The Judgement of the Flood :: :: University of Virginia Library

When the unrighteous went away from Wisdom in his anger, he perished also in the fury wherewith he murdered his brother. For whose cause the earth being drowned with the flood, Wisdom again preserved it, and directed the course of the righteous in a piece of wood of small value. Wisdom of Solomon.

ODE ON HAVING COMPLETED THE REVISION OF THE POEM, (5 July, 1852.)

I.

Bird of Doubt,
Let the stream run out;
The stream deep, and strong,
Of the river of song,
Whose spring is thy heart;
That fountain divine,
Whence with wildness, and art,
It flows into mine.
I hear it—I hear it—
Most beautiful Spirit,
All the Night long,
That stream deep, and strong,
Of the river of song.—
Bird of Doubt,
How shall we name thy sob, and thy shout?

II.

Is thy song of Triumph, or Sorrow?
—Idiots we;—what terms we borrow—
For what, if to Grief
It give relief;
Is there not a Joy in Grief?

And what, if Joy
Its numbers employ?
In sighs, and tears,
Oft Joy appears—
Ay, Sorrow hath laughed, and Triumph hath wept;
And Smiles, and Tears, with both have kept.—
So, whether thou sob, or whether thou shout;
How may thy song be named, Bird of Doubt?
All rapture—all sadness—
All gladness—all madness—
Be it named of Ecstasy,
Profound as Hell, than Heaven more high.
Of the Shadow of Death this Earth is the Vale—
Sing on—sing thou on—mystic Nightingale.

III.

This Song of mine might have been sung by thee;
And, darkling, has been sung by me—
Midst boyhood's hopes, midst manhood's fears;
With too few smiles, and many tears;
And, in a region all obscure
Of time, wherein was nothing sure:
And hence have I, with sad intention,
Of thee made honourable mention,
As meet, thyself a mystery,
Of Mythic Muse the Bard to be.
I heard thy numbers in the dreamèd tone
Of Plato's image, language all thine own,
By the Pellèan conqueror heard;
Prophetic group, well-carved in stone
By Japhet; —thine was every word
Of Truth, and Wisdom; thou, a Philosophic Bird.

IV.

What Grief, what Passion, what Anxiety,
Have tempted me whilere; to live or die,
Unknowing which to chuse—
O thankless Man; if not, O thankless Muse.
With these Temptations I have battled now;
Victor, or vanquished? God, that knowest Thou.

V.

My Spirit has experienced many phases,
Since, the first time, I thought to thread the mazes
Of this great theme.
I am not what I was; nay, I
Have nothing of my own identity,
Save in this dream:
Yet difference, even here, I apprehend—
And now her travail cometh to an end,
I feel no triumph; rather shame, and sorrow,
Offspring of sin; and Hope of Death to-morrow,
So that the Waters o'er my soul may pass,
And wash it—from the Ark shut out, alas,
Entrance wherein I wished, but wanted strength
Of Faith to reach. Well—Once set free, at length,
The Ark of Hades waits; where even the Drowned
Find refuge late, and are of Mercy found.

See Section 3, Book 1.

THE JUDGEMENT OF THE FLOOD.

I. Part the First. LAMECH.

The Lay of LILITH'S SON; Dreamer of Dreams, Seer of Visions, in the Morning Land.

One Sabbath, lo, I clomb the misty sides,
At Dayspring, till I reached the glorious top
Of perfect Ararat; whereon the Flood
Stranded the Ark of Noah:—soon I heard,
Whiles, in the Spirit, resting there, “All hail.”
Then, on my face I fell, and thus I prayed:

‘Of Him, the Oldest Man—Methuselah,
Whose Death forenamed brought wreck on the huge World;
Of Noah, the rejected priest of Truth;
Of Wrong primeval, and the Father's Wrath;
How War lays waste, and Peace corrupts mankind;
Nations, and peoples; patriarchs, and kings;
Angels, men, demons; Earth, and Heaven, and Hell;
Lands without name, and Language without words;
The cataracts of the everlasting Height,
The fountains of the cöeternal Deep;
Antient of Days, instruct the solemn song.
—Omniscient Spirit, Presence of the past,
Rend, rend the veil; unblasted, let me look

Into the Holiest: On that Dial's front,
Whose hours are ages, bid the Sun return,
That I may read their history aloud:
Disperse the mist from Ocean's monstrous face,
And purge my sight, that I may see beyond;
And, from the mystic, unrevealed profound
Of universal Deluge, may evoke,
As from a sepulchre, the Spectres dread
Of giant crime, of passions darkly great;
Imaginations awful, unexplored,
Begot incessant on the evil heart;
Dire brood of Mind rebellious, bold to scale
The hill of heaven, and dare the brow of God.’

Then answered me the Spirit, trumpet-tongued:

‘Prayer hath prevailed. The Deep yields up her Dead.’

And, forthwith, there were Visions, and a Voice—
What brings the Spirit to my musing ear?

BOOK THE FIRST. THE LAND OF EDEN

I. Noah, and his sons

Voices of many Thunders; and they spake
Words, and a language understood by man,
Albeit no human dialect: the mind
Imbibed their meaning, though the sounds were strange.
A sable Cloud palled o'er the Universe,
That it implied a Sanctuary of Death,
Whence light is barred, as an unholy thing,
Elsewhere the holiest of the works of God.
Defined, anon, and growing visible,
A shade, a shape, a symbol it became;
Till soon the vapoury mass appeared the robe
Of a descending Angel—and, behold,
Circling all earth, based on the world of waves,
A glory arched the entire expanse of sky,
Braided of sunbeams, and the tears of heaven.
—Therein, more glorious still, the Angel stood,
A conflagration kindling sea, and shore;
His head with stars becrowned; and, awfully,
He raised aloft his ample hand, and sware.
‘By Him who is, and was, and is to come:
Eternity my father; thou, oh Sun,
And thou, oh Earth, and all ye floating Orbs,
My children; my dominion, Space; great Truth,
The daughter of my Voice—my Words are Things
That have been, are, and shall be. Woe, woe, woe.
—Alas, for Man, whose soul, a human god,
Creates its like, a god unto itself,
Fairer than all the stars; brighter than he
Who holds, in the mid heaven, his glorious shield,

Before his burning brow, to shade the earth,
Lest the ever-during hills should melt, like wax,
From tiny thigh by virgin bee distilled:
Or world, more wonderous than archangel kenned
In highest heaven, new even to Deity;
Yea, mightier than his mightiest handy-work,
And fondly deemed eternal as his throne,
Though transient as the dew; and, like the tear,
The tremulous globule, glassed in Beauty's eye,
Because of frailty more attractive still.
—Alas, for thee, oh Time. Of the firm arc
The keystone, knit by the prime Architect,
And whereon thou didst set thy resonant foot,
And say . . . ‘This is its everlasting stool,’
Is broken. In the halls of mighty men,
Leviathan disports: no morn have they,
But of his eyelids; neither lamp, nor fire,
But of what wrath-breath from his nostrils burns.
—Yet fear not, Noah. Lo, I stand within
The ethereal circle, and pure zone of love;
Yet shall I thus return, and thus shall swear
By Him who is, and was, and is to come,
That Time shall be no longer. And, again,
The echoes of seven worlds shall answer me,
In thunder repercussed from orb to orb.’

Hushed is the Archangel's mighty voice; and hushed
The peals of the responses, momently.
And where he stood a self-raised Altar stands,
Surmounted with a pyramid of flame,
And odourous as cassia ere the Fall;
Space filling, and usurping the sun's height,
Veiled by the volumes of the fragrant smoke;
Beautiful in destruction, terrible
In beauty; till the sacrifice appeared
A mound of star-bright ashes, such as were
The wreck and embers of a perished world.

—Whence came a Feathered King; likest the bird
Egyptian, the mysterious holocaust
Of ages, in the splendour of his plumes,
Refined in that essential fire, and made
Rejuvenescent; lifting his full eye,
Exulting, toward the sun; that sent, from out
His central orb, his choicest rays, to greet
The royal One . . . whom bathed the golden streams,
Whence he was born, and whereby is sustained:
At once, poised on the waves of his bright wings,
He fanned the gales of Paradise abroad;
And, in far ether, looked another sun,
Dazzling the sight—then, mingled with the heaven.

