University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

A sequestered place in the wood, surrounded with thick, dark trees: a fountain, near a cave. Enter Hadad and Tamar.
Tam.
But why dismount here?—night approaches, Hadad:—
See, the slant sunbeams gild but the tall tree-tops,
And evening sables all below. The wood
Grows drear and dismal.

Had.
We must await the Guard.—Come, sit with me
Beside this mossy fountain: all is still here:—
List the sweet birds nestling among the boughs;
All else soft silence: tumult comes not here.
Sit by this crystal spring awhile.

Tam.
No, no,
I will not sit; we must not linger here.
My father bade us haste: we disobey,
And risk his anger.—Keep your hands from me.

Had.
But whither shall we fly?

Tam.
Where he commanded.

Had.
To vassal Geshur!—Who can there protect us?
Or in Damascus' tributary walls?—
Hear me, sweet Princess, bright star of my being,
Fly, fly with me beyond this wretched scene
Of civil strife, and never-ending discord,
To realms of quietness, where we may dwell
In lasting peace.

Tam.
What mean'st thou?

Had.
Look on Israel
Deluged in blood,—the Royal House divided,—
The Tribes in faction,—peace for ever fled!
What harbour here for love? O, fly with me:
I will conduct thee to a brighter sphere.

Tam.
Forsake my country?—father?—Never!

Had.
Then Hadad 's lost, and all our cherished hopes
A faithless dream.

Tam.
These sad clouds may disperse.

Had.
Thou know'st not—Ah!—I would have spared that pang—

Tam.
Ha!

Had.
Hadad can never tread these bounds again,
Deemed (O, how falsely!) treason's foul abettor,
Since he is gone who only could attest
His spotless innocence.

Tam.
(in alarm.)
What mean'st thou?

Had.
Later witnesses report—
Alas!—

Tam.
My father?—Gracious Heaven!—
Mean'st thou my father?—

Had.
Dearest Tamar,—Israel's Hope—
Sleeps with the valiant of the years of old.
(Tamar, with a convulsed cry, bursts into tears: Hadad seems to weep.)
The bond is rent that knit thee to thy country.
Thy father's murderers triumph. Turn not there,
To see their mockery. Let us retire,
And, piously, on some far, peaceful shore,
With mingled tears embalm his memory.

Tam.
(clasping her hands.)
Am I an orphan?

Had.
Nay, much-loved Princess, not while this
Fond heart—

Tam.
Misguided father!—Hadst thou but listened—
Hadst thou believed—

Had.
But now, what choice is left?
What refuge hast thou but thy faithful Hadad?

Tam.
One—stricken—hoary head remains.

Had.
The slayer of thy parent!—Wouldst thou go
Where obloquy and shame and curses load him?
Hear him called rebel?

Tam.
All is expiated now.

Had.
Tamar,—wilt thou forsake me.

Tam.
I must go to David.

Had.
(aside.)
Cursed thought!—
Think of your lot,—neglect, reproach, and scorn,
For who will wed a traitor's offspring? All
The proud will slight thee, as a blasted thing.

Tam.
O, wherefore this to me?—
Conduct me hence—Nay, instantly.

Had.
(in an altered tone.)
Hold! hold!
For thou must hear.—If deaf to love, thou 'rt not
To fearful ecstasy.
(Tamar startled:—he proceeds, but agitated and irresolute.)
—Confide in me—
I can transport thee—O, to a paradise,
To which this Canaan is a darksome span;—
Beings shall welcome—serve thee—lovely as Angels;—
The Elemental Powers shall stoop;—the Sea
Disclose her wonders, and receive thy feet
Into her sapphire chambers;—orbed clouds
Shall chariot thee from zone to zone, while earth,
A dwindled islet, floats beneath thee;—every
Season and clime shall blend for thee the garland.—
The abyss of Time shall cast its secrets,—ere
The Flood marred primal nature,—ere this Orb
Stood in her station! Thou shalt know the stars,
The houses of Eternity, their names,
Their courses, destiny,—all marvels high.

Tam.
Talk not so madly.

Had.
(vehemently.)
Speak—answer—
Wilt thou be mine, if mistress of them all?

Tam.
Thy mien appals me;—I know not what I fear;—
Thou wouldst not wrong me,—reft, and fatherless,—
Confided to thee as a sacred trust—

Had.
(haughtily.)
My power
Is questioned. Whom dost thou imagine me?

Tam.
Indeed, surpassed by nothing human.

Had.
Bah!

Tam.
O, Hadad, Hadad, what unhallowed thought
So ruffles and transforms thee?

Had.
Still, still,
Thou call'st me Hadad,—boy, worm, heritor
Of a poor, vanquished, tributary King!—
Then know me.

Tam.
Seraphs hover round me!

Had.
Woman!— (Struggling, as with conflicting emotions.)

