand replumed His black locks to their wonted composure, adjusted the 210 swathes Of his turban, and see--the huge sweat that his countenance bathes, He wipes off with the robe; and he girds now his loins as of yore, And feels slow for the armlets of price, with the clasp set before. He is Saul, ye remember in glory--ere error had bent The broad brow from the daily communion; and still, though 215 much spent Be the life and the bearing that front you, the same, God did choose To receive what a man may waste, desecrate, never quite lose. So sank he along by the tent-prop till, stayed by the pile Of his armor and war-cloak and garments, he leaned there awhile, And sat out my singing--one arm round the tent-prop, to 220 raise His bent head, and the other hung slack--till I touched on the praise I foresaw from all men in all time, to the man patient there; And thus ended, the harp falling forward. Then first I was 'ware That he sat, as I say, with my head just above his vast knees Which were thrust out on each side around me, like oak-roots 225 which please To encircle a lamb when it slumbers. I looked up to know If the best I could do had brought solace; he spoke not, but slow Lifted up the hand slack at his side, till he laid it with care Soft and grave, but in mild settled will, on my brow; through my hair The large fingers were pushed, and he bent back my head, 230 with kind power-- All my face back, intent to peruse it, as men do a flower. Thus held he me there with his great eyes that scrutinized mine--And oh, all my heart how it loved him! but where was the sign? I yearned--"Could I help thee, my father, inventing a bliss, I would add, to that life of the past, both the future and 235 this; I would give thee new life altogether, as good, ages hence, As this moment--had love but the warrant, love's heart to dispense!" XVI Then the truth came upon me. No harp more--no song more! outbroke-- XVII