University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

—The upper air. Deep night. Afrael alone.
AFRAEL.
“Not soon, no, nor for long; I fain would say,
Never! but cannot say it!” . . . How those words
Stop up my ears, and block the aperture
To the suggestions of all other sound!
Organs unheard the thunder, and the wheels
Of the impetuous planets deafly spin
Upon their axes musical, and dumb
The chorus of the stationary stars.
“Not soon, no, nor for long.” How soon? How long?
All soon is late, all long vain longing seems,
Timed by the impatient tick of gaining Love.
For the dead sand let but quick pulses serve,
And fully half Eternity hath run
Through the exhausted passage of my heart,
Since last I looked on her! . . . “I fain would say,
Never! but cannot say it.” Yet it feels
E'en now as though that Never were my doom!
And she by Love enjoined me! O safe chain!
Which he who wears is plighted not to break,
Thou art as light and frail as gossamer,
Yet Fate could forge none tighter! When will it end,
This temporary banishment that seems
More than eternal? I have hovered oft
Around her dwelling when she was not there,
And hung above her tent whenas she slept,
And from the fragrance she exhales in dreams
Returned to ether, empty! [He soars silently higher into the air and poises again.

What an expanse!
Worlds upon worlds, and stars on stars revolve,
Through still-beginning distance. Systems vast
Within yet outer systems spacious move,
And these but inner to yet other rounds,
Themselves but puny circles shut in space!
Yet care I for one only merest mote
Within this shining concave unconvexed,
One speck whereof I ne'er surrender sight,
But still keep plying a short restless wing,
From this last point whence gleams it visible,
To where it round dilates and fills the eye;
Then again back, thence back again once more,
In ceaseless iteration! Other track
Know I not now, nor have I any flight
For all the countless avenues of Heaven. [He descends rapidly once more, nor pauses till he reaches the Earth, where he alights on the topmost storey of the Tower.

What a high perch! This is a wondrous work,
And wondrous they who build it, even if vain.
How big and black it leans against the night,
Sleeping on darkness! 'Tis a giddy height,
Even for one who gazes from the sky
Into the deeps of space; for, there, no top,
Nor bottom, nor between, resists the sense,
But all is absolute; whilst here the eye,
Shrinking to what it looks on, makes compare,
And finds an awful contrast. How deserted,
Silent, and still! No figure flits or moves
'Mong its prodigious balconies; no step
Stirs on the spiral rounds of its huge stairs;
And, coiled within its walls, e'en Echo sleeps!
Why cannot Spirits sleep? O would that I
Could ever and anon in slumber sheathe
This too sharp edge of wakeful appetite,
That cuts the sense so keenly! . . . What was that?
Methought I heard the waving of a wing,
And even felt its sweep! No! it was nought.
No Spirits hie this way. I see the stars,
But from their occupants have strayed remote.
I stand above the things that nightly sleep.
Lo! yonder are her tents! She sleeps within,
And I watch here, no nearer than if hosts
Of roomy constellations rolled between.
She doth not even know that I am here;
Yet her inert unconsciousness hath power
To draw and keep me towards her!

A VOICE.
Afrael!

AFRAEL.
Who calls my name? And what wouldst have with me?

SECOND VOICE.
What wouldst thou have? Thou art a Spirit by birth,
By Spirit still unfed.

AFRAEL.
Who question me?
I hear you speak, but cannot fix your forms.

THIRD VOICE.
We are but Voices; Voices are not seen.
Answer, if thou wouldst find a remedy
To the defect thou wailest thus aloud.

AFRAEL.
I am enamoured of a mortal shape.

FIRST VOICE.
We know it, or we had not questioned thee.
But what with mortal shape hast thou to do?
What wantest thou with her?

AFRAEL.
With her to dwell:
In the high Heavens, or on the lowlier Earth,
But somewhere, anywhere, so not apart
From her who draws me ever!

SECOND VOICE.
Know'st thou not,
She in the Heavens, a mortal, cannot dwell,
Though with audacious pinions thou hast once
That child of dust obtruded on the sky?
She is on Earth: on Earth she must abide.

AFRAEL.
Then let me thither drop, to abide there too!
The Heavens have lost their savour, and the light
Of the interminable ether seems
But darkness more apparent. She is my sun;
And all is tenebrous where she is not.

THIRD VOICE.
Saner than thou, she knoweth that no Spirit
Can be her consort; that a ban as dim,
But indestructible, as that which holds
Darkness and light, silence and sound, apart,
Keeps thee and her asunder. Ye cannot blend,
Whilst thou immortal, mortal she, remains.

AFRAEL.
Then let me doff this immortality,
Which is but immortality of want,
And be a mortal, wanting only her,
But crowning want with winning!

FIRST VOICE.
Thou art aware,
For she herself hath told thee, what it is
To be a mortal. Thou wouldst surely die.

AFRAEL.
I fain would die, an I must live like this.
Can that be deemed a forfeit, if I gain,
Which I should count a prize, if I must lose?
Better to live and die, than not to live:
And this is vacancy; this is not life!

SECOND VOICE.
Bethink thee yet again!

AFRAEL.
Oh! I have thought
Till thinking is a weariness. If ye
Have power to clip these useless wings, and fix
My limber essence to some mortal type,
Exert it now!

THIRD VOICE.
We have no power; for we
Are Voices only. Force resides elsewhere,
Where thou must seek it.

AFRAEL.
Where? Quick, tell me where!

FIRST VOICE.
The force thou seekest for, is lodged on Earth.
There only wilt thou find it.