What thou so dotest on—this form—was Hadad's—
But I—the Spirit—I, who speak through these
Clay lips, and glimmer through these eyes,—
Have challenged fellowship, equality,
With Deathless Ones,—prescient Intelligences,—
Who scorn Man and his molehill, and esteem
The outgoing of the morning, yesterday!—
I, who commune with thee, have dared, proved, suffered,
In life—in death—and in that state whose bale
Is death's first issue! I could freeze thy blood
With mysteries too terrible—of Hades!—
Not there immured, for by my art I 'scaped
Those confines, and with Beings dwelt of bright
Unbodied essence.—Canst thou now conceive
The love that could persuade me to these fetters?—
Abandoning my power—I, who could touch
The firmament, and plunge to darkest Sheol,
Bask in the sun's orb, fathom the green sea,
Even while I speak it—here to root and grow
In earth again, a mortal, abject thing,
To win and to enjoy thy love.

Tam.
(in a low voice of supplication.)
Heaven! Heaven!
Forsake me not!

Had.
First, in the city's crowded gate I saw thee,
The memorable day thou camest from Geshur,
A vermil blossom by thy father's side,
Hailing Jerusalem with smiles and tears.
Then, then I loved thee,—tender as thou wert;—
I hung invisibly about thy steps—
About thy bed,—I glided in thy dreams,—
Filled them with sweet, voluptuous forms and phantoms,
And watched thy glowing cheek and heaving bosom,
While my bright visions stirred thy fancy. Happy
Till that cursed Syrian, fresher than Adonis,
Became thy inmate. No seducing dream,
Illusion, art of mine, could reach thee more.
Then, first, I knew agonies, scorpions, fire!—
But mark,—I harmed him not,—ensnared him not,
Unlocked life's secret by no subtle spell.
But mourning in a mountain solitude,
Neighbouring Jerusalem, my luckless love
And lowering destiny, your father's train
Came forth to hunt. The Syrian from the rest
Severing in keen pursuit, fell in with Outlaws
Who followed, and with bloody daggers slew him,
Even by the fountain where I mused unseen.

Tam.
(clasping her forehead.)—
O, grace!—O, pity!—

Had.
Thou know'st the time—remember'st well—'t was night,
Ere he returned,—ere I returned,—for I,
From that day forth, have worn these lineaments.

Tam.
Confusion!—

Had.
While his quivering limbs
Pressed the green sod, while pitying I surveyed
His matchless beauty, nobly stern in death,
And thought how dear those features were to thee,
I dared the penalty;—for thy sake dared
Death, prison-house, and penal consequence,
Denounced on the offence:—I linked myself
To Hadad's form, and life's infirmities,
My recompense, my only recompense,
Thy love.

Tam.
Sorcerer! Fiend!—'t is falsehood all—
Thou slew'st him.

Had.
Ha! are there not other means
To free the spirit?—Had I marred him thus?

(Draws aside his vesture, and displays two bleeding stabs upon his breast.)
Tam.
(covering her face.)
O! Powers of Heaven!

Had.
Immedicable wounds, that thrill, and throb
Hourly as with the mortal steel, and gush
Fresh blood, when stronger passions shake my frame.
No art can heal them, and no balm assuage.—
O, if this sight constrain the tear of pity,
How wouldst thou live to listen the dire torments,
Must loose me from this flesh,—too deep to tell,—
To which your death by poison, steel, or rack,
Is a sweet noontide slumber.

Tam.
Wretched being!

Had.
Dost thou not pity me?

Tam.
Alas! alas!
If 't be not guilt,—for thou art capable
Of misery past thought.

Had.
I love thee:—'t is my only joy:—
I 've paid to win thy love a sumless price:—
Canst thou deny it me? (Approaching her.)


Tam.
Avoid me—leave me!—
I sin, in talking with thee.—Pardon, Heaven!
I know not what I do.

Had.
Weep not,
Nor fear, sweet Princess: I would make thee happy,
Happier than mortal. Only bid me sprinkle
Three crystal drops of this pure spring upon thee,
And thou shalt live, unfading, tracts of years,
And bloom, when all who stand to-day on earth,
Are shapeless dust. (Scoops water from the fountain.)


Tam.
(recoiling.)
Avaunt!—approach me not!—
Jehovah shelter me!—O, righteous Prophet!
Had I obeyed thee—guilty and undone!

Had.
Why call'st thou on that name so oft, nor know'st
Thyself abandoned? Hopest thou to escape
His wrath, who visits on the children's head
The father's guilt? Thy sire has angered him,
And thou must suffer.—Take the good I offer:
Thou hazardest no evil, and securest
Almost immortal bliss.—Wilt thou?

Tam.
No!—No!—No!

Had.
Strange obduracy! Thou art mine, thou seest:—
Resigned to me in this vast wilderness,—
Night, solitude, and silence all around,—
With none to friend or help thee;—yet thou turnest
From happiness beyond the lot of mortal,
Beauty unfading, knowledge like the Angels',
Glory, and sovereignty, and length of days—
Thine eye relents,—thus, let me clasp a goddess!

