University of Virginia Library

FRAGMENT OF A POEM ON THE WORLD BEFORE THE FLOOD.

There came a spirit down at eventide
To the city of Enoch, and the terrac'd height
Of Jared's palace. On his turret top
There Jared sate, the king, with lifted face
And eyes intent on Heaven, whose sober light
Slept on his ample forehead, and the locks
Of crisped silver; beautiful in age,
And, (but that pride had dimm'd, and lust of war,
Those reverend features with a darker shade,)
Of saintly seeming,—yet no saintly mood,
No heavenward musing fix'd that steadfast eye,
God's enemy, and tyrant of mankind.
To whom that demon herald, from the wing
Alighting, spake: “Thus saith the prince of air,
Whose star flames brightest in the van of night,
Whom gods and heroes worship, all who sweep
On sounding wing the arch of nether heaven,
Or walk in mail the earth,—‘Thy prayers are heard,
And the rich fragrance of thy sacrifice
Hath not been wafted on the winds in vain.
Have I not seen thy child, that she is fair?
Give me thine Ada, thy beloved one,
And she shall be my queen; and from her womb
Shall giants spring, to rule the seed of Cain,
And sit on Jared's throne!’” Then Jared rose,
And spread his hands before the Evil power,
And lifted up his voice and laugh'd for joy.
“Say to my Lord, thus saith the king of men,—
Thou art my god,—thy servant I,—my child
Is as thine handmaid!—Nay, abide awhile,
To taste the banquet of an earthly hall,
And leave behind thy blessing!” But, in mist,
And like a vision from a waken'd man,
The cloudy messenger dissolved away,
There melting where the moonbeam brightest fell.
Then Jared turn'd, and from the turret top
Call'd on his daughter—“Haste, my beautiful!
Mine Ada, my beloved! bind with flowers
Thy coal-black hair, and heap the sacred pile
With freshest odours, and provoke the dance
With harp and gilded organ, for this night
We have found favour in immortal eyes,
And the great gods have bless'd us.” Thus he spake,
Nor spake unheeded; in the ample hall
His daughter heard, where, by the cedar fire,
Amidst her maidens, o'er the ivory loom
She pass'd the threads of gold. They hush'd the song
Which, wafted on the fragrant breeze of night,
Swept o'er the city like the ringdove's call;
And forth with all her damsels Ada came,
As mid the stars the silver-mantled moon,
In stature thus and form pre-eminent,
Fairest of mortal maids. Her father saw
That perfect comeliness, and his proud heart
In purer bliss expanded. Long he gaz'd,
Nor wonder deem'd that such should win the love
Of Genius or of Angel; such the cheek
Glossy with purple youth, such the large eye,
Whose broad black mirror, through its silken fringe,
Glisten'd with softer brightness, as a star
That nightly twinkles o'er a mountain well;
Such the long locks, whose raven mantle fell
Athwart her ivory shoulders, and o'erspread
Down to the heel her raiment's filmy fold.
She, bending first in meekness, rose to meet
Her sire's embrace, than him alone less tall,
Whom, since primeval Cain, the sons of men
Beheld unrivall'd; then, with rosy smile,
“What seeks,” she said, “my father? Why remain
On thy lone tower, when from the odorous hearth
The sparkles rise within, and Ada's hand
Hath deck'd thy banquet?” But the king replied,—
“O fairest, happiest, best of mortal maids,
My prayer is heard, and from yon western star
Its lord hath look'd upon thee; as I sate
Watching the Heavens, a Heavenly spirit came
From him whom chiefest of the host of Heaven
Our fathers honour'd,—whom we nightly serve
(Since first Jehovah scorn'd such sacrifice)
With frankincense and flowers and oil and corn,
Our bloodless offering; him whose secret strength
Hath girded us to war, and given the world
To bow beneath our sceptre. He hath seen
My child, that she is fair, and from her womb
Shall giants spring, to rule the seed of Cain,
And sit on Jared's throne. What, silent! nay,
Kneel not to me; in loud thanksgiving kneel
To him whose choice—Now by the glorious stars
She weeps, she turns away! Unhappy child!
And lingers yet thy mother's boding lore
So deeply in thy soul? Curse on the hour
That ever Jared bore a bride away
From western Eden! Have I train'd thy youth
Untouch'd by mortal love, by mortal eyes
Seen and adored far off, and in the shrine
Of solemn majesty reserved, a flower
Of guarded paradise, whom men should praise,
But angels only gather? Have I toil'd
To swell thy greatness, till our brazen chain
From furthest Ararat to ocean's stream
Hath bound the nations? And when all my vows
At length are crown'd, and Heaven with earth conspires
To yield thee worship, dost thou then rebel,
And hate thy happiness? Bethink thee, maid,
Ere yet thine answer, not to be recall'd,
Hath pass'd those ivory gates—bethink thee well.