AFRAEL.
I have been there,
But thence returned with only a vague want,
A penetrating hunger, a desire
That droops for lack of kindred nourishment,
That droops but dies not.

SECOND VOICE.
Ask thy mortal love.
She can assist thee.

AFRAEL.
How?

THIRD VOICE
By mortal Love!
She can endue thee with consuming flesh,
And burn thy wings to ashes. Tell her that,
And see if she will aid thee.

AFRAEL.
What! If she
But once consents to help me rend the film
Which floats between us, I shall then assume
A mortal semblance, and, with flesh equipped,
Be armed to live, her life's companion?

FIRST VOICE.
So!

SECOND VOICE.
Even so!

THIRD VOICE.
Ay, even so it is!

AFRAEL.
And when may I demand this certain boon? [A pause.

The Voices answer not. Are ye then gone,
Ye misty messengers? Speak once again,
If to assure me that I heard ye right;
That ye were Voices verily, and not
Mere echoes of soliloquising love!
Where hide ye, unseen sounds? No answer comes,
And even silence hath absorbed them now!
Yet were they oral then, nor did I thrust
My thought into their speech. My thought! I ne'er
Could conjure such a craft as they project.
But I conceive it now, and, as I live,
They bade me go to Noema and pluck,
Where I did catch contagion, there my cure.
O sweet enchantress! When wilt work the spell?
For I am sick with thy disease, and fret
To drink thy drastic medicine!

A VOICE.
Afrael!

AFRAEL.
O what a melancholy Voice was that!
Distinct from any of the trinity
That hailed me first. Sad Voice! why dost thou call,
Or why at least respond not?

ANOTHER VOICE.
Afrael!

AFRAEL.
Another wailing tongue! What ails the air,
That it is charged with sadness, and my name
Seems the one sigh that lifts its weariness?
O that the curtain of the night would split,
And show the morning! For I then should fly,
To her who hath no torments in her tongue,
From these distressful weepings of the wind.

MANY VOICES
O Afrael! Afrael! wilt thou leave us, Afrael!

AFRAEL.
Be still, ye droning sycophants of woe!
Ye servile specious mourners! or float up
To yonder ether fanciful, that is
Like to yourselves, pale and impalpable.
Thus do I quit you!

[He lifts his wings, and, leaving the Tower, wends his way through the air.

SCENE II.

—The hour just before dawn. The sky dark and troubled. Rising ground on the outskirts of a wood. An altar of fagots, on which lies a white he-goat, its feet bound, and its borns wreathed with flowers. Peleg—Korah—a crowd of Bondsmen.
PELEG.
Wait till the first streaks of the crimson dawn,
The unspeaking heralds of the Lord, announce
He with His hand hath driven away the dark,
And given the daylight leave to move from sleep.
He made the sea, He made the solid land,
He made the clouds, the air, the spreading wrack,
Stars, and the moon, and the unquenchëd light
Of the round-rolling sun. He made them all.
He raised His arm, and lo! the mountains swelled,
Obedient to His drawing. He breathed, and straight
The waters fled before Him, and the torrents,
Following the channels of His glancing eye,
Took their allotted courses. The deep sea
He scooped out with the hollow of His hand,
Then spake, and swift the great waves filled it up,
And took their moaning from His mighty voice.
The valleys were His digging, and the plains
Crouched at His bidding and lay stretchëd out.
He willed it and the waters swarmed with life,
The air flashed dark with pinions, and the earth,
Touched by His finger, teemed with walking things,
Four-footed beasts, and limbs that crawl the ground.
The thunders are His messengers, the clouds
His footstool, and the winds fulfil His word;
And light and darkness, in their changes, are
The awful aspects of His countenance!
Fear then the Lord your God, for He is great,
Encompassing the things He made, and sworn
To be avenged on them that fear Him not. [He pauses and gazes at the eastern sky.

The dawn yet breaks not, for the Lord your God
Is angry with His people. Ye have strayed
Far from His paths, have hearkened not His voice,
And now the earth's foundations are disturbed,
And tremble at His wrath. The tempests wake,
And are grown livid with your wickedness.
Ye have forsaken His commands, and ta'en
The ordinance of man upon your backs,
And builded up yon proud rebellious Tower,
To pry into His secrets, that He hides
Within the dazzling darkness of the Heavens.
I will beseech His mercy, that He stay
The scourge of His right hand, and seek to turn
The straightness of His anger with the smoke
And savour of this whole-burnt-offering.
For He doth love the flesh of kids and goats,
When tendered Him with pure and humble hearts.
But tarries still the dawn, and ye must bide
The lifting of his eyelids.

[He turns away to the altar, and the Bondsmen gather round, Korah and Sidon in their midst.
CROWD OF BONDSMEN.
Korah speaks.
Let us hear Korah; Korah ever leans
Upon the bondsman's side.

KORAH.
Yes, friends! I lean
Towards the feeble and oppressed; and ye
Are crushed like corn, ay, beaten with the flail
Of the oppressor's greed. If ye avert
Your eyes from Heaven, now whither shall ye turn?
The ground is set against you, and the lords
Of the abundant earth begrudge your mouths
The forage for your limbs, and grind you down,
Even as the corn is ground between the stones,
And the stones eat not. Look! I bid ye take
Earth, and Earth's fulness, and the fruits thereof,
Nor from its harvests wish to be estranged.
Ye are Earth's sons, like as your tyrants are,
And, like your tyrants, ye must wring the soil
Till it gives forth its treasures. But whilst Heaven
Stands on your side, with Heaven remain allied,
And listen unto Peleg when he prays.
Hark! he would speak to you again.

