night I took part, 200
As this morning I gather the fragments, alone with my sheep,
And still fear lest the terrible glory evanish like sleep! 
For I wake in the gray dewy covert, while Hebron, upheaves
The dawn struggling with night on his shoulder, and Kidron retrieves
Slow the damage of yesterday’s sunshine.

XV

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 swathes
Of his turban, and see—­the huge sweat that his countenance bathes, 210
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, tho’ much spent
Be the life and 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 armour and war-cloak and garments, he leaned there awhile,
And sat out my singing,—­one arm round the tent-prop, to raise
His bent head, and the other hung slack—­till I touched on the praise 220
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 each side around me, like oak roots 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:  thro’ my hair
The large fingers were pushed, and he bent back my head, with kind power—­
All my face back, intent to peruse it, as men do a flower. 230
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 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