And Noah's eye seemed so to ache after him,
In this his vision, that the Prophet woke.
Still Chava slept, his wife. She undisturbed:—
His simple raiment donned, he stood erect,
A venerable man, and yet not old;
Like some hoar Hill, seen far up in the heaven,
Midst a low vale, with streamlet haply girt,
And graced with faery lake, where Silence sits
Whispering the Lily pale, made pale with grief
For absent lover, hanging o'er the brook.
—His manly beard flowed graceful down his chest,
Like a lone grove, or cirque of shady trees,
Weaving their branches, that no moonlight pierce
The shrine they love to arbour, and imbower.
—Over his shoulder waved his copious locks,
In artless beauty, but in clusters rich,
And o'er his forehead in ambrosial curls,
As they embellished an angelic head,

Uriel's, or Raphael's, famed for golden hair,
With amaranth enwreathed. A seamless robe
Set-off the fine proportion of his limbs,
Upgathered, in his arms, in ample folds.
—A venerable man, and yet not old;
His midway sun had gained the tide of noon,
Calmness, and heat partaking; such as feels
The Shepherd, when the day-star leans awhile,
Their task half done, at rest, in height of heaven,
As o'er a precipice, and kindles round
The glowing skies even to the horizon's edge,
And beautifies the changes of the clouds;
Herds of the fields of air: of other flocks
Mindful, the Swain reposes by the oak,
Beneath the shade of that majestic tree,
While from the plain the bleating charge go seek
For sheltering valley, or umbrageous wood.
—A venerable man, and yet not old;
And a simplicity his aspect bore,
Yet thwart his brow were traces as of age,
As there old Time had travelled; so he had:
For Thought is time; and Thought, with constant tread,
Had worn a wrinkled pathway—but his eye,
Undimmed, shone out, clear as the Hour of Dawn,
And quiet as is nature then, when all
Is silent as the night, though night be not,
And yet the drowsy Kine lie on the dews—
Quiet, and meditative, as lone Even;
Lone, save to covert wends the weary Stag,
And mingled song the timeous Bird outpours,
Weeping forth joy, or laughing in its grief—
Quiet, and meditative, and as bright,
As the fair Moon aloft, escaped from cloud,
Or entering hermit dwelling, roofed with moss,
Neighboured with ancient yew, and winding stream,
And floored with spreading leaves; her beams beside,

No other light within its opening door.

The oriental embellishments with which the following description of Noah's person is overcharged, have their parallel and sanction in the Ethiopian “Book of Enoch.”

And Noah, Priest, and Witness of the Truth,
Now looked abroad upon the mountain tops:
Morn had walked forth, and edged them with the trace
Of her auriferous footsteps; tinged the skies
With her own rose-tipped fingers; and the clouds
Kissed to the ripe hue of her coral lips,
The intense suffusion of her lustrous cheeks.
—What strife of love is on the orient hill,
Deep blush, and rival ardour of desire:
The enamoured breezes press to her embrace,
And thence return, with presents for the earth,
Pearls, soon exhaled; and perfume for all flowers—
Less wanton than the daughters of mankind,
Who welcome passion, though its breath be moist,
And tinctured with the dew of other lips,
Or, in demoniac pride, with demons mate.

But holier thoughts befit the Holy Morn,
That ushers in the day, the Omnific Word
Rested. Hail, loveliest of Time's daughters, hail:
How, like thy sisters, to men's use devote,
Frequent by satyr force defiled, though He
Thee consecrated, Virgin, to himself.

And Noah said unto his Sons,—
‘Arise
On this peculiar day right-early wake.
—Though men against her chastity rebel,
And mock the Sabbath on the couch of sin;
Shall We be tardy in our matin-song?
Let us go forth; and offer, on the Tomb
Of Adam, sacrifice with heart, and voice,
Prayer, and thanksgiving, and a contrite mind.
—Sons, I have seen a vision: God hath spoken,
And I will speak; so, haply, I may save
Earth from her doom, and Love, long-suffering Love,

Withdraw the vengeance from her verdant fields.
—Are they not dear to me? For them hath time
Not strengthened in my heart habitual ruth?
She is our first great Mother; such of all:
Out of her very substance are we made.
For her I feel a Son's solicitude;
And would not have her womb laid bare, and crushed,
While I behold it, without power to help.’

Forth Noah went; with Japhet, Shem, and Ham,
His sons. Shem led a yearling Lamb along,
For Sacrifice on Adam's Sepulchre—
Forth went the Preacher, and his Filial Train,
In the bright shadow of the morning sun.
Their way was along Valleys, from a vale,
Through winding Hollows, guarded round by Hills,
Graced with the Palm, and groves of bearded Fig,
Vine, Date, and Plantain, Clove, and Cinnamon,
Cocoa, and Laurel, Chestnut, Oak, and Elm;
Hiding more distant Rivers, Lakes, and Streams;
Rocks, where the Lichens grew, pulverulent,
Or leafy, Mosses struggling into light,
Huge Reeds, and Sedge gigantic; for the Sea
Had there a girdle both in beach, and cliff;
And arborescent Ferns—with other stems,
Like, but of smaller size. O nothing lacked
The Old world of what since the New may boast;
But rather in excess acknowledged life,
Both vegetable forms, and animal.
Trees, shrubs, and flowers; field, forest, flood, and fell;
Rose up in Heaven's great Eye, as Earth arose
On Uriel's Orb, the Seraph of the Sun.
And Noah spake these words unto his Sons:—
‘Accordant with the work on us imposed
By messengers divine, angelic guests,

Yon Ark to build, thus far by us performed,
In faith submiss-the Vision me vouchsafed
Touched the dread End of things; as now well nigh
Some cycle were complete, and wearied Time
Halted; yet not as one whose journey's sped,
But looking onward to the west, where he
Shall with the sun repose. I call to mind
The dying words of Jared, that pronounced
The Doom of Earth, linked with our grandsire's death,
Methuselah—now oldest man of men.
—Within the vale of Armon, I, then young,
Sate in the radiance of the sabbath dawn;
Betrothèd Chava, at the patriarch's door,
Anxious awaiting . . earliest visitant:
For Jared on his final couch was laid,
And a prophetic dream had told his soul,
That he should die that day. Therefore the dawn
Would I prevent; that of his last of days
I might be longest witness; but without
Attend, till entrance household rule permit.
—Soon, first awake, or rather, risen first;
For tender thought made strangers sleep, and night;
Fair Chava me belovèd beckoned in.
And now, the kiss of love received, and given,
Not without tears; we enter, silently,
The chamber of the dying. There, behold,
Methuselah, and Lamech, by the couch,
A saintly group, recline, in worship hushed.
The Patriarch sleeps, whom they all night had watched;
And, in the watches of the night, had he
Awakened oft, and held discourse sublime
Of life, and immortality, and God;
And then relapsed into so sweet repose,
As made the place a paradise of peace.
—In green old age erect, Methuselah,
Though hoary with seven centuries, upstood;

Like lofty Ararat, that shall outlast
The period of the Flood, that must o'erwhelm
All other hills: so he life's wonted term:
Whiles I, and Lamech, on his left and right,
Attended, rendering homage natural
To sage experience, venerable eld.
Nor was uncondescended homage meet
To pensive beauty, graces juvenile;
And, in expressive silence, to his breast
Methuselah the womanly loveliness
Of Chava's pulchritude enfolded now,
Child of the race of Jared. Timidly,
Yet piously resigned, she gazed upon
The face of him whose hour was nigh at hand;
And saw the glory of his countenance
Irradiate his pillow, with the type
Of the celestial crown, prepared for souls
In Paradise, the sea of death surpassed.
Sweet his repose, so sweet that halo there,
All sadness it dispelled in whoso saw;
And substituted blessèd hope, in hearts
To tender melancholy else inclined,
Though nothing fearful; well sustained by faith,
Devoutly patient to divine decree.
That waking smile diffused itself, and touched
His eyelids to their opening, and again
Their orbs looked out on objects sensible,
And his wise lips found words benign again.
—‘Ah, blessèd sleep, that setst the spirit free;
If death hath greater gift than thine in store,
O holy vision, O divine delight.
Sons, I have dreamed as Adam wont to dream
In Eden, for the Cherubim removed
Their terrours from before the Tree of Lives;
So entered I the Paradise of God.
There Enoch I beheld—I saw my Son,
On whom the doom of Adam had no power,

Wise without sin, and teacher of the truth.
Much we discoursed: he of eternity;
And I of time: of what had chanced on earth,
Since God's acceptance of the well-beloved.
Both wept for the impiety of man;
And, chief, for the oppression exercised
By the mixed races over Abel's sons,
With their expulsion from the father land;
Made still more sacred by his martyr blood;
How dear to them—O tyranny profane—
Cast out beyond the far Erythrean sea.
Now I depart to my belovèd Son—
One duty first performed. Thy Parent's book,
The Book of Enoch, sage Methuselah,
I render to thy hand; ere he arose,
Deposited with Seth; transmitted, since,
From patriarch unto patriarch, last to thee;
For on thy Death the Doom of Earth depends.
Now, while I lie, awaiting the demand
Of the Death-Angel, read to me the words
Of my wise Son, and sweetly soothe my soul;
And, with thy Parent's wisdom, thine instruct,
That thou mayst rule with justice, and with truth.’
—And they were read to him; but, while his Son
Was reading, Jared's soul had passed away
In peace, and placidly upon his couch
The frame exanimate reposed. Forth went
Methuselah, and slowly followed him,
In quiet state, my Father. Lo, the hills
Were peopled. All the peoples of all tribes,
Submissive, yet, unto the primitive,
And gentle, hand of patriarchal rule,
Were there; expecting, reverent, the report
Of Jared's death. Into the midst we passed,
Silently; till, at Adam's Tomb arrived,
In solemn act, thereon Methuselah,