[Peleg turns again to the people. As he does so, the first red streaks of dawn appear in the sky, and a crowd of Freemen are seen hurrying up, led by Aran.
PELEG.
Now doth the Lord command His unseen hosts
To strike the tents of darkness, and up-furl
The skirts of night and slumber; and the day
Comes forth apparelled from His glorious hand.
So will we offer now a holocaust,
This ram without a stain, and cry to Him,
To spare His people, even though they have,
Urged by the wicked, planted yon tall Tower
Full in His presence! [The crowd of Bondsmen begin to be agitated, to whisper among themselves, and to turn their eyes in the direction of the rapidly approaching Freemen. Peleg continues.

Hitherward they come,
The wicked who have urged you and have forged
Chains 'gainst the Lord their God, and made ye raise
A rampart for their cunning. But, stand firm,
And put your trust in Him in Whose just sight
Bondsmen are free, freemen are slaves, so these
Rebel against His face, and those obey.

KORAH.
Yes, flinch not, worthy friends! Now is the hour
To rise against your chains and shake them off.
Tower or no Tower, why should ye hew them wood
And draw them water? They have arms like you,
Whilst to your palate, as to theirs, the tongue
Of thirsty aspiration hotly cleaves.
Are ye not flesh and blood? What more are they,
That they should wield the whip, and ye should wince
Beneath its whistling swoop?

[The Freemen rush up, with Aran at their head.
ARAN.
How now, ye slaves!
What mean your truant faces, and from whom
Gat ye this empty-handed leave to-day?
'Tis not the seventh morn, and if it were,
Ye shall not loose your palms without our nod.
A pretty tale! whilst flag the kilns for breath,
And the raw slime in unmixed puddles lies,
To turn your slothful backs upon the Tower,
To pipe and frisk beside a summer wood!
Back to your work, or we will flog you to't!
Who hath begot this mutiny in your hearts,
And moved your slow conceptions to rebel?
Ha! 't must be Korah! For I see his front
Peering above your dwarf and narrow brows.
He hath inspired this monstrous holiday,
To feed you with the wind of your desires,
And blow you out with vanity. [He pushes his way through the Bondsmen, followed by some of his companions, the crowd of Bondsmen being thus split into two parts. As he advances, he perceives Peleg, the altar, and the sacrificial goat.

So! so!
There's more behind this seeming. I was nigh
To striking at the irritating buzz
Of yonder sacerdotal drone, and letting
The nuisance' self to slip away unhurt!
Workers should sting this idle mouth to death,
That feeds on others' honey, and keeps warm
In comfortable cells the rest contrive.
How dar'st thou, busybody priest, draw off
These toilers from their serviceable task,
To figure in thy feeble pantomime?

FREEMEN.
Now stand aside, ye slaves, nor press around,
But give your betters room to speak and hear.

PELEG.
This is the altar of the Lord, and this
The acceptable sacrifice that turns
His edge of wrath aside. We sport not here,
But seek to stay His vengeance from your heads,
Ye with yon godless edifice provoke.

ARAN.
Keep thy celestial fooling for the hours
When we can spare a chorus for the part.
But thus encroach upon life's serious ground,
Soon shall no more thy superstition cheat
The six days of the sixth part of their sweat,
But toil shall seize the seventh!

KORAH.
Hear him, friends!
Your fetters are not tight enough. He burns
To give the shackles yet another twist,
And leave no space betwixt their clutch and you!
Enslaved to earth, ye now must break with Heaven,
Lest that untrusty hope should lead you on
To find allies much nearer in yourselves,
And subtly teach you how to file your gyves,
And face the sun with freedom.

BONDSMEN.
Long live Korah!
Korah, the bondsman's prophet!

ARAN.
Now, enough!
Hence to your hods, your mortar, and your planks,
Ye catch-fly open-mouthëd loons, and 'scape
The scourge that's knotting for you! Ye are dupes;
And dupes may yet be saved from penalty,
So they but retch rogues' poison back again.
As for this mouthing mischief-maker here,
Who fills his belly with the Future till
He cannot see the fresh and wholesome ground,—
Peace, wind-bag!

FREEMEN
Now, ye hounds, will not to work?

BONDSMEN.
No, we will not; nor will be hounded more.
We'll stay to see the he-goat offered up.

SIDON.
Assuage ye both? Why do ye clash your tongues?
Why should ye reck, sirs, if these bondsmen here
Itch for a spectacle, for bondsmen meet?
Or why, ye thoughtless slaves, should ye incense
The hand that flicks the lash? I pray ye both,
Let me make terms between you. Fate is a foe,
That thrives upon men's quarrels. Close your ranks,
And, though ye may not crush your enemy,
Fight not his battles for him. Let me be
Umpire betwixt you!

ARAN.
Tush! Philosopher!
We'll fight with Fate, and them, and thee as well,
Couldst enough wisdom fetch to choose a side,
And cease to make a see-saw of thy wit,
Now up, now down, a child at either end!

FREEMEN.
We will have all: we want no compromise.

BONDSMEN.
Nor umpire, we; for we will give up none.

PELEG
(setting fire to the altar of fagots from below).
The Lord decide between you! for behold
The smoke arises from the ground, and curls
Round and about the ram without a stain.

ARAN.
Sonorous charlatan! Thus do I break
Thy paltry toys!
[He rushes at Peleg, thrusts him aside, and liberates the ram.
Now, drive these stray herds home,
Nor spare the whipcord!

[The Freemen attack the Bondsmen, who snatch up the kindling brands from the altar to defend themselves. Peleg and Sidon retire into different parts of the wood. The Bondsmen are soon disarmed and beaten and fly towards the Tower, followed by Aran and the Freemen, who flog them as they fly. Sidon alone is left upon the ground, where he contemplates the mangled remains of the ram, which has been trampled to death in the fray.