Tam.
(springing backward.)
Heart, hold thou firm! God look on me,
For I am sore beset!—If 't is my crime
Not to have abhorred thee utterly, and sealed
My ears like adamant, nor ventured, once,
Exchange a thought,—'t was difficult, alas!
Seeing that form, and listening to a tongue
Employed so oft in noblest eloquence,
To realize thee foul, and reprobate,—
Abandoned,—hating God,—cruelly bent
To drag a frail, bereaved, unhappy creature,
Down to thy own dark mansion-house of pain.
But now I know thee, I abjure thee,—hate thee,
More than unwittingly I loved. To God
I cleave,—on God I call—

Had.
(with demoniac violence.)
No more,—we'll argue after.—Thou, at least,
Shalt never bear the Incarnate Foe we fear.

Tam.
Father!—Most High!—By every name!—O, snatch me!
Flame round me!—O! for Jacob's—David's sake!—

(He drags her shrieking into the cavern; at the same moment a trumpet and voices heard in the wood.)
First Voice.
This way, this way.

Second Voice.
There stand their dromedaries.

Third Voice.
It issues from the cave.

Enter Benaiah hastily, followed by a party of Cherethites.
Ben.
I know his beast—
Stand from the gorge!—Give light and weapon room!
Some stout hearts follow me!

(Enters the cavern, sword in hand, followed by several of the band: the rest gather round.)
First Cher.
Hark! hark!—What dire, unnatural yell was that? (They listen.)

Some mortal conflict rages.—Heavenly Powers!
What curses, howling, horrid blasphemy!

Second Cher.
'T is like Gehenna!

Third Cher.
O, venture not—Keep back—
Accursed Spirits consort in these caves,
Who craftily entice men in, and there
Force them to kneel at their ensnaring altars.

Second Cher.
But should we leave our lord in peril?

First Cher.
No,
By Heaven! Let 's in, and stand by him.

(As others are entering, a Cherethite rushes out, pale and terrified.)
Cherethites.
What now?—
What violence is doing?—Speak—Why stares
Your hair?—

Cherethite.
O, go not—'t is too terrible—

Other Cherethites.
What saw ye?—Speak!—

Cherethite.
One like the Cherubim,—
Dreadfully glistering,—winged, and dazzling bright
As lightning;—shooting from his bickering eyeballs
Sparkles like arrows.—All the cave 's a-blaze
With red effulgence!—Foaming on the ground,
A howling, withering, ghast, demoniac shape
Curses, and gnashes, in death's agony.

Third Cher.
The Prophets keep us!

Cherethite.
Nothing kin to earth
E'er looked such serpent rage, or battled so
With death's strong pangs.

(They all start.)
Fourth Cher.
What sound was that?

Second Cher.
It seemed a rush of wind from out the cave.

First Cher.
'T was passing wings.

Third Cher.
I felt it; and methinks
A sudden sweetness fills the air around us.

First Cher.
Ambrosial. It betokens some blest Presence.

Second Cher.
They come, they come.

(Enter two of the band, dragging the body of Hadad from the cavern, which they drop, and recoil from.)
First Cher.
What hideous monster is it?

Second Cher.
Nothing human:
Look how 't is blasted.

Third Cher.
What a hellish glare
Is glazed upon those starting eyeballs!

Second Cher.
Damned.

Enter Benaiah and others from the cavern, bearing Tamar, whom they place upon the turf by the spring.
Ben.
'T is she, indeed, the Princess, but not dead.
The color 's in her cheek, and see, she breathes.

(Sprinkles water in her face.)
Tam.
(opening her eyes aghast.)
No!—No!—No!—

Ben.
Look up, sweet lady:—be not so affrighted:—
We are thy friends,—the servants of the King;—
I am Benaiah,—these are David's soldiers—

Tam.
O, take me!—save me!—

(Sinks back.)
Ben.
Take courage, Princess,—Heaven hath rescued thee—
Behold!—armed friends are round thee,—God is nigh.—
(To his followers.)
Sound the recall,—collect more strength about us;—
And seize a mule, if any browse the glade.—
Gently—Undo her girdle—She'll revive.
(Trumpet sounds: some of the Cherethites disperse through the wood. Benaiah signs to the rest, who gather round him.)
Comrades! yon grisly thing, that lies there seared,
Is Hadad. He could blear our eyes, but not
The great All-seeing. Strictly did I heed
The Prophet's dark suggestions to the King,
Imparted as they wayfared side by side,
The night before we entered Mahanaim;
Oft iterated, as when cruel doubts
Afflict us. But, in the midmost watch last night,
He stood beside my couch,—perplexed, perturbed;—
Visions, he said, all pointing to the Syrian
And this young Princess, vexed and baffled him,
Shifting and indistinct as clouds or smoke,
But all portentous. Some catastrophe
He deemed at hand, thus darkly intimated;
And bade me, in the Holy Name, not spare,
If this day's battle brought him to my steel,
And, haply, I should find him vulnerable.
Either, said he, some Minister of Evil
Has armed that Syrian with unearthly arts,
Or else a Spirit has assumed his likeness.
Strange signs, strange intimations he recounted,
And said a dream had warned him to beware
Of Asmodai, for that seductive Demon
Was plotting in the midst of Israel.