Even on that altar, holy as the dead,
The Book of Enoch laid; acknowledged sign,
To all that multitude, of his access
To Jared's sway. This having done, he knelt;
And all, with him, in adoration bowed.’
Such was their Converse, gladdening well their way
Between the hills. At length, they came to where
The paths concluded in three Vales; that soon
Blended again into a wider one,
More distant, opening to a continent.
Through the mid Vale they passed, a fertile spot,
Planted with trees; and from the mountains flowed
A pleasant stream of waters musical,
Skirting its sides, and, in a shallow ford,
Crossing the footroad: odourous the trees,
And clustered like the palm; the waters sweet
To many senses—hearing, sight, and scent,
And feeling,—nor ungrateful to the taste;
And, from the current, Noah stooped to take
Refreshing liquid, healing to the lips,
And palate, parched by long, though loved, discourse.
And there was harmony among the trees:
The breath of morning shook the Poplar leaves;
And, like the babbling of the brooks, they spake
Oracular: the Oaks were eloquent:
And the tall grass, within the valley-depths,
And on the hill's-side, swelled and murmured, like
The Ocean-billows breaking 'gainst the shore.
For, not by chance produced, they prophesy
Of their Creatour; singing to his praise,
Who made the leaf, and grass so thin—so soft—
So fragile; yet so hardy, to endure
Both cold, and heat, and every change of wind,
And influence of weather: nay, and, since,
The Rain, and Snow—with Spirit of Life endowed,
Surviving palaces, and pyramids.

II. Elihu, and Sodi

His Sons thus Noah taught. By this they heard
Hubbub—a day of sport.—Scene different far
From that deep grove of peace, and quiet hearth,
Where all domestic charities embraced,
They quitted even now. The mountains rang,
Their summits heard the voice of multitudes.
From 'twixt the hills,—just where the hollow clasped
Their deep foundations, and the base inclosed,
As from an elbow of the embracing arm
Of that calm vale,—escaped the extended plain,
A verdant level. At a mountain's foot,
A man, clothed in a linen vest, reposed,
Having a writer's inkhorn by his side;
And on his thigh he wrote. A book of skin
Spread on the grassy slope, and upon tile
His ready pencil its contents transcribed;
—O'ershadowed from the day's increasing heat,
By a tall Plantain; that was planted there
By Nature's self, upon the mountain's side,
Just by a river's source. And round about
Were Maples, Elms, and Cedars—shelter meet,
Not for man only, but for beast, and bird;
Their very boughs, how fitted for the grasp
Of the plumed groups; that in their foliage hide,
And nestle; guarded from the heat of noon,
And the night-chills; they, and their tender young.

‘Tamiel,’ said Noah, ‘wherefore dost thou here?’—
Him answered thus the Scribe, ‘Behold, and read.’
The Prophet then the Words of Enoch read,
And wondered, and enquired, ‘Why writest thou this?’
Then thus the Scribe—

Mine office is to do,
Not speak; yet, Prophet, will I speak to thee,
For thou art worthy, and thine eye hath power.

—Smitten with keen conviction, young Zateel,
Turned to the tents of Seth, hath, from the mouth
Of patriarchal wisdom, truth imbibed,
Through faith received, and blest with Zerah's love;
Zerah, of Lamech old the youngest child,
Thy sister, Noah; and they spake of Enoch,
Whom, in the prime of life, the eternal God
Rapt from the sinful earth.—‘His spirit bides:
His Prophecy is written,’ Lamech said;
‘The Book is as a spark that none may quench.’
‘But who,’ said old Methuselah, ‘shall compel
Vain man to turn thereon reluctant eye?
To take the enduring spark into his soul,
And kindle up the vision of his mind?’
—Then cried Zateel, ‘Young am I; may I speak?
For multitude of years should ever teach.
Shall I give utterance to the spirit within me?
And to the inspiring wish wherewith I burn?
Give me the Book.’—And he went forth therewith,
And to my hand transferred, and gave in charge
What now I do; that, on this day of sport,
Hallowed to nobler purposes, the sons
Of folly, haply, may be lured to pause,
Curious, and questioning; when unto each
The Words of Enoch on the tile impressed
I give, that it may be to them for good,
Or evil. And Elihu, here with me,
The best, and youngest of thy Father's Sons,
Is ministrant upon this embassy;
And even now has followed, with the Writ,
A Scorner, to win from him by mild words
Acceptance.’

‘God, Elihu, thee reward;’
Said Noah; ‘and mayst thou, Zateel, rejoice,
In the bride of thy youth; worthy art thou
Of Lamech's daughter. No ill-mated pair

Will thou, and Zerah be, as some have been,
Whence the gigantic brood of force, and fraud—
Rise, Tamiel, come; and bring the Book along.
I'll shout the Words of Enoch in their ears:
Yea, I will also prophesy: and thou
Write down my words, and add them unto his;
That they, who hear not, may behold. His voice,
From heaven, shall speak to them; and mine, on earth.’

The Scribe obeyed, and rose, and girt his loins;
And all, together, left the shaded hill,
Yet, even along the public road, awhile
Walked by a leafy border; for the sides
Were fringed with Chestnut, beautiful of wood,
Lovely of leaf, sublime of attitude,
Crowded with fruit, immingled with the pomp
Of Walnut trees; a forest avenue.

Here by Elihu were they met, returning
From his religious errand, warm with zeal,
And blushing in the beauty of his youth,
Beaming ingenuous grace. Noah embraced
His brother, youngest, dearest; and, with tears,
His work applauded. Brief discourse then had
Of what himself designed, to him replied
Elihu, the most lovely.

‘Take the Book,
For witness to the people, thou, and Tamiel;
I shrine the Law of Him whose Name is in me,
On fleshly Tables, in this Ark, my Heart—
Nor do I hold in vain the ready pen
Of the instructed Scribe; then well may I
His place assume, and to the passer give,
Writ by this hand, from faithful memory,
The Laws of Love, and Duty. To your tasks;
And I'll to mine.’

So, gladsome, parted they:—

Elihu, the most lovely—O how lovely
Elihu was, hoar Lamech, in thine eyes—
A happy father, Lamech, whenso he
Looked on Elihu, worn with woe before—
Elihu, the most lovely, on his way
Rejoicing went.

Whom meets he now? A friend—
Yet not with friendly cheer; . . . for, in strange guise
Of gladiator, scarce is recognized
The playmate of his boyhood.

‘Whither hence,
Son of the Son of sage Methuselah,
Heir of the living Patriarch, Sodi; thus,
And now, even on this day of holy rest?’

‘Of holy rest?’ said Sodi; ‘better taught
Than once, I know—I wish—no day of rest.
Labour achieved, fit sequent sport relax
Thought toilsome, and perplexed with doubt.’

‘Faith clears,’
Elihu said, ‘the drumly stream of doubt.’

‘I have no Faith,’ cried Sodi.
‘Woe is me,’
Elihu then,—‘art thou apostate grown?
O, for this day suspend thy purposed sport,
And in repose of mind, and sabbath calm,
Find Reason for thy Faith; and Faith will flower
Upon that stem, a voluntary crown.’

‘No rest—no rest—my soul may know no rest:’
Said Sodi then; ‘for Edna beautiful,
Daughter of Enoch's widow—(well I deem,
Him dead, and not translate)—hath scorned the suit
Of this sad heart. No pause—lest I should think,
And think of her. So to the children, now,
Of men I turn; and, in their whirlwind joys,
Make shipwreck of remembrance. I would die
Unto my former life, and live a new.’