SCENE III.

—Same hour as in the preceding Scene. Afrael, poised a league above the Earth.
AFRAEL
(sol.)
How slowly morning breaks! The upcoming sun
Through the embattled pitchy-volumed clouds
Can barely force his way. Look at him now!
His javelins blunted, and his dazzling shield
Forgotten in his haste to breast the foe,
He hath to fight the battle all unarmed.
Withal, he wins, and through the shattered ranks
Of the resisting wrack he breaks, and lo!
Whilst they with sullen thunder veil the rout,
Dapples his path with blood, until the skies
Are with his conquest all incarnadined.
O, what a crimson triumph! [He circles in the air, and gazes round.

It is as though
The air were all on fire, and that the wrack
Were smoke of its wide kindling. Never yet
Have I beheld such havoc in the sky.
It seems as though the filmy atmosphere
Had, in the night, of perturbation supped,
And reels unstably. Nothing smooth or soft
Denotes the sky, but under, and above,
Are ravelled clouds and nightmares nebulous.
The axis of the round infinite world
Trembles and tilts untrustily; and shakes
The Universe with rude unrhythmic spasms.
Order has been unthronëd in the spheres,
Calm ravished of its crown, and the mute sceptre
Struck from the hand of regal Harmony!
I can but guess where blackly spins the Earth,
For constellation none, nor wandering star,
Spangles the murky cloak that wraps me round.
Yet will unerring instinct thither guide
My unillumined flight; for Love, unhelped,
Straight through the heart of darkness strikes a track,
And makes its bourne with certainty. Now growl,
Ye disproportioned thunders! and ye clouds,
Pile up your shaggy mountains till they bulge
Into the jealous sky's serenest realms,
And make the ether yours! Let all the air
Confounded be with motions contrary,
Planets roll backwards, and the Heavens distend
With loud infernal laughter! What is't to me,
Who only want one little point of space,
One nook of shelter which the storm must miss,
If only that she hides there? Leave me that,—
Then let Creation crumble!
[He prepares to descend to Earth, and as he starts, he breaks into song.
[He alights upon the Earth, close to the tents of Aran. At the same moment Noema comes forth to view the morning.

SCENE IV.

AFRAEL.
Exact as echo to a calling voice,
Which takes up the first syllable before
The second's uttered! Thou respondest ere
I could complete my song to call thee forth.
O comprehensive Noema!

NOEMA.
I did not hear thee.
But wherefore hast thou come? Oh! what a dawn!
The air is in the clutches of the wind,
And violently 'gainst its violence
Struggles and shrieks. Dust, leaves, and waifs of nature,
Are whirled and tossed together overhead;
The clouds are torn and frayed; and the sky looks
Like a dim canvas stippled o'er with red.
Oh, I am sore afraid!

AFRAEL.
Fear not, fair thing!
For though the hollow globe, and all that swims
In its conception, should be cracked, and run
To one chaotic mass, my love should make
Another shell around thee, and my wings
Brood on thy part and keep it safe and warm.
Oh, let me show thee how!

[He draws close to her, but she falls back.
NOEMA.
No! no! Stand off!
Nor yet again envelop thou this form,
Which is too frail for such encompassing!
Why hast thou come? I told thee not to come.
Thou dost not love me, or thou hadst not come!
Thou lovest thyself only.

AFRAEL.
Say not so,
Until thou knowest what has brought me here.
I have a mighty message from the skies.

NOEMA.
About the Tower?

AFRAEL.
No! About thee and me.
Time and Eternity are in thy hands,
And deal them as thou wilt. Thou canst on me
Bestow the flesh-fed flame of mortal life,
And keep it by thee till it be consumed
Unto the final flicker; or thou mayst
Condemn this selfish unsubstantial light
To glow in void unprofitably, through
The weary watches of Eternity.
O speak! then act! and with one magic touch
Transform me into human?

NOEMA.
What! Dost mean
I have a wand to pass thee into flesh,
And thou wouldst have me use it!

AFRAEL.
Ay! even that!
Now conjure quickly, and delay me not,
For all my plumes are ready for the trick.

NOEMA.
How? Change to flesh a spirit! lop thy wings,
And make thy course pedestrian! With my arts
Inject a carnal current in thy veins,
Now lightly stirred by rippling purity!
Dull thy bright shape, put thine effulgence out,
And with base body hobble thee to Earth!
O what a foul, vile sorceress should I be,
Sooth could I work such wicked miracle,
If I conceived to do it!

AFRAEL.
But thou must.
The skies consent, and I implore thee to't!

NOEMA.
Never! Though sky take part against the sky,
And thou against thyself, I will not do it!
Oh! couldst thou with celestial thought surmise
How meagre, starved, and mean a thing is life,—
A cry, a consciousness, a little fume,
And then oblivion,—thou wouldst sooner ask
Some angry star to shrivel up thy wings
And burn thy being with them, than decline
To such a shrunk condition!

AFRAEL.
Thou forget'st!
Unto such change I such a change should bring,
Life would be life no longer, but would house
A more than mortal guest, transcendent Love!
Oh! never in this planet of my hope
Was such a perfect passion e'er conceived,
As we will breed between us, to endow
The starved with strength, the mean and meagre make
Rounded and whole with noble sustenance!
Nay, dally not with argument, but haste
To clasp the grand conclusion!

NOEMA.
Oh! I cannot!
I might as well go league to build the Tower,
As against Heaven attempt such blasphemy!
But who hath promised thee that I can wield
A power so diabolical?