Who shall recount the blessings which our gods
Have richly lavish'd on the seed of Cain?
And who, if stung by thine ingratitude,
Can meet their vengeance?” Then the maiden rose,
And folding on her breast her ivory arms,
“Father,” she said, “thou deem'st thy warrior gods
Are mighty,—One above is mightier:
Name Him, they tremble. Kind, thou call'st them;
Lavish of blessings. Is that blessedness
To sin with them? to hold a hideous rule,
Water'd with widows' tears and blood of men,
O'er those who curse our name? Thy bands went forth,
And brought back captives from the palmy side
Of far Euphrates. One thou gavest me,
A woman for mine handmaid; I have heard
Her mournful songs as, in the strangers' land
She wept and plied the loom. I question'd her:
Oh, what a tale she told! And are they good,—
The gods whose work these are! They are not good,—
And, if not good, not gods. But there is One,
I know, I feel, a good, a Holy One,
The God who fills my heart, when, with glad tears,
I think upon my mother; when I strive
To be like her, like her to soothe thy cares
With perfect tenderness. O father, king,
Most honour'd, most belov'd, than Him alone
Who gives us all less worshipp'd! at thy feet
I lowly cast me down; I clasp thy knees,
And, in her name who most of womankind
Thy soul hath blessed, by whose bed of death
In short-lived penitence thy sorrow vow'd
To serve her God alone,—forgive me now
If I resemble her!” But in fierce wrath
The king replied,—“And know'st thou not, weak girl,
Thy God hath cast us off? hath scorn'd of old
Our father's offering, driven us from His face,
And mark'd us for destruction? Can thy prayer
Pierce through the curse of Cain—thy duty please
That terrible One, whose angels are not free
From sin before Him?” Then the maiden spake:
“Alas! I know mine own unworthiness,
Our hapless race I know. Yet God is good;
Yet is He merciful: the sire of Cain
Forgiveness found, and Cain himself, though steep'd
In brother's blood, had found it, if his pride
Had not disdain'd the needful sacrifice,
And turn'd to other masters. One shall be,
In after times, my mother wont to tell,
Whose blood shall help the guilty. When my soul
Is sick to death, this comfort lingers here,
This hope survives within me; for His sake,
Whose name I know not, God will hear my prayer,
And, though He slay me, I will trust in Him.”
Here Ada ceased, for from her father's eye
The fire flash'd fast, and on his curling lip
The white foam trembled. “Gone,” he cried, “all gone!
My heart's desire, the labour of my youth,
Mine age's solace gone! Degenerate child,
Enemy of our gods, chief enemy
To thine own glory! What forbids my foot
To spurn thy life out, or this dreadful hand
To cast thee from the tower a sacrifice
To those whom thou hast scorn'd? Accurs'd be thou
Of Him thou seek'st in vain! accursed He,
Whose hated worship hath entic'd thy feet
From the bright altars of the host of Heaven!
I curse Him—mark me well—I curse Him, Ada!
And, lo! He smiteth not!” But Ada bow'd
Her head to earth, and hid her face, and wept
In agony of prayer. “Yea,” cried the king,
“Yea, let Him smite me now, for what hath life
Left worth the keeping? Yet, I thank the stars,
Vengeance may yet be mine! Look up and hear
Thy monarch, not thy father! Till this hour
I have spared thy mother's people; they have pray'd
And hymn'd, and have blasphem'd the prince of air;
And, as thou saidest, they have curs'd my reign;
And I have spar'd them! But no longer—no!
Thyself hast lit the fire, nor Lucifer
Shall longer tax my sword for tardy zeal,
And thou shalt live to see it!” From his path
He spurn'd his prostrate child, and groaning, wrapt
The mantle round his face, and pass'd away
Unheard of her whom, stretch'd in seeming death,
Her maidens tended. Oh, that, in this hour
Her soul had fled indeed, nor wak'd again
To keener suffering! Yet shall man refuse
The bitter cup whose dregs are blessedness?
Or shall we hate the friendly hand which guides
To nobler triumph through severer woe?
Thus Ada murmur'd, thus within her spake
(In answer to such impious murmurings)
A spirit not her own. Stretch'd on her couch
She silent lay. The maidens had retir'd
Observant of her rest. Her nurse alone,
Shaking and muttering with a parent's fear,
Knelt by her side, and watch'd her painful breath,
And the wild horror of her fixed eye,
And long'd to hear her voice. “Peninnah! thou!