Then o'er Elihu's brow, though lovelily,
Virtue passed grave as thought, and ploughed a frown,
Like to a wrinkle as of age, yet not
Impairing or his youth, or loveliness;
While thus, in words well-weighed, he counsel gave:—

‘I have known sorrow; for to me hath grief
Descended from my Father. What wouldst thou?
Pour out thy heart to God—as then I did,
What time Hope died within me, looking fixed
Upon the State of Man; so framed my heart,
For public ill to grieve it; as is thine,
To mourn thy own.—

‘It was a Sabbath-morn:
Behind the Wild where God once Adam made,
Praying, I knelt; my face hid in my hands;
For I was keeping of my Father's flocks;
When, raising thus my brow, behold, I saw
A cluster, as of flowers dropped from the sun,
Spring upward from a root that had been dead.
Last night they were not there; but now they shone
In Heaven's great Eye, as its earth-images,
A glorious family. With wonder touched,
I hailed the yearly miracle, and blessed
The floral resurrection. Nigh I drew:
'Twas but as 'twere the entrance to a Grove
Of thorn, and thistle, and like prickly plants,
Briar, and bramble, and deciduous shrub.
There put the Cistus evergreen its bloom
Out at the dawn; to perish ere eve come;
But, on the morrow, fresh renewed to boast
A constant crown in sure succession worn.
—Making, with either hand, a middle path,
All Sun-flowers I passed through; the willow-leaved,
The spear-shaped, with the giant, and the dwarf—
Profusely set in either hedge; with Sloe,
Wild Plum, and Cherry; some in bloom, some fruit,

Some with white berries, like the Hawthorn; some
With red embellished; some with Lily decked;
Some white of leaf, with flower of yellow crowned.
At length, I near approached a natural Bower,
Wildly arranged, and by no human art;
All Roses—white and red, or pale or deep,
Both few and many leavèd; Cinnamon,
Musk Rose, and pendant Eglantine; and all
Wonderful in their beauty. Glorious show
Of breathing luxury, and conscious love,
Warmed into blushes by the Seraph's kiss,
Whose ardent Spirit manifests the sun.
I entered:—in the midst an Altar seemed
Blended of sensitive Acacias—
The grey smooth trunks rose joyaunt, to support
Those many flowers, each like a little globe,
And all endowed with feeling, and quick life;
And, verily, it was a sentient shrine,
That from profane adorer shrank away.
—Would it from me, who had apart retired,
To voluntary commerce with my God,
Even from my Mother's womb? Oh in its life,
Life I beheld. It was, even as I was—
And felt, even as I felt. Its sense might say,
Methought, as mine might—though in voice more soft,
So soft that Angels were sole audience fit—
‘I AM:’ and boast itself ‘an Image there,
An Echo of the Eternal; Being true.’
'Twas as an Oracle to me; whence, trembling,
I laid my hand upon it; that it might
Admonish me, my presence there was known;
And I might question it, in thought; and thence,
In thought, receive responses. Lo, at once,
Appeared a queenly Shape behind that shrine,
Female of form, in beauty masculine,
So lovelily majestic, that no words

Can paint her, nought of womankind compare.’

Elihu paused in transport. Sodi, then,
Cried,—‘Was it Edna?’

Then Elihu said:
‘No mortal Name, but Wisdom's very self;
I saw—I loved—but was too dazed to woo.
‘Fear not,’ said she, ‘I come to be your Bride.
Of old, was my delight among the Sons
Of Adam; and, with Cain, and Abel both,
I the Beginning of His Way discoursed,
Who is from Everlasting. Thou hast heard,
How Cain from me in anger went astray;
And, with the Voice of Blood 'gainst him that cried,
I soared to Heaven. But Heaven is in the Heart
Of all the Pious. Thou hast felt me there;
And where Self-conscious Being is, am I.
Thou art: I am. And thou shalt wed with me,
Over this living Altar.’ Straight with this,
She reached her royal hand that Altar o'er,
And placed it within mine; the other she raised,
Sky-ward; and solemnly pronounced her vow:
‘True as God liveth, I am ever thine.”

‘What then?’ asked Sodi.
Thus Elihu spake:
‘My sense swam blind, . . and when I looked again,
I was alone—the Blessèd One had gone.’

Then Sodi laughed.
‘No visionary Form;
I want the real Edna—not a dream.
Hence to the Life where occupation is,
That drives out thought. There Wisdom may be found,
True Wisdom . . that abides, and may be known . .
Such Wisdom as in Amazarah lives,
Queen of the City of the Wilderness,
Wisest of women; and the fairest, too,
Of all Cain's daughters; whom the Sons of Seth,

Such as have grown to knowledge, with the tribes
Of men, in Samiasa's Capitol
Obey. Me rules her magic sway henceforth.
The Games await me. Loose me: let me go.’

Bad Sodi from his bosom the embrace
Of good Elihu cast; and left him there,
A weeping statue. Long he wept; then, prayed;
And peace called to his spirit, and was calm—
Next, hastened to the spot where Tamiel sate,
Performing there the office of the Scribe.

III. Sons of Noah

Tamiel, meanwhile, and Noah, and his Sons,
Went, through that shaded avenue, their way.
And now into the plain they had immerged:
But, as they skirted the last trees that closed,
On either side, the woody screen—behold—
A sheet of light, broad as a cataract,
Fell, like a river from the expanded sky,
Upon their heads; nay, flooded the whole air
Wherein they stood. So they were dazzled all;
And, smitten to the earth, adoring, lay.
Then, having prayed, they cautiously relift
Their fearful eyes; the light had vanished thence,
And round them only was the common day—
Tamiel the Scribe; with Japhet, Shem, and Ham;
But Noah was not.

To their feet they sprang,
In wonder. Had he melted into earth,
Dissolved in that dread flash? Unseen by them,
An Angel had descended, and upborne
The Prophet; on far other business bound,
Than what himself designed. But, ignorant
Of the Divine appointment, and amazed,
His Sons with sorrow stand; unknowing where
Their Sire to seek. Erelong, advancing nigh,

Behold Zateel; and, now by them addressed,
Reports, that not by Adam's Sepulchre
Was Noah, nor about the populous plain
Had been beheld; and, at his counsel, they
Turn back, that to the household they may tell
What had so strangely chanced. So they return.

Groups met them on their way; groups, keen intent
On Sabbath sport: some mocking, as they read
What them Elihu, as they passed, had given.
Anon, they came, where he was seated too,
And uttered their lament; and soon his heart
With sympathy was throbbing, and he rose,
Companion of their griefs. So home they bent,
Anticipating all their mother's woe.

Now saw they Chava, sitting at the door;
She greeted them with smiles.

‘Needs not,’ said she,
‘To tell me of bereavement. In a dream,
Our God hath shewn me all. Be of good cheer.
He for your Father hath decreed a work
In grace abounding, though in darkness veiled.’

In matron calm, sate Chava, as she spake,
And stately beauty; for her mien was grave
With Eve-like majesty; her serious brow
Was like a marble Virtue, broad and high,
With sentiments of Chastity inscribed,
In lines of solemn thought. Zateel she saw,
And welcomed.

‘Stranger, hail; not all unknown,
Since told by Zerah yesterday of thee,
In visit brief; . . beloved by her, to us
Is dear:—and for her sake, I fain would know
More of thy story.’

Then Zateel replied:—
‘Born of the line of Cain, yet well-redeemed,
By mother, but by father come of Seth,

Under the sway of Samiasa long
I lived, beneath parental roof; nor past
Idly my days: I was a child of thought,
And not unnoticed by the thoughtful king,
Who heard, how in that gorgeous capitol,
Mid palaces, and temples, I had fed
My eye's poetic wonder, and had reared
My mind to manhood, and sublime regards.
Thence called to court, that monarch's eloquence
Inflamed my soul, and urged her upward flight.
Together often, we would read the stars,
Or, to the earth returning, speculate
On what like them was splendid, and aloft,
In nature, and in man, and, chiefly, what
Asserted union with the most divine.
—For Cain, when from the presence of the Lord,
As in the faces of the Cherubim
Illustrate, to the land of Naid he fled;
Thereof, well as he might, his angry mind,
And conscience still implacable to soothe,
Resemblance made, and Teraphim before
Bowed down and worshipped; feeling what his need
Of highest aid, who had so deeply sinned;
Yet, doomed to labour, could not raise his soul
To finer contemplation; and to him
These were as gods. Such gods his children carved,
Improving in the arts of diligence,
Of airier mould, of more celestial mien
Inventive; proud of their mechanic skill;
And of their benefactours statues made,
And had them in remembrance, and adored
As demigods. Such false religion brought
(Seducing Adon first, by wiles of love,)
Proud Amazarah to the tents of Seth;
Whose sons apostate on the cunning work
Gazed, wondering; and worshipped, ignorant

Of aught beyond. In superstitious fear,
Grew up the mixèd race: and hireling priests
Inshrined as gods the effigies of men;
And, for their temples, reared them pyramids,
Resembling that mysterious Cone of Fire,
And Cloud, which spheres the living Cherubim;
Who keep the passage of the Tree of Lives,
Lest Man, become in knowledge like to God,
Knowing both good and evil, factious, grow
Immortal in a world of sin, and death
Ope not the gate to knowledge pure, and free.
—Soon Samiasa's penetrating thought
Unveiled the mystery of idolatry,
Imparting still to me whate'er he knew.
Burned he with deed heroic to deserve
Honour divine? . . yea, in heroic deed
Surpassed all predecessors, earthly gods,
Till they became, as they had never been,
Forgotten, and the god alone were he;
Save that his filial piety preserved
The memory of his Sire, . . slain by the scorn
Of wedded Amazarah, then adored—
Apostate Adon. Oft, too, from the tents
Of Seth, would come a missioned preacher forth
Of righteousness; to testify of One,
God of all gods, . . Jehovah, . . over all.
—Anon, he did appoint a solemn day,
And at his bidding many peoples came,
With tributary kings, and royal slaves,
Chariots, and horsemen; warriours old, and young—
The bond, and free—a universal host—
To look on him whose image they adored
Within the Temple of the Pyramis.
The Car, by consecrated Steeds conveyed,
Awaited the humanity divine
Of that great Word, who, for his glory, had