AFRAEL.
Voices,
Unseen, untouched, that were but voice alone,
Yet with authoritative cadence spoke.

NOEMA.
Oh, thou hast dreamt it all,—if spirits dream,—
And chance they do nought else! Thou soon wouldst find,
If this imputed virtue I essayed,
Thou art the sport of sleepy phantasy.

AFRAEL.
Come then, essay! Exert thy mortal love!
For herein, said the Voices, lies thy spell,
And prove it on me!

NOEMA.
'Tis impossible!
For I have no such craft, and if I had,
I would not so abuse it.

AFRAEL.
Then 'tis plain,
Thou lov'st me not.

NOEMA.
Oh, but I do!

AFRAEL.
Thou dost!
Then bring that wide avowal to a point,
And do with it as thou must do with me,
Making it definite! Dost think that I,
If I should see thee sinking, would not save?
And wilt thou unto me, for ever tossed
On the vague sea of space and shoreless time,
Refuse the restful haven of thy heart?
Tell me thou lov'st me not, and I will go,
A wandering sigh amid the homeless stars.
But if thou lov'st me, love me as Love loves,
And open all thy portals to my knock!

NOEMA.
Why dost thou drive me thus to bay, when there
I needs must turn and rend thee? Afrael!
How I do love thee, neither human voice
Nor song of Spirit ever could devise,
Though they should vanquish Silence, and usurp
The realms of Time with overrunning speech!
But Love is not the monarch of the Earth,
Or with one word from his sufficing mouth
Were sorrow swift abolished. He is but
A poor and scorned conspirator who seeks
To topple down the mighty from their stools,
Wealth, place, presumption, all the filthy brood
Of our gross getting; to dethrone dull pomp,
Parade, and vanity, the vulgar throng
That wait upon that despot, pride of life,
Whose aping courtiers all the world would be.
And these are his inveterate enemies,
Who, is he caught red-handed in the game,
Straight brand him as a rebel to their rule,
Then leave him to the hootings of the crowd.

AFRAEL.
But we would be his co-conspirators,
To—

NOEMA.
—More than share his doom and penalties!
He is immortal, so they cannot kill him,
Maltreat him as they will, and he survives
Their racks and mocks, ever to plot afresh.
But not so they who would assume his cause.
They can be slain outright, or left to live
With mortifying hearts, or,—direst end!—
Buy from convention a deserter's peace,
And creeping to the alien camp become
The loudest of the persecuting train!

AFRAEL.
Then let them slay us! I am well content
To perish in thy arms, so once I live there!

NOEMA.
Oh! I but speak in vain. Thou art a Spirit
As I so oft have told thee, and the things
Of clay and flesh thou apprehendest not.
I am a slave!—I am not free as thou!—
I have a husband, a contracted lord,
Who draws my body and service after him,
As in the patient camel's desert march,
The fore-foot draws the hinder.

AFRAEL.
Dost thou love him?

NOEMA.
Oh! do not ask! Can we love what is ill?
Have I not owned I love thee? Let it rest.
For I am his, not thine, and so must keep.
E'en wert thou not a Spirit, but warm flesh,
I could not else have answered thee. Nay, it is
Because thou hast its coarse infection sucked,
I know not how, I needs must—well I must
Break off, nor fence keen fact with wordy foil.
Hadst thou been only Spirit! Now,—go, go!
Nor let me ever gaze upon thee more,
Till with death's eyes I can serenely look,
And bid thee safe farewell!

AFRAEL.
Not verily!
What! Wilt thou be to me like hard sea-face,
The poor white waves keep climbing fondly up,
Only to fall again?

NOEMA.
I am not hard.
I am too soft; else mightst thou here remain.
But by my softness I beseech thee, go!

AFRAEL.
Close but those wild white arms, thou spread'st abroad
In vacant misery, once about my form,
Then will I go!

NOEMA.
I dare not, Afrael!
Lest chance that fearsome spell should 'gin to work,
The Voices told thee of. Thou fold, instead,
Round me thy heavenly wings, but not for long!
And, when they loosen, then quick take the air,
Ere I have time to wish them back again!

[He folds his wings closely round her.
NOEMA.
Oh! what bliss!

AFRAEL.
And wilt thou e'er forget me?

NOEMA.
Never! till darker wings than thine enfold
This weak out-worn automaton of clay.
And I am curtained by oblivion!
Till then, towards thy memory will I gaze,
As in the winter of the world men look
Through bare black branches up to shining stars!
Now, now undo thy wings! Look! all the air
Grows murk and dense! Thou wilt not see thy way.
Go! I abjure thee!—go!

AFRAEL.
Farewell! Farewell!
But shouldst thou ever call me in thy need,
Thy voice will reach me, and my broken wings
Will flutter towards thee!

[He ascends, and is instantly lost in the murky air.

SCENE V.