My mother, is it thou?” the princess cried;
And that old woman kiss'd her feet and wept
In rapturous fondness. “Oh my child! my child!
The blessing of thy mother's mighty God
Rest on thine innocent head, and 'quite thy love
For those kind accents. All, my lovely one,
All may be well. Thy father doats on thee;
And, when his wrath is spent, his love, be sure,
Will grant thee all thy will. Oh lamps of Heaven!
Can ye behold her thus nor pity her!
Is this your love, ye gods!”—“Name not the gods,”
The princess cried, “the wretched gods of Cain;
My mother's God be mine; they are no gods
Whose fleshly fancy doats on mortal clay,
Whose love is ruin! Thinkest thou this night
I have first withstood their tempting? first have proved
Their utter weakness?”—“Have the angels, then,
Visited thee of old?” the nurse inquired,
“Or hath thy father told thee of their love
And thou hast kept it from me?” As she spake
A bright and bitter glance of lofty scorn
Shot from the virgin's eyes. A mantling blush
Of hallow'd courage darken'd on her cheek;
She waved her arm as one whose kingly state
Repels intrusion from his privacy,
And answer'd, with a calm but painful smile:
“They are beside us now! Nay quake not thus,
I fear them not; yet they are terrible—
But they are past, resist them and they flee,
And all is peace again; yet have I groan'd
Beneath such visitation, till my faith
In Him I serve hath almost pass'd away.”
With that she rose, and wrapt in silent thought,
Gaz'd through the portal long,—then pac'd awhile
The marble pavement, now from side to side
Tossing her restless arms, now clasping close
Her hands in supplication, lifting now
Her eloquent eyes to Heaven,—then sought again
Her lowly couch, and, by the nurse's side,
Resum'd the wondrous tale. “Oh friend,” she cried,
“And only mother now, yon silver moon
Has twenty times renew'd her course in Heaven,
Since, as my bosom o'er its girlish zone
With painful tightness rose, I bade thee change
Th' imprisoning cincture. Canst thou yet recal
Thy playful words of praise—thy prophecies
Of one to loose ere long that golden clasp,
A royal bridegroom? Strange to me, thy words
Sunk in my soul, and busy fancy strove
To picture forth that unknown visitant,
His form and bearing. Musing thus, and lost
In troubl'd contemplation, o'er my soul
A heavy slumber fell; I sank not down;
I saw, I heard, I mov'd; the spell was laid
Within me, and from forth my secret heart
A stranger's accents came: ‘Oh! blessed maid!
Most beautiful, most honour'd! not for thee
Be mortal marriage, nor the feeble love
Of those whose beauty is a mortal dream,
Whose age a shadow. What is man, whose day,
In the poor circuit of a thousand years,
Reverts again to dust? Thee, maiden! thee
The Gods have seen: the never-dying stars
Gaze on thy loveliness, and thou shalt reign
A new Astarte. Bind thy flowing hair,
Brace on thy sandals, seek the myrtle grove
West of the city, and the cavern well,
Whose clear black waters from their silent spring
Ripple with ceaseless stir: thy lover there
Waits thee in secret, and thy soul shall learn
The raptures of a god! But cast away
That peevish bauble which thy mother gave,
Her hated talisman.’ That word recall'd
My straggling senses and her dying prayer
Pass'd through my soul like fire; the tempter fell
Abash'd before it, and a living voice
Of most true consolation o'er me came,
‘Nor love nor fear them, Ada; love not them
Who hate thy mother's memory; fear not them
Who fear thy mother's God; for this she gave,
Prophetic of this hour, that graven gold,
Which bears the title of the Eternal One,
And binds thee to His service: guard it well,
And guard the faith it teaches; safer so
Than girt around by brazen walls, and gates
Of seven-fold cedar.’ Since that hour, my heart
Hath kept its covenant, nor shrunk beneath
The spirits of evil; yet, not so repell'd,
They watch me in my walks, spy out my ways,
And still with nightly whispers vex my soul,
To seek the myrtle thicket. Bolder now,
They speak of duty—of a father's will,
Now first unkind—a father's kingly power,
Tremendous when oppos'd. My God, they say,
Bids me revere my parent; will He guard
A rebel daughter? Wiser to comply,
Ere force compels me to my happiness,
And to my lover yield that sacrifice
Which else my foe may seize. Oh God! great God!
Of whom I am, and whom I serve alone,
Be thou my strength in weakness—Thou my guide,
And save me from this hour!” Thus, as she spake,
With naked feet and silent, in the cloud
Of a long mantle wrapt, as one who shuns
The busy eyes and babbling tongues of men,
A warrior enter'd; o'er his helm
The casque was drawn
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