A City, and a Country, with his lip
Established. Forth he came; and that large scene,
A populous Ocean, heaving sumless waves,
Passed into his majestic soul with more
Of majesty; and vaunting speech he spake:—
Then fell from heaven a Voice, a thunder-peal—
An Angel's arm was visibly beheld,
In eloquent action, stretched from out the sky.
Heaven opened, and then shut . . and all was still.
—A pause of wonder. Horrour came on all—
But chief on him. O change, for prone at once
He sank; now beast; in sorrow, and in shame,
Remote; from human dwelling banished far;
Within the Desart of Dudaël hid,
Until the times be finished of his doom.
—Heavily weighed this wonder on my mind,
And soon I saw the truth, and much my heart
Was wearied to behold, how ill his realms,
During this alienation of the King,
His Mother, Amazarah, and her Son,
Azaradel, had swayed, and yet misrule.
Hence sought I solace in this vale of peace;
Beautiful Armon; Arbours consecrate
To ancient piety; where patriarchs dwell,
In humble state; oldest Methuselah,
And Lamech, and the sage Noachidæ.’

Here paused Zateel, his tale of marvel ended.

‘Ah me,’ said Chava then: ‘Each from his house,
Shem, Ham, and Japhet, in this trial-time,
Come, with their Brides, to guard their father's hearth;
Living but for one purpose, with intense
And common interest, waiting for the End,
And to the world's affairs indifferent.
What is to them the wealth of herds, and flocks,
Or house, or land, or social garniture,
Within doors, or without, doomed soon to cease?

Devote to God, obedient to his word,
The ministers of judgement to mankind:
Service sublime, but awful; thrilling them
With the still horrour, that o'erwhelms the soul,
Inspired with resolution terrible;
Or rapture, wrought to tears of ecstasy.
—Ye know not of their feelings, who ne'er heard
The voice of God; ne'er wound the spirit's chords
To such high pitch of heavenly harmony,
As may that sacrifice of self sustain,
Of all heroic virtues painfullest,
Which deeds of high emprise, and duties hard
To flesh and blood, demand of pious minds.
But chief to woman's heart, to pity's touch
Made tender as the eye-ball,—is the thought
Of thine approaching destiny, O world;
Of power to break, if elevated not
Above regards of earth, and mortal things.’

Thus Chava spake; and rose, severely sad;
And led, in silent gravity, her guests
Within her hospitable porch; thence, to
A chamber, wherein sate, in serious talk,
Espoused to her three Sons, three Virgins fair.

'Twas by divine command, that Noah bade
His Sons take Wives unto them, from among
The most devout of Armon's sainted maids.
—Long, Japhet, hadst thou loved Ahama well;
Dear as the piercing ether of those orbs,
That in her form created beauty first,
By giving knowledge, to the gazing heart,
Of image shadowing so well the dream
Of vernal fancy—child of young desire.
—Born of the tribe of Enoch, in her soul
Was memory of that immortal hope,
Which his translation shed o'er all his race,

And set them holily apart for heaven,
As worthy of their sire. Ahola, too,
And Leilah, the espoused of Ham, and Shem;
Lovely, and passing beautiful, were they,
Of Seth's race, and of Jared's, pure, unmixed;
Daughters, and sons of God, their parentage;
Fit brides for the Restorers of the World—
High characters, beyond what ever yet,
In poem, or in drama, were set forth,
For precept, or example; persons high,
And wonderous past all wonder, worthiest
Of holiest song, and verse most numerous.
Yet hath no poet yet essayed the theme,
By its supernal greatness terrified;
Nor now had I so dauntless seized the harp,
But that, O Wisdom, to this argument
Thy voice incited me, while yet a child,
As once it came to Samuel, in the days
When Open Vision was not, and the word
Of great Jehovah, seldom heard, was dear:
And I, like him, made answer, ‘Here am I;’
Yet wist not whence it came, and thrice deceived—
But now I know it rightly; and, can say,
‘Speak, for thy servant heareth;’ and will now,
For thus am I enjoined, tell every whit,
And nought from Eli hide, or Israel.

Me yet it doth befit not to portray,
In sensual wise, attractions feminine,
Though on my visions lovelily rise ye,
Leilah, Ahola, and Ahama fair.
And rather ye those graces would affect
Invisible, belonging to the soul,
Than these which the voluptuary lauds.
These let the Cainite sing: but not for such
I dare the epic song, that sings of you,
And Noah's Sons; . . the piety of Shem;

The zeal of Ham; and Japhet's energy,
And skill.

Thou, Japhet! wert enlarged, and thee
Did after-ages deify, and name
Oldest of things. Bard Homer was thy Son.
The benediction of thy Father's lips
Was on thee, like a birthright; and of thee
Nations were born, and peoples of all tongues.
Thou dwelledst in tents not thine. War did thy work,
And peace, and He who is the Prince of Peace.

Visions were thine, wherein thy sculptile mind
Saw shadows of the future, sent by God,
And straight impressed them on chaotic mass,
As with a signet. To thy skill divine,
(Such art was Terah's, too, in sequent time,)
The stoic marble was as potter's clay;
Save that its sterner volume yielded not
To change, unequally diminishing
Harmonious symmetry, proportion bland,
Compacting solids, till the substance be
Conflict of dry, and moist, receding that,
And this remaining on the vantage ground,
Like parted friends turned mutual enemies.
—There, as they came from thy foreshewing hand,
As thy creative seal had shaped them first,
Free from the infirmity of accident,
Stood they; enduring forms, immutable.

Sublime in peace, and tranquil as a god,
Reposing in his own beatitude,
Stood Brouma;—on his forehead a bright star,
And in his quiet hand the bloodless spear,
Twined with the harmless serpent, as in sport,
Life in its eye intelligent. Nor free
The pedestal, but mystically wrought.
The three-fold serpent's animating clasp,
The mundane egg, the wonderous trident coiled,

And clipt the flambeau. Symbols these of Life,
And Death, and of two worlds, Ocean, and Earth;
With pyramid, and obelisk, between,
Like flame aspiring toward its source in Heaven.
From Nile to Ganges,—from the flood of Ind,
The bay of Ormus, to the Caspian lake—
Was his dominion, with the Isles of Greece;
Philosopher, and Hero.

Slave of slaves;
Galled with his chain, yet crafty as his sire;
Ignoble; vengeful, but not valiant; nor
Flushed with the shame which valour would have felt,
(The freeborn;) smit to ground his ebon brow,
That veiled the demon scowl which, burning, lurked
Within his bloodshot orbs, like death, unseen;
The Heraclite, beneath a warrior's foot,
Crouched desperate: less than a worm in soul;
Burrowing his dagger in the guilty loam,
Fearing to smite, and impotent to wound.
Far off appeared his buckler cloven in twain,
With this inscription on one moiety,
‘Twice-fallen,’ and on the other, ‘Fugitive.’
—Prankt in the toga, stood the victor chief;
A curved disdain upon his upper lip,
Swoln anger in his nose; while, on his crest,
The new-bathed eagle, as on mountain winds,
Vailed his broad vans, composed his fulmined beak,
And calmed that eye whence lightning had gone forth.

Lo, the Pellean Conquerour, who wept
For worlds to win. He at two Sages' feet
Heard wisdom, and drank-in the words of Truth;
Whose voice was as the Night bird-melodist's,
Strangled almost with its own melody,
Gurgling up sweetness till it satiate,
Creative of the mysteries of sound,
Of combinations intricate, and strange;

Nor these alone. There sate the Warriour,
Pondering with awe upon the shadows vast,
Which, flashing on the mind's eye through the ear,
Were spoken, by the plastic energy
Of philosophic genius, into life—
And, like the Genius of Philosophy,
Stood Plato eloquent. The marble spake;
Those marble lips seemed uttering liquid speech:
And his broad forehead, conscious of the soul,
Dilated with conceptions, and confessed
Power to make worlds, how populous; . . wherein
The pupil hero might indeed enact
Perpetual conquest. Lo, the incipient spark
Kindled in his ambitious heart, and it
Heaved; and all arteries were inflamed—all nerves
Braced, like bowstrings; each muscle swoln to pain;
The foot advanced—one steel-clenched fist grasped air,
The other clutched with violence his brows.
Hence, when his introverted eye returned
To this gross world, it palled upon his soul,
Deficient in variety, and change,
To satisfy the essential cravings there,
The thirst, the hunger of the immortal mind,
Capacious of the Universe, and God.