—The tents of Aran. A terrific tempest and thunderstorm. Enter Aran in hot haste.
ARAN.
(sol.)
The Heavens have heard our challenge, and take up
The note of our defiance. Hark! on high,
The thunderous roll of hollow-bowelled clouds
Sounds the attack. Where art thou, Noema?
The welkin moves in surly masses on
Before the march of the sky's armëd hosts,
Hidden as yet behind the dust of war.
Shortly we shall behold the embattled lines,
And Heaven and Earth be locked in wrestling grip,
And see who throws the other. Noema!
Where doth she skulk? How hisses the swift hail!
As yet they shoot their javelins from afar,
Wasting their shafts in showy bravery.
Celestial madmen! husband up your points,
Till to close quarters ye have come, for then
Ye'll need them all! Why! what weak bolts are these,
That scarce would scare the turtle to her nest?
Ha! that was better! They wax nearer now!
Welcome, ye overt enemies that thus
Announce your coming. We will meet you. Lo!
That ragged flash rent the creased rack in twain,
And yet I did not see them! How was that?
I should have caught the glimmer of their files
Through that tremendous opening. What a peal!
It was a bellow fit to shake the spheres;
And sooth the Earth did quake. But not with dread,—
Think not, with dread!—ye noisy emissaries!
Come on, and we will prove you, foot to foot,
And if we cannot shout as loud as you,
We'll strike the harder! Where is Noema?
Never at hand at need! I want my spear;
The same that, wedded to my passion, hath
In many a foray split the raging boar,
And to the jungle sent the hyæna scotched!
Now shall it dip its beak in loftier gore! [He stumbles over Noema.

Ha! there thou art! What! again sunk in swoon,
When hubbub is enough o'erhead to wake
The leaden-dreaming dead! Well, sleep thou there
Till it blows over. 'Tis a feeble heart,
Just fit to bear the note of victory,
But not the bray of battle! Louder still!
That crash must be the prelude. Ha! my spear!
And I shall be in time! They'll hold till then.
Bristles the Tower, compact, from head to foot.
Upon each circling balcony I left
A regiment all armed, and on the top
The bravest of my friends with eager edge
Await the onset. At the base are drawn
Dense cohorts in reserve, whom I will pour,
Upwards by stair and corridor, to take
The place of those hurled headlong, so that ne'er
A gap shall spoil our ranks, but they shall push
Wedgewise to Heaven!

[Enter Irad.
IRAD.
O father! what a storm!

ARAN.
Ay, boy! it is a very noble storm.
Wilt face it with me?

IRAD.
Yes, if mother wills.

ARAN.
Heed not thy mother now! This is no time
To borrow leave from women. Wilt come, my lad?
I'm going to the Tower, and thou shalt, too,
Art thou but half a man.

IRAD.
Oh! I should like!
But mother would be vexed.

ARAN.
Go to thy mother!
And whine and gab with women all thy life.
Thou art a girl disguised!

IRAD.
Then I will go, father!

ARAN.
Quick, then! for time is pricking at our heels.
Give me thy hand! Be nimble with thy limbs;
And show in every aspect of thy gait,
That Aran is thy father!

[Exeunt.

SCENE VI.

—The Tower. Every compartment and balcony crowded with armed men. Eber, unarmed, on a coign of vantage, halfway up, surveying the storm. Round the base, crowds likewise of armed men; and amongst these, but without armour, Peleg, Korah, and Sidon.
PELEG.
See what it is to rise against the Lord,
And dare His wrath omnipotent! He frowns,
And straight the whirlwinds spread their wings and wreak
Their ravage on ye! Lo! He stamps His foot,
And mighty-mouthëd thunders, roused from sleep,
Come growling from their lairs! Lay down your arms,
Ere they be stricken from your paltry hands,
Or their points turned against ye! On your knees,
And, with your foreheads burrowed in the dust,
Clamour for pardon!

SOME.
Ay, 'twere best! For look!
The Heavens with rage wax purple. Surely, then,
The ground did rock?

OTHERS.
Ay, that it did! But wait!
'Tis but a storm at worst. Prayer will not lay it.
Nay, let us, friends, be valiant to the last,
And bide the upshot.

SIDON.
Yes, 'tis a tempest only.
For Nature hath grown fractious, and contends
Against herself. Eber will tell us why,
When this her wanton mood hath rolled away.
Look where he's perched, and with impassive eye
Scans her vagaries, just as though he were
Carved and incorporate with the edifice!
'Tis a brave sight; and not with looks alone,
But with your deeds commend him. Wait and see
What this explosive termagant, this Nature,
Means by her tears, her gestures, and her shrieks.
These are the empty imprecations hurled
By the infuriate Void. 'Twill pass away,
As violence doth ever. As for prayer,
Think you it would be heard in such a din?
Look on and learn, or else to bed and sleep
Until it's over. Ye can do no more.
Either were something.

[The fierceness of the tempest increases; the thunder rolls louder; and the earth is shaken violently.
PELEG.
On your knees, I say!
And imitate the instinctive fowls that crouch,
When blows the hurricane.

SOME.
What say ye?

OTHERS.
No!
Let us hold on at least till Aran comes.
Where is he, now?

KORAH.
Why, gone, I warrant ye,
To strike a private bargain for himself
With foes he hath provoked and cannot match.

SOME.
Think ye that's so?

OTHERS.
Tush! Korah's jealous tongue
Invents a coward. Aran is as brave
As loftiest cedar that on loftiest top
Of Ararat ne'er budges, though the storm
Tears up the soil it stands on!

KORAH.
But if not,
And Aran seeks no safety for himself,
See to your own! Cry out to Eber there
To crave a parley with the skies. This war,
With its abhorrent front and threatening face,
Against your peaceful destiny offends.
Throw down your arms, and call upon the Heavens
To throw down theirs. Patch up a treaty quick,
And swear the heralds of the upper world
Not to molest ye more, but leave the Earth
To its own shifts and purposes, as ye
Will henceforth leave the spheres. Thus will ye keep
An open Future for yourselves, wherein
Man may pursue uninterruptedly
His pathway to Perfection!

SOME.
Aran comes!
Look where he cleaves the mist!

OTHERS.
And with him brings
The little Irad, who steps bravely out
And lags behind his father's stalwart stride,
No further than one's shadow when one walks
Straightly north-eastward from a western sun.

