After Paradise or Legends of Exile :: :: University of Virginia Library

Adam and Eve, cast out of Paradise,
Wander'd along the wilderness forlorn,
Till all its unfamiliar sands and skies
Were one dim solitude without a bourne.
Then Eve, outwearied, sank upon the ground;
And, where she fell, motionless she remain'd.
Adam had climb'd a little barren mound
A few steps farther. There he stood, and strain'd
His backward gaze to the forbidden bound
Of Eden. Still their banisht lord could see,
Though faint in fading light, the happy bowers
Where nevermore his fallen mate and he
Might roam or rest, renewing griefless hours;
And Adam groan'd.

Meanwhile, unheard, unview'd,
Jehovah's arm'd Archangel, from the gate
He had shut forever, adown the solitude
And darkness of that world all desolate
The footsteps of the fugitives pursued.

Sudden he stood by Adam's side, and said,
“Man, thou hast far to go. It is not good
To look behind thee. Forward turn thy head!
Thither thy way lies.” And the man replied
“I cannot.” “What thou canst thou knowest not,”
The Archangel answer'd, “for thou hast not tried.
But trial is henceforth Man's earthly lot,
And what he must he can do.” Adam cried
“What must I?” “Thou hast set aside God's word,
But canst not,” said the Angel, “set aside
Necessity; whose bidding, tho' abhorr'd,
Obey thou must.” And Adam ask'd in awe

“Is then Necessity another Lord?”
The Angel answer'd “'Tis another Law.”
“Another Law! But me thy sweeping sword
Hath left not,” Adam mutter'd, “hap what may,
Another Paradise to forfeit still.
What if that other Law I disobey?”
“Thou canst not,” sigh'd the Seraph, “for thy will
Hath lost its freedom, which was yesterday
A part of Paradise. For good or ill
Necessity controls it. Wretch, thou art
Weary already, and thou fain wouldst sleep,
Yet sleep thou dost not, tho' thine eyelids smart
With the unwilling vigil they must keep;
'Tis thy necessity to think and wake.
To-morrow, thou wouldst wake and think. In vain!
Slumber unwill'd thy thoughts shall overtake,
And sleep thou shalt, tho' sleep thou wouldst not. Pain
Thou wouldst avoid, yet pain shall be thy lot.

Thou wouldst go forth—Necessity forbids,
Chains fast thy weakness to one hated spot,
And on thy shut wish locks her iron lids.
Thou wouldst know one thing, yet shalt know it not.
Thou wouldst be ignorant of another thing,
Yet canst not choose but know it. Unforgot
To thy reluctant memory shall cling
What thou wouldst fain forget, forgotten fleet
From foil'd remembrance on evasive wing
What thou wouldst fain remember. Change or cheat
Necessity, thou canst not.”

Shuddering
Adam crouch'd low at the Archangel's feet,
And cried “Whate'er I must be, and whate'er
I can be, aid, O aid me, to forget
What I no longer may be! Even this bare
Inhospitable wilderness might yet

To unremembering eyes seem all as fair
As Eden's self, nor should I more repine
Were I once more unable to compare.”
“Poor wretch,” the Angel said, “wouldst thou resign
All that remains to thee of Paradise?”
“Of Paradise is anything still mine?”
Sigh'd Adam, and the Angel answer'd “Yes,
The memory of it.” “Thence, ”he groan'd, “arise
My sharpest torments. I should suffer less
If I could cease to miss what I survive.”
“Wouldst thou the gift, then, of forgetfulness?”
The Seraph ask'd. And Adam cried, “Give! give!”

With looks uplift, that search'd the deeps of heaven,
Silent the Angel stood, till, as it were,
In response from the source of glory given
To that seraphic gaze, which was a prayer,
Reörient thro' the rifted dark, and high

O'er Eden, rose the dawn of such a day
As nevermore man's mourning eyes shall bless
With beauty that hath wither'd from his way,
And gladness that is gone beyond his guess.
The panting Paradise beneath it lay
Beatified in the divine caress
Of its effulgence; and, with fervid sigh,
All Eden's folded labyrinths open'd wide
Abysm within abysm of loveliness.
Thither the Archangel pointed, and replied:
“Adam, once more look yonder! Fix thine eye
Upon the guarded happiness denied
To the denial of its guardian law.
Contèmplate thy lost Eden—the last time!”

And Adam lifted up his face, and saw
Far off the bowery lawns and blissful streams
Of Eden, fair as in his sinless prime,

And fairer than to love forbidden seems
The long'd-for face whose lips in dreams requite
Adoring sighs that, save in passionate dreams,
Are disallow'd idolatries. Dark night
Elsewhere above the lifeless waste was spread,
As o'er a dead face the blindfolding pall.
“Seest thou thy sinless past?” the Angel said.
And Adam moan'd, “All, all! I see it all,
And know it mine no more!”

His helmèd head,
As in obedience to some high command
Deliver'd to him by no audible word,
The Archangel bow'd. Then, with decisive hand,
He seized and drew his formidable sword.
Thro' night's black bosom burn'd the plunging brand;
Two-edgèd fires, the lightnings of the Lord,
Flasht from its fervid blade, below, above,
And, where their brilliance thro' the darkness broke,

Clear from the zenith to the nadir clove
Man's sunder'd universe. At one dread stroke
The Archangelic sword had hewn in twain
The substance of Eternity.

There ran
The pang and shudder of a fierce surprise
Thro' Adam's soul; and then he slept again
As he had slept before, when he (likewise
In twain divided—Man and Woman) began
His double being.

Upon the night-bound plain,
In two vast fragments, each a dim surmise,
Eternity had fallen—one part toward man,
The other part toward man's lost Paradise.
The light of Eden by its fall was crost,
And in its shadow vanisht—save one gleam
Of faintly-lingering glory that was lost
In Adam's slumber, and became—A Dream.

Adam had lost his memory by the stroke
Of that celestial sword's transfixing flame,
And so forgot his dream when he awoke.
Yet did its unremember'd secret claim
Release from dull oblivion's daily yoke
In moments rare. He knew not whence they came,
Nor was it in his power to reinvoke
Their coming: but at times thro' all his frame
He felt them, like an inward voice that spoke
Of things which have on earth no utter'd name;
And sometimes like a sudden light they broke
Upon his darkest hours, and put to shame
His dull despondency, his fierce unrest,
His sordid toil, and miserable strife.
These rare brief moments Adam deem'd his best,
And call'd them all The Poetry of Life.