White as the foam, the billowy marble heaves;
Waves climb in wrath the beetling rock as white,
But, checked, anon retire. A Lion there
Awed Neptune's wildness, and the maiden Queen,
He guarded on the summit, royally
Disputed his dominion, and opposed
Her sceptre to his trident. At her feet
A Virgin sate, and from the Ocean-god
Took tribute. All the pedestal was wrought
With surge—sea without shore; and thereon sailed,
Brave as an amazon, and beautiful,
Her bosom teeming with intrepid birth,

A lonely Ship, in sovran loneliness;
‘Vasco,’ the legend on her prow inscribed.
Her course was toward the orient, and the sun
Rose in the far horizon, like a shield.
What further might be sculptured none perceived;
Obvious the front, the niche inclosed the rest.

Around the chamber where they stood, were raised
The Sculptures of thy hand—unfinished One—
A work prophetic of the Wonderful,
That Prince of Peace, whose fire should in far time
Descend on his strong race, baptizing them
With heavenly power, to win the holy seats.

On them gazed Tamiel, and Zateel, awhile,
And wise communion with their Artist held;
While Chava, and her Daughters beautiful,
Prepared, for travel, with them, to the tents
Of Lamech, and the sage Methuselah;
Afar within the valley; to consult
Of Noah's absence, and provision make,
For what might follow, in a time of fear.

IV. Vale of Armon

So through the Vale of Armon forth they went;
And Ardis looked down on them from above.
The primal race dwelt on that mountain's top,
By Adam, from his Son born after Seth,
Called Ardis. The next age, the peopled sides
From Armon, their first dweller, name received,
Whence, too, the Vale and Stream therefrom that flowed.

Of these discoursed the Pilgrims—Chava sage,
And Japhet, Shem, and Ham; Ahola fair,
And Leilah, and Ahama; and Zateel,
Whose wondering praises charactered the road.

The race of Seth dwelt on the mountain-top,
With Ardis; and no cover needed then,

Native to the pure air, the Sons of God,
Till tempted to their fall. With Armon too,
The pious seed of Enosh made abode
Upon the hill's descent. Then 'gan the tribes
Of men to take possession of the earth,
And Cainan on its slopes a village wrought.
Anon, the vale was peopled; and his Son,
Mahalaleel, fair tabernacle raised,
For residence, and worship; and prepared
Way for dominion in the minds of men—
Far in the region, distant from the rest,
Need was, for Jared's kingly race, should be
Fair habitations found. A capitol,
In midst of that wide country, so his sire
Established, and there prideless rule he held,
Religiously derived. But Enoch bent
His soul to contemplation, and had built
His City in the skies; yet to his Son
Direction left, who, at that vale's extreme,
Made for his progeny a resting place,
The homesteads of Methuselah, who now
Reigns patriarch of all the tribes about.
Thus occupied the vale, scant room was left
For Lamech's offspring; and beyond the bounds,
And over other hills, by other streams,
And in far other vales, he was compelled
To win fit dwelling for his numerous race;—
Yet named from Armon still—Hard toilsome lot,
With Noah shared, his Son; till in due time,
Himself a father, Noah, warned by God,
His household nigh to Paradise removed,
That, on the guarded mount, and within charge
Of the Cherubic terrour, he might build
The appointed Ark, the Refuge of the World.

Fair is the Morn on Armon; fair, and bright
The woods in loveliest bloom, the islet lakes,

Or isleless, 'mid her mountains, sweetly clear,
And beautiful the crests of hill, and rock.
Eagle, and Vulture; with the Hawk, and Kite;
There make their homes, sublimest eyeries;
And oft from cliff o'er chasm do shoot, and shriek,
Or, circling in the sky, with scornful soar,
Abysses spurn whence giddy fancy shrinks,
Exulting in the daylight as it grows;
While o'er the gentler uplands, flower-bestrewn,
The Bee of blossoms fresh unfolded there,
With buzzing murmur, provident enquiries,
Where to alight, nor stir the tender bloom.

Grand is the Noon on Armon; passing grand,
And glorious, pride of day. There silence reigns
Profound, and solitude magnificent;
Wherein the lapse of waters musical,
The fall of far-off rivers, solemn sound,
Heard by lone echo, hill, and vale repeat.
So deep the awe attends thee, when, O Sun;
As o'er the crown of some triumphal arch;
Centre of sky, thou reinest thy rampant steeds,
And stayest thy chariot, pausing as for state,
Majestic Warriour, radiant all in arms.
—And what more wonderous hast thou to behold,
All-seeing Titan, o'er the dædal earth,
Than That which on the side of Paradise,
The Cherub-guarded Mount, in great repose
A waiting its commission, rises huge?
More sacred, and august, in its design,
Than ruined Tower in solemn state of years,
Where save the Owl nought dwells, once lordly seat,
Or princely, now by age, and long decay,
With moss, and ivy, on its wall, and roof,
Hallowed, and sanctified; or ancient Grove,
Once holy place, with branches overgrown,
Hiding all glimpse of day, or starry night;

And holy still; yea, holier than before,
To the Poetic Soul which apprehends,
In that capacious shade, at noon-tide, met,
Shapes of high phantasy, to celebrate
Mysterious worship, altar undisturbed.
—More sacred, and august, the appointed Ark,
With more associations dignified;
A Temple it; and of all temples since,
Sign, and precursor; thus ordained, to save
A world from ruin, and restore mankind.

Gradual, even like the forests whence the beams
Were taken that composed its massy frame,
It rose, by labour reared. Nor were they few,
Who toiled upon the God-appointed work;
Chief Noah, and his sons, and them besides
The numerous progeny, not yet depraved,
Of old Methuselah, and Lamech's tribes,
The brethren of the prophet, still submiss
To patriarchal sway. So was the pile
Completed, and now stood a monument
Of perseverance, and of faith divine;
Prepared, and daily seasoned, to endure
The wear its destined service must await.
So midst the woods it grew, itself a wood;
And, to prophetic vision, magnified
With light more glorious than of sun, or moon;
Though glorious they, when, in the leafy trees,
They kindle up an unconsuming fire,
At morn, or summer eve, serene, and calm,
And beautiful as a redeemèd soul.

Sweet is the twilight Eve in Armon's vale,
Sweet, lovely, tranquil; sometimes, darkly throned,
And oft refulgent: soft the western wind,
Floating white clouds through silent depths of blue,

O'er hills, and haunts secluded; where the voice
Of waters murmurs with the bleat of Lambs,
And, from the fungous hollow of old oak,
The lively Squirrel starts, pleased with the songs,
From thicket gushing, of the pious Birds;
Homage, and pageant, duteous to the hour
Of sunset. Well the Shaphan loves the time—
Out from the blooming furze she comes, and brings
Her red-eyed young, wont to go forth by bands,
Dwellers of rock, and mountain; on the crag
They gambol, cropping else the herbage sweet,
Or ruminate awhile, ere they retire
To shelter. And on high the shrieking Gull
Wings to her home, upon another coast,
Ocean beyond . . threading for this ravine,
And rugged cleft, and torrent brawling there,
Undaunted in her flight. All things are now
Conscious of Eve: the circling clamorous Rook,
Fresh from his favourite trees; the quiet Deer
Leaving his lair, on open heath to take
A lingering farewell of the parting light:
And on the dizzy cliff of his repose
The Osprey worships ere he sinks to sleep.
—So sets the sun adored, to rosy couch
Departed from the hill: . . whereover, now,
Veiled with thin clouds, the guardian eyes of heaven,
Unnumbered watchers, in the dusky Night,
Not dark, look gracious through the placid air;
As listening to the current lowly toned
Of rivers, whilst, in native motion, they
Make stilly music, not inaudible,
Yet deepening silence, and itself scarce more
Than the unheard music of the distant stars.

Fair o'er the Vale of Armon walks the Moon
In brightness; and on flowers, and streams, and hills,
Flings beauteous radiance from her ample orb,

Streaking with silver lines the swarthy night—
Till, grey with age, herself foreshew her death;
The resurrection of another day,
As yet but hoped for . . like a coming joy,
Subsisting in desire . . as do the souls
In Hades, till with risen flesh reclothed.