ALL.
Hail to stout Aran, Builder of the Tower!
Long live man's truest leader!

ARAN.
Was it you,
Or the Heaven's braggart thunders that I heard?
These vultures of the welkin seem to think
To scare us with their shrieking! Ye do well
To pay them noise for noise. Now clash your shields,
So that they cannot fail to know ye are here,
And thrill to meet the vanguard of their strokes,
With such impatience as the bridegroom feels
For the first shock of rapture! [Those at the foot of the Tower clash their shields, and the action is imitated by the armed hosts on each storey in succession, to the very top. Almost simultaneously there is a fresh peal of thunder, louder and longer than any of the preceding ones.

Music for music! But I like yours best!
The Heavens have heard your cymbals clang, and roll
Their drums to answer ye! Now, quick, come forth,
Ye slow supernal athletes, and make good
The tumult of your challenge! We are here,
And Earth's smooth dust is ready to receive
The thud of your celestial overthrow!

[As he speaks, lightning strikes the summit of the Tower, and, amidst the roar of thunder, the topmost storeys with their armed defenders, are hurled headlong through the air, crushing, as they reach the ground, many of those collected at the base; amongst these, Peleg and Sidon. Some of the survivors fly from the ground. Others crowd fearfully round Aran.
ARAN.
Why do ye shake, ye aspen-wooded hearts,
At the first breath of battle? Let them fly,
Those mock-heroic supernumeraries!
What want we with their fluttering pulses here?
They shall be bondsmen when the battle's done,
When ye shall rule as Gods! Hold firm, up there,
On ledge, and balcony, and jutting coign!
Ye have the post of honour now, nor yield
One inch of what ye hold! Dream not to save
Your lives by coming lower! By this spear,
If any thinks to fly from death at top,
He'll find it at the bottom! Do ye deem,
I who have brought this unarmed baby here
To sniff the risky breath of victory,
Will let men shirk the tussle? [He perceives the dead body of Peleg.

Ha! what is this?
Peleg as dead as sacrificial kid!
O empty Priest, how empty art thou now!
But what a pack of blundering combatants
Not to know friend from foe! The clumsy Heavens! [Kicking the body aside.

He is their dead, and they must bury him,
When we've done fighting. What! And Sidon, too!
A stale conclusion to thy arguments!
Priest, and Philosopher, by one blind bolt
Hit and confounded! There is humour then
In these celestial strokes!
[A fresh peal is heard, and several more storeys, injured by the previous shock, are toppled down; Eber among those who fall.
What! struck again!
See! here comes Eber, like a falling star!
He'll soon be out!
Now, death! and ruin! what is this base work?
Come forth, ye skulking Spirits, ye curs of Heaven!
Out from your opaque ambush, and descend
In visible battalions on our points!
This is but cowards' work!

KORAH.
Leave him, friends!
Hear how he raves! It was a madman's hand
Piled up the Tower, a madman who defends.
Away, and keep yourselves for better days!
What's Heaven to you, who still have got the Earth?
'Ware lest ye lose them both!

ARAN.
How, insolent!
Thou wouldst incite my legions to desert,
And march towards the Future! March there thou! [He pierces Korah with his spear, who falls.

But travel unaccompanied! Thou art
Perfected now, for thou hast surely touched
The goal of all things! . . . Now, ye craven imps,
Angel or devils, gods or mercenaries
Of some one God more potent than yourselves!
Slaves of the sky, purveyors of the thunder,
Ye noisy rabble of the clouds! appear
Afront our serried infantry, that we
May drive you homewards, following at your heels!
Dare none of you be patent? Why, I thought
'Twas only women hid behind their veils! [A thunder-crash is heard more violent than any gone before. The ground rocks and splits. Irad, who has till now remained scared but silent by his father's side, utters a cry. Afrael swoops through the air towards him.

Ha! Here is one of them at last! Now, taste
The savour of my spear, which those shall chew
Who follow after thee!

[He strikes at Afrael with his spear, which catches a flash of lightning on its point, and Aran falls, a blackened carcass. Afrael bears Irad into the air. Seeing Aran fall, those still at the base of the Tower fly in all directions, whilst those left above hurry down, and do the same. The storm begins to abate and die away.

SCENE VII.

—The tents of Aran.
NOEMA
(waking from her swoon).
What was that sound? Methought I heard a crash
As though the Earth were splitting! And how dark
And weird it is, even here! I must have swooned,
Again have swooned,—O thou too feeble heart,
Why art thou such a tell-tale?—and but wake
To what was happening. Aran! Art thou there?
He answers not. To the accursëd Tower,
As daily, hath he gone. Ho! Irad! Irad!
Where art thou, Irad? If there brews a storm,
He waits for it to burst, the fearless rogue,
And I shall find him, with his eager eyes
Facing the tempest!
[She goes to the front of the chief tent.
Oh! what a storm has been!
Though now it seems to sob itself away.
But look! the Tower has gone. And what is that?
Oh! as I live, the jagged and blackened stump
Of what was once the Tower! Irad! Aran!
Irad! where art thou, Irad? Where is my boy?
Oh! he hath gone, whilst I was blind in swoon,
And 'neath the rage that whelms the wicked, found
An innocent's destruction! [She runs back into the tents, and hurries to and fro.

Irad! Irad!
Art thou there, Irad? Shout but once to me,
And I shall know thou livest. What! No voice!
No sound! Not here! not here! Oh! he is dead,
And I am branchless! . . . Irad! . . . 'Tis in vain!
And I must gather up my feet and go
To seek his little limbs among the dead!
Keep up, my heart, nor totter so! When once
I press my dear dead darling to my lips,
Thou shalt have leave to fall, to rise no more!

