Then I played the help-tune of our reapers, their
wine-song, when hand
Grasps at hand, eye lights eye in good friendship,
and great hearts expand 50
And grow one in the sense of this world’s life.—And
then, the last song
When the dead man is praised on his journey—“Bear,
bear him along
With his few faults shut up like dead flowerets!”
Are balm-seeds not here
To console us? The land has none left such as
he on the bier.
“Oh, would we might keep thee, my brother!”—And
then, the glad chaunt
Of the marriage,—first go the young maidens,
next, she whom we vaunt
As the beauty, the pride of our dwelling.—And
then, the great march
Wherein man runs to man to assist him and buttress
an arch
Naught can break; who shall harm them, our friends?—Then,
the chorus intoned
As the Levites go up to the altar in glory enthroned.
60
But I stopped here: for here in the darkness
Saul groaned.
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