But not at morn, or noon, or sunset eve,
Or starry night, comes Noah—borne on high,
By power divine, from evil far away.
—In adoration, he had heard the song,
The angelic harmony within his soul,
And felt it lifted up, as if with wings.
Thus was Elijah borne from Ahab's hand,
Whence Obadiah's fear—him carried thus,
Whither none knew, the Spirit of the Lord.
And he, and Enoch thus were rapt at last—
Not into heaven, for thence they came not down—
But into heavenly dwellings, chosen saints,
Who death have never tasted, and shall come,
(So theologians argue,) to restore
All things; the two prophetic witnesses,
Preceding Second Advent of the Christ.

And none knew whither Noah had been borne,
Of all in Armon. Still the marvel ran,
And wild conjecture; laughter, and loud mirth,
With the profane; and to the pious fear,
And apprehension—ignorant what cause
Man of his sabbath caution had deprived,
Since the last morning of the day of rest.
—To me revealed by him, Antient of Days,
Who hath baptized me with the gift of song,
And grace to sing this theme; . . at first a spark
Deep buried in my soul, then blazed abroad,
Wakening a spirit able to support,
Even to the end, the energy of faith.
—Thus grows in forest huge the circling fire,

And, in the attenuate air sublime, creates
A gradual wind, increasing more and more,
Till in the woods a hurricane careers,
Wild, detonating, crashing, peal on peal,
Loud, and incessant thunder: heard afar
By settler, musing at the smoky gloom,
Thickening the atmosphere; but soon alarmed,
With an impetuous Ocean all aflame,
On high above the tops of loftiest trees,
Cherubic billows—terrible as Love!

See Wordsworth's ‘Yews of Borrowdale.’

END OF FIRST BOOK.

BOOK THE SECOND. THE RACE OF CAIN

I. The City of Enos

Eastward of Eden, lies the Land of Naid;
Where Cain of old the City of Enos built.
Patriarch of Enos, now, was Tubalcain;
Of each expert Artificer in brass,
And iron, whence of keener edge were wrought
Weapons of war, and implements of toil,
Instructor; royal then, and since divine.
And of his state partook his Sister fair,
Naämah, vain, whence told, in after time,
Of Vulcan and of Venus fables lewd:
Zillah their mother, one of Lamech's wives;
—The other Adah, who bare Jubal, sire
Of such as dwelt in tents, and cattle owned,
And Jubal, sire of those who handled harp,
And organ;—Lamech of the line of Cain,
Son of Methusael; who was the son
Of Mehujaël; son of Irad; son
Of Enos, he whose name the City bore.
For when his brother's blood had cried to heaven,
Cain's gracious Judge to him a token gave—
For why should murther murther propagate,
Private, or social? Vengeance is the Lord's;
He will repay. Then, on a swift wild steed,
The first equestrian, Cain with fear escaped
From human tents, and Abel's injured race;
His mother's anguish, and his father's wrath;
And reigned in Naid, sole tyrant, till his death,
Within the capitol that he had built,
And named of his son, Enos; . . who, anon,

Over a race of strong, and mighty men,
Succeeded to his rule. Rooted in earth,
Their labour rigid grew, as grows the oak,
And spread its boughs abroad; . . beneath whose shade
Erelong they dwelt, inventive of new arts,
Laborious arts, though giving grace to life,
And to false woman's beauty treble power
Of fascination, like the subtle snake's;
That charmed the sons of God to union strange.
—Whence men of strength, and science; joining thus
The force of contemplation, with the might
Of quick observance, and experiment:
Empiricism, though gross, yet powerful
Nature to sway, society to form;
But evil in the end, and ruinous,
If true religion guide not, and o'errule.

In regal hall of audience, high enthroned,
Graced with his sister's beauty, and begirt
With warriour, and with noble; whom among
Jabal, and Jubal eminent appeared;
Sate Tubalcain, amidst his counsellours:
And, in the level area of the court,
A Shepherd knelt, in suppliant attitude.
An oaken crook within his hand he bore,
And with a fleecy skin his loins were bound,
Signs of his simple trade; ambassadour
From Abel's children to the sons of Cain.

‘In Adam's, and in God our Father's name,
O king, excuse a shepherd's guileless speech,
If its rude dialect the polished ear
Displease; imploring for a peaceful race,
Whose corn, and oil have failed, that thou their need
Of thine abundance wilt supply, lest them
Famine abolish from the face of earth.’

Thus he. Whereto the crafty Statist crowned:

‘The country where ye sojourn, is it not
Fertile of soil, of so salubrious air,
Nature her part hath done, if man not his?’

‘God,’ said the Shepherd, ‘hath upon the spot
Bestowed his choicest blessings. With small skill
The seed is sown, with little labour reaped:
Whence leisure much have we the flocks to feed
Beside our sacred rivers; while we muse
The stately song, or, under the broad tree,
Or rocky shelter, stories old recount.’

‘Work,’ said the Tetrarch; ‘and ye need not starve:
Or, if your simple hands may not produce
Sufficient store, learn of our skill to make;
Of brass, and iron; harrow, plough, and spade,
Sickle, and scythe: and rear ye food tenfold.
Work; or, if idle, want: strive in your work,
Compete with one another, and surpass.
Know, fond of peace, 'tis Strife divides the earth,
And shall partake its bounties. Now, in war,
Industrious man contends to win the soil;
Now, at the plough, he plants it; then, ordains
Domestic order, and his household keeps;
Running for wealth, and wrestling for command.
One emulation prompts the strong-armed Smith,
The tented Herdsman, and the Harper wise.’

Abashed the Shepherd stood, and groaned in soul.
Then Jabal of his silence vantage seized,
And spake.

‘I know ye will object the name
Of Justice, which forbids extorted wealth:
But can the way ye tread be Virtue's path?
So easy, not the track of vice might be
Or smoother, or her mansion less remote.
Virtue in elevated region dwells,
A steep, and rugged road, moist with the dew
That Labour from his wrinkled forehead sheds,

Scaling the rough ascent. Still hungry want
Must vex the sluggard; him who labour loves
The seasons bless, and in his garner heap
The floor with plenty. To his coffers comes
Gold; and his fields with flocks, and herds abound.
—Attend the times, when ye shall sow, and reap;
Make sharp the sickle; till the glebe with care;
And throw aside your cloak, when at the plough;
Nor let the third sun on your labours rise.
Do thus, and prosper; so the weighty ear
Shall, with majestic bend, nod o'er the plain
On its strong stalk: and, till the spring return,
With its white blossoms; and while heard afar,
A dismal hollow blare, the Bittern fierce
Booms, from the sedgy river's utmost depth;
Ye shall not need to borrow, or to beg.’

He ceased; and, ere the Shepherd could resume,
Jubal took up the taunt.

‘He spake of songs,
And lays ancestral; chaunted on the banks
Of streams, and under shade of tree, and rock;
Songs idle, unelaborate, and mean;
Needing no leisure, yet absorbing it.
Time utterly mis-spent: for diligence
Maketh art perfect; toil completeth skill.
What, though to ditties murmured to your flocks,
Ye have postponed your harvest; yet have ye
Organ, or harp invented; or in song,
Or dance become initiate; such as we,
To ravish sense, have found? Behold, and hear!’

Then at the organ Jubal took his seat,
While one the harp assumed: and, as their hands
Waked from the chords, else dumb, sciential sound;
Their voices to the mind expressed the sense
Of intricatest harmony; on air,

From the vibrating string, or sounding tube,
In undulations borne: and what stood by
Moved to the music—chief, the human heart,
Taught by the trembling nerves of pleasure near.
—Like harmony, with that which aye subsists
Nature, and Man between; that unison
Which mingles still the human, and divine:
The low, a symbol of the lofty still,
Prophetic type of that whereto it soars.
'Twas as if Life were made to know itself
Through Feeling; erst unknown, unfelt; or but
In such degree, so of that rapture short,
As worthless with that ecstasy compared.
And forthwith, from the purlieus of the court,
Groups of fair damsels flew into the midst;
In wanton measures, threading many a maze
Of motion, kindling amourous desire.

II. The Shield of L amech

‘As when, from under roof domestic,’—thus
They sang—‘a Son goes forth in ripened years,
Conscious of power, to mingle in the race
Of public competition; Man went forth,
Out of the Garden of Delights, that would,
With unremitting bliss, have lulled the soul
To indolence; proud of his liberty,
And brave to battle in the field, wherein
Salvation might be won, and Heaven obtained.

‘There had he been in idlesse well content,
Within an arbour evermore reclined,
To listen to the descant of the bird,
Morning, and evening; or the murmuring brook;
Or breezes making vocal the green boughs:
Nor known what fountain in his soul of song
He might unseal, that should their warbling shame;
The broken-hearted nightingale, entranced,

On the excelling lyre, by music slain.
—Music; he knows her now, he feels her too;
She kindles, she inspires him, she transports,
And to a better Paradise exalts.
She tells of love; and wooes to soft delight,
To rapturous bliss, the lovely, and the young:
Their glowing eyes, their panting bosoms own,
Their melting hands, their sparkling feet confess,
Their dreams acknowledge, her persuasive power.
She heaps the board, o'erflows the generous wine,
The feast inflames, and gives the banquet joy.
Heroes she makes: War revels, and exults;
And, while she sings, glows beautiful in blood.