IRAD.
(crying without).
O mother! mother! Where art thou, dearest mother?

NOEMA.
He lives! It is his voice! My boy! my boy!
Here, here! this way! I come.

[Irad rushes in.
IRAD.
O mother! mother!

[He rushes into the arms of Noema, who folds him to her heart; and for a moment both are silent.
NOEMA.
Where hast thou been, my child?

IRAD.
I went along
With father to the Tower.

NOEMA.
And where is he?

IRAD.
Father is dead.

NOEMA.
Dead!

IRAD.
Yes, and many more,
Buried beneath the Tower.

NOEMA.
Didst see it fall?

IRAD.
O yes! with such a crash—once—twice!—and men
Fell through the air in flocks. And how it thundered!
Mother, you never heard how loud it thundered!
And all the time the zigzag lightnings flashed,
And the ground heaved and swayed, and every one
Was sore afraid, save father; and he died,
Daring the Heavens to fight him.

NOEMA.
Died as he lived,
Defiant and unbroken! But, my boy,
How didst thou from the common wreck escape?

IRAD.
I scarce can tell you how. But when the Tower
Had fallen, and those who fell with it and those
On whom it fell, were or dashed down or crushed,—
Eber, and Peleg, Sidon, thousands more,—
Then all began to scatter, save a few
Who stood by father; and I stood by him.
But Korah sought to make these others fly,
Deserting father's side, and father slew him.

NOEMA.
With his own hand?

IRAD.
Yes, mother! with his spear.
And then it was that the Earth split and shook,
And I who had been terrified from first,
But did my best to stifle every cry,
Not to vex father, gave a girlish scream,
And some one, not a mortal, clove the air,
And father thrust at him, but thrust in vain,
And fell as though by lightning hit, and scorched,
And charred all in a moment! whilst, as swift,
He who had swooped upbore me through the air,
As a gerfalcon bears a suckling lamb,
But with such tender clutches, that I seemed
Only to be, mother, rocked upon your breast!
And when we had gone up, a little way,
Soft he sailed down again, and set me here,
Here at my dear, dear home. O mother! mother!

[He buries his face in her neck and clings to her tightly.
NOEMA.
But where is he who brought thee back to me?

IRAD.
I do not know. I did not look nor stay,
But rushed to find you, mother! Was it wrong?
I did not even thank him.

NOEMA.
'Twas ungracious.
Thou shouldst have thanked a saviour so alert,
And bidden him wait till I could thank him too,
For his most precious burden. Tell me, child,
What was he like?

IRAD.
I had no eyes to see;
It was so strange! But he was smooth and soft,
As, don't you know, a summer cloud might be,
If one could lie on it!

NOEMA.
Is he there still?

IRAD.
He may be, mother.

NOEMA.
Then stay here, dear boy,
Till I go see.

[She goes to the exterior of the chief tent where she beholds Afrael.

SCENE VIII.

NOEMA.
How shall I thank thee, Afrael?

AFRAEL.
By thanking not at all. Hast seen thy child?

NOEMA.
O yes! and from his living lips have heard
Who saved his rashness!

AFRAEL.
Say, is there aught more
That I can do for thee?

NOEMA.
Yes, tell me—quick!
It was no flash of thine, smote Aran dead?

AFRAEL.
I have no power of death; and if I had,
On him I had not used it. Thou forget'st:
The face of Aran still is strange to me.

NOEMA.
Thank Heaven! But in the tumult of the brain
The memory trips. 'Twas Aran who was struck
And shrivelled at the instant of thy swoop
To snatch up Irad.

AFRAEL.
Then I saw him fall,
Blistered and burnt and blackened all at once.
He caught a shred of lightning on his spear,
Just as he thrust at me, and down he went,
Consumed by what he captured. That was Aran!
Well, he died bravely.

NOEMA.
But thou,—how didst thou come
To be in such a ruin?

AFRAEL.
Canst thou doubt?
When that I left thee in the clotted dawn,
'Twas as thou saidst;—I scarce could force my way
Through mist, and clouds, and currents contrary;
And in the blackness I was whirled along
With the fierce hurricane that swept intent
Still 'gainst the Tower. There I beheld a sight,
Which had enslaved my presence even though
There were no mortal link to keep me close
To Earth's vicissitudes!

NOEMA.
Didst see it all?

AFRAEL.
Not all; for ever and anon the clouds
Closed up and barred both Tower and Earth from view.
Withal, through fitful openings I could see
Tier upon tier bristling with armëd men,
A line of war set edgewise against Heaven,
Propped by an armëd concourse from below,
But propped in vain; for I saw the summit sway,
And, as I strained my gaze through thunders thick
To watch it topple and fall, with horror spied
Irad amidst it all! No eye for more,
For any but him only, had I now.
The tattered clouds got tangled in my wings,
The blistering hail hissed blinding in mine eyes,
But still I pushed, contentious, 'gainst the storm,
And beat the winds aside. The rest thou know'st,
And Irad lives to save thy happiness.
Shall I go now? Or shall I stay awhile
To help thee in this outset of thy needs?

NOEMA.
Good Afrael, go! for I am very sad.

AFRAEL.
And may I e'er return?

NOEMA.
Ay, when thou wilt!
At least, when Time hath quieted my pain,
And the distraction of this hour shall be,
Like yon late tempest, over. Not till then!
Come when the moon is next, as now, at full;
And choose the same sweet moment as when first
I heard thy voice and blessed it! Then will I thank thee
For all that thou hast done for me this day!

[He ascends, without a word, into the sky.