FullReads

“My boy,” said the old man, “have not you heard him enough to see that it is not he that sings, near as much as this love of his for a Spirit he does not name? It is that spirited heart of his that sings.”

“You sing like him? Find his life, boy; and perhaps it may sing for you.”

“We should be more manly men, if he sang to us every night.”

“Or if the other did,” said an Ionian sailor.

“Yes,” said the chief. “And yet, I think, if your countryman sang every night to me, he would make me want the other. Whether David’s singing would send me to his, I do not feel sure. But how silly to compare them! As well compare the temple in Accho with the roar of a whirlwind–“

“Or the point of my lance with the flight of an eagle. The men are in two worlds.”

“O, no! that is saying too much. You said that one could paint pictures–“

“–Into which the other puts life. Yes, I did say so. We are fortunate that we have them together.”

“For this man sings of men quite as well as the other does; and to have the other sing of God–‘

“–Why, it completes the song. Between them they bring the two worlds together.”

“He bows the heavens, and comes down,” said the boy of the olive-harp, trying to hum David’s air.

“Let us ask them–“

And just then there rang along the valley the sound of a distant conch-shell. The soldiers groaned, roused up, and each looked for his own side-arms and his own skin.

But the poets talked on unheeding.

The old chief knocked down a stack of lances; but the crash did not rouse them. He was obliged himself to interrupt their eager converse.

“I am sorry to break in; but the night-horn has sounded to rest, and the guard will be round to inspect the posts. I am sorry to hurry you away, sir,” he said to David.

David thanked him courteously.

“Welcome the coming, speed the parting guest,” said Homer, with a smile.

“We will all meet to-morrow. And may to-night’s dreams be good omens!”

“If we dream at all,” said Homer again:–

“Without a sign his sword the brave man draws,
And asks no omen but his country’s cause.”

They were all standing together, as he made this careless reply to the captain; and one of the young men drew him aside, and whispered that David was in arms against his country.

Homer was troubled that he had spoken as he did, But the young Jew looked little as if he needed sympathy. He saw the doubt and regret which hung over their kindly faces; told them not to fear for him; singing, as he bade them good night, and with one of the Carmel-men walked home to his own outpost:–

“The Lord who delivered me from the paw of the lion,
The Lord who delivered me from the paw of the bear,
He will deliver me.”

And he smiled to think how his Carmelite companion would start, if he knew when first he used those words.

So they parted, as men who should meet on the morrow.

But God disposes.

David had left to-morrow’s dangers for to-morrow to care for. It seemed to promise him that he must be in arms against Saul. But, unlike us in our eagerness to anticipate our conflicts of duty, David waited.

And the Lord delivered him. While they were singing by the brookside, the proud noblemen of the Philistine army had forced an interview with their king; and, in true native Philistine arrogance, insisted that “this Hebrew” and his men should be sent away.

With the light of morning the king sent for the minstrel, and courteously dismissed him, because “the princes of the Philistines have said, ‘He shall not go up with us to the battle.'”

So David marched his men to Ziklag.

And David and Homer never met on earth again.