Choice Specimens of American Literature, and Literary Reader · Chapter 285=365.= Hagar in the Wilderness
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* * * * * The morning pass'd, and Asia's sun rose up In the clear heaven, and every beam was heat. The cattle of the hills were in the shade, And the bright plumage of the Orient lay On beating bosoms in her spicy trees. It was an hour of rest; but Hagar found No shelter in the wilderness, and on She kept her weary way, until the boy Hung down his head, and open'd his parch'd lips For water; but she could not give it him. She laid him down beneath the sultry sky,— For it was better than the close, hot breath Of the thick pines,—and tried to comfort him,— But he was sore athirst, and his blue eyes Were dim and bloodshot, and he could not know Why God denied him water in the wild.
She sat a little longer, and he grew Ghastly and faint, as if he would have died. It was too much for her, she lifted him, And bore him further on, and laid his head Beneath the shadow of a desert shrub; And, shrouding up her face, she went away, And sat to watch where he could see her not, Till he should die; and watching him, she mourned:
"God stay thee in thine agony, my boy! I cannot see thee die; I cannot brook Upon thy brow to look, And see death settle on my cradle-joy. How have I drunk the light of thy blue eye! And could I see thee die?
"I did not dream of this when thou wert straying, Like an unbound gazelle, among the flowers; Or wearing rosy hours, By the rich gush of water-sources playing, Then sinking weary to thy smiling sleep, So beautiful and deep.
"O, no! and when I watch'd by thee the while, And saw thy bright lip curling in thy dream, And thought of the dark stream In my own land of Egypt, the far Nile, How pray'd I that my father's land might be An heritage for thee!
"And now the grave for its cold breast hath won thee, And thy white, delicate limbs the earth will press; And, O, my last caress Must feel thee cold, for a chill hand is on thee. How can I leave my boy, so pillow'd there Upon his clustering hair!"
She stood beside the well her God had given To gush in that deep wilderness, and bathed The forehead of her child until he laugh'd In his reviving happiness, and lisp'd His infant thought of gladness at the sight Of the cool plashing of his mother's hand.
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