 | The Death of Adam |  |
SCENE I.
Adam. Seth.Adam.
[Leaning upon the altar before his grave.]
How dreadful looks this earth, my son! no more
That fertile earth, which I of late beheld
O'erspread with roses, or in whose deep bosom
The branching cedars struck fantastic root.
Here must I render up my body, I
Made by the hand of God himself, to dust;
I who was born not of a mortal woman!
I feel the fatal moment not far off.
My eyes grow dim, my arm trembles unnerv'd,
My feet forget their office, and my breath
Labours incessant. Death's cold hand is on me,
And o'er my body, throughout all its folds,
Stamps its own seal. I feel, alas! I feel,
By all the heaviness about my heart,
By this strange chilness which benumbs my veins,
Now, now I die the death,—for 'tis no more that sleep
Which locks up all the senses for a time
In sweet refreshment.—Now, while I speak,
Darkness falls thicker on my eyes, and horror
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Come, come my child, or ere this world to me
Shall be no more, fain, fain would I profit
Of that dull glimmering light which yet remains,
And cast once more my last sad looks
On more extensive space than this my grave.
Open the bow'r, and on that side which looks
Tow'rds Eden's garden, let these eyes once more
Contemplate that delightful spot; once more
O let me breathe the chearful air of life.
Seth.
Yonder are Eden's mountains.
Adam.
Alas! my child,
I see them not. The sun perhaps, with clouds,
Is darken'd o'er.
Seth.
The clouds are thick; yet shade not
All the sun's brightness.
Adam.
From the cedar's forest,
Seems it far distant yet?—but tell me not,
That I shall know full soon.
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Behold those clouds;
See how he hides his beams.
Adam.
Alas! my son;
When in meridian glory he shall shine;
When he shall glow with purer radiance—
—'Tis past. I never shall behold it more.
Return we to the grave; there will I fix
My eyes.—Lend me thy hand; support me, son.
Seth.
Ah, my father!
Adam.
[Looking towards Eden.]
O ye happy plains,
Ye lofty mountains, where a thousand springs
Rise; and, with streams luxurious, pour down
The steep declivities; ye vales eternal,
With cooling shades and laughing verdure crown'd;
Ye numerous plants, that, to the docil foot
Of traveller, bow your low heads, and ye
Who proudly thrust your summits in the skies;
Ye blest delicious plains, once held so dear;
Where, in such sweet tranquillity, my days
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My children all, with thousand other beings,
Throng round about me.—Garden of Eden!
Seat of delights! my gushing tears, perforce,
Burst forth when I remember all thy bliss.
O sacred place! I will no more profane thee
By these my tears. This day, this last to me,
I bid a sad farewel; farewel for ever.
Alas! thy fair abodes shall still preserve
The trace of evils, which th'Eternal's curse
On thee, on me pronounc'd.—Let us depart,
My son; my feeble sight can scarce discern
Distinctly ought, nor from the river's stream
Knows the firm earth. Ah me, what torment then
Shall inly rend my torn and bursting heart,
When these sad eyes, of light entire bereft,
Shall know this best of sons no more?—But see,
My words appal him, and he shakes with horror;
I'll strive to give him courage.—Son, my child,
I fear th'approach of Selima; the sight
Of her affliction were a shock indeed.
Seth.
Father, I will not smother ought. I saw
Destruction and despair prey on my sister.
Her steps at hazard rov'd; but now she sought
The bow'r impatient: soon she enter'd there.
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Thinkst thou, from her I can conceal this state
Of wretchedness? Bear I the marks of death?
Appear they on my countenance? Thou turn'st
Thine eyes averse.
Seth.
Thy words affright me, father,
And wound my inmost soul. A horrid paleness
Dims all thy face. I saw not Abel die;
But I beheld of late, to you unknown,
A child expire in life's just opening bloom.
Adam.
Then I shall find another of my sons
With Abel. How many of my children
Have died their deaths to me unknown! But tell me,
Tell me, my son, of him thou sawst expire:
Fear'd he the Lord Almighty?
Seth.
His meek soul
Was spotless; upon his countenance death
Impress'd no horrors; whilst a heav'nly smile,
In his last moments, spake a tranquil mind.
Yet, dead! alas! my eyes, aghast, turn'd from
The shocking spectacle.—My sire.—Lo! Selima.
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Ah me! most wretched of all fathers! Sunim,
My youngest born, hath disappear'd; and search,
Alas, is made in vain.—Perhaps he lives not.
| The Death of Adam | |