‘Not without labour is such art attained,
Nor without praise the artist who attains.
By labour, food, from its concealment drawn,
Strengthens the human heart; and wine, expressed
From the luxuriant grape, the human face
Enlightens. Sweetly to man's listening mind,
High on green bough supported, dusky winged,
Shrills the Cicada's note the livelong day;
While he, complacent, views the millet's ears
Spring bristly with much grain; and, on the vine,
The crude grape ripen in young summer's smile,
The produce of his toil: or—when the thorn
Burns in its glory, yet is not consumed—
The dainty food of goat, or tender flesh
Of infant heifer, or of savoury kid,
Partakes, imbowered in cool; and the brimmed cup,
With dark, and piquant liquor mantling up,
Commends to his pleased lip; and laughs for joy.
—Nor less his joy, when the Autumnal god,
Upon the harvest, in fresh showers descends—
He feels the wheat the creature of his skill,
Whose culture only causes it to be;
Soon, if his providence neglect, extinct:

No second year beyond the harvest sees
Spontaneous produce from the fallen ear;
But, by his tendance nourished, it repays
The earth-tiller, with even more than daily bread;
With rights, and manners; sciences, and arts.

‘For this, that it may flourish, and abound,
Man hastes by day-break to resume the plough;
Its peaceful course still followed by the race
Of Rooks, each eager with short flights to be
The nighest, seizing on the fresh-turned Worm:
They, for the larvæ of the Dor-beetle,
Old mossy grass fields visit, by the scent
Discovered, feeding at the roots of grass;
Destructive tribe, deep in the soil immured.
—Nor shall the song forget to celebrate,
Who, first, into a liquid ore, dissolved
Iron, or brass; thence moulded into tools,
Or what might be in metal fused, or graved.
Hence, fields are cultured; and hence, fields are fought.
The ploughshare, and the pruning-hook we leave—
Hail, to the sword, and spear; hail, glorious arms;
Hail, helm, and casque:—but doubly hail, the shield,
The Shield which Tubalcain for Lamech wrought.
Had Lamech, in his lust, a man, and youth,
Not slain; the second homicide?—As yet,
War had not been: and he his Wives bespake,
Adah, and Zillah; for he greatly feared—
‘Lo, I have to my wounding slain a man,
Yea, and a young man to my periling.
Was Cain avengèd sevenfold? Then, sure,
Shall Lamech be with seventy, and seven.’
Thus solaced he his terrour: but, anon,
The Avengers rose in wrath, and sought his life;
And it returned. ‘All creatures are preserved,’
Lamented he, ‘from perilous approach.
While the unsitting Cock boasts golden hues;

The Hen-bird obvious to the preyer's view,
Or beast, or bird, or man, hath Nature hid
In plumage dull, or coloured like the ground.
Thus cowers the Lark, and squatting Partridge, while
The robber Hawk unconscious hovers o'er.
Or, if both sexes boast like gaudy tints,
Swan, Falcon, Raven, Owl, are strong to strive.
How strong of wing the Pigeon of the wood,
To flee the Hawk; and him despise not too
The agile Swallows, as they clamour round?
Thick hedge, and bush protect the warbling tribes;
Redbreast, and Wren; Linget, and Nightingale:
The Crake, and Quail, long grass, and standing corn.
And him, the Hawk, the brilliance of his eye
Provides with meat. Even for the Cuckoo brood
Cares Nature, and permits an alien nest
Receive them, lest the mother's cry provoke
Despoilers, and direct them where they lie.
Is man less worth than these, that no defence
Avails him, when the wrath of multitudes
Burns against One? How hopeless he alone.’
—Then said his Son, the hero of the forge,
Said Tubalcain; ‘I will an Ægis make,
Of metal most approved, that shall protect
My father's person from all weapon's dint.’
—Soon he began the labour. At the forge
The anvil groans beneath the hammer's stroke,
And the strong fire dissolves the roaring mass,
Gold, brass, or steel. Orb within orb, he forms
The massy buckler; nor his sire's defence
Alone considered: mindful to display
A workman's skill; o'er all its wondrous disk,
The storied shield, impenetrable frame,
Bears the traditions of the days of old.
—First, round the ample verge, a river rolled;
That river which from Eden journied first,

To water, and refresh that garden blest,
Where Adam wooed fair Eve; whence parted, it
Into four heads divided; as they flowed,
Each marking out the limits of a land,
Upon the expanse, and surface of that round.
Lo, at the junction of two rivers stands
A horseman; it is Cain. The fiery steed
Rears at the opposition; and his rider,
With terrour wild, clings to his hairy neck,
While he attempts the passage. Nor in vain:
For, on the further bank, a City stands;
And Cain, with his son Enos, manifest,
There exercise authority, and power.
And, now, the artist Irad celebrates
On that emblazoned field. Of the wild Ass
The tamer he; and therewith he explored
Desert, and wilderness; and such report
Brought home, as since in Amazarah burned,
And in Dudäel built metropolis,
For glory unexcelled. How beautiful
The Ass which, at his bidding, bowed the head
Obedient, and stood still; else swift of foot:
That he might mount upon her streakèd back;
Else silver white; and there in silver wrought.
And who is he, yon orator, who stands
In action eloquent? 'Tis Mehujaël—
Persuasion hovers o'er that multitude,
A radiant angel, seconding his speech;
And keen Conviction, girt as if for speed,
Hastens from man to man; with ardent lips,
And confidential whisper, others' torch
Enkindling with the light she bears herself.
—Of God spake Mehujaël, and proclaimed
The destiny of man; the doom of earth;
Of labour still inventive, still in want.
The evil Mildew eats the stalks of Corn,

And idle Thistle chokes the dying field,
With burrs, and prickly weeds soon overgrown.
What then?—the land with many a harrow work,
Noise-off the birds, and prune the shading boughs.
To human labour must the soil submit,
And Paradise in every spot appear:
For skill shall make a garden of the earth.
—This lore Methusael learned, and well he knew
That earth had charms, and life might be enjoyed,
And should be, since the grave her secrets hid.
Was Death not Hades; dark, and shadowy?
For him the Olive flourished, and the Vine;
For him floods teemed with fish, and air with fowl,
And earth with fruits, and flesh of many kinds.
There sculptured, lo, he revels, as in life
He reveled; with the wine-cup in his hand
Raised high; as if he said—‘Life, if not brief,
Is tedious, or, it may be, both; and death
Remediless. None comes from Hades back.
Chance-born, the dead are as they ne'er had been:
For breath is smoke, the heart-pulse but a spark,
Body to ashes, spirit to air returns;
Time buries names, and man forgets man's works.
Life passes like a cloud, like morning mist—
Its end fast sealed, it ne'er again begins.
Come on, then: let us taste the present good;
Let us with costly wines regale our youth,
With ointments, and the vernal blossoms seize,
And crown our brows with rose-buds, ere they fade.’
—Thus, round the generous board, in jovial mood
Methusael seemed, in festival elate:
And Lamech there, his son, partook his joy;
Eftsoons with terrour paled. For then it was,
The feasters cried;—‘Let none of us depart,
Without his share of our voluptuous mirth;
In every place be tokens of our joy;

This is our portion, and our lot is this.
The poor, though righteous, man who would not scorn?
Why not oppress? the widow who would spare?
Who reverence the grey hair of ancient men?
Strength be the law of Justice; weak to be,
Is to be worthless. Who shall us upbraid?
Lie we in wait for him, though he profess
Knowledge divine, instructed child of God:
Enough, he doth reprove our very thoughts.
O hateful to behold, his life is not
Like other men's; 'tis of another make.
By him as counterfeits we are disesteemed.
Presumptuous: boasts he God, as of his sire?
Prove we his words. He hath pronounced the Just
Blest in his end. See we what then shall chance.
Is he the son of God? him God will help,
And sure deliver from the hands of foes.’
—Thus saying, they arise. Lo, where they haste;
With song, and dance; so livelily his hand,
The artist's hand, hath on the metal traced
The merry crew, the gazer deems they move.
Anon, an old Man, and his Son they meet,
Beside a tent, in prayer; derived from Seth;
But sojourners within the land of Naid,
And with its dwellers leagued by nuptial league;
Yet was the stock they sprang from not forgot
By them, in pious act, or who beheld:
And wanton mischief doomed them to the death.
'Twas Lamech smote them; hence his fear, and hence
The Avengers rose in wrath.

‘Now fears he not—
The shield of Tubalcain o'ershadows him:
The sway of Enos, and the toil of rule,
Left to his sons; . . himself in shades retired,
Far from the city to the plains of Naid;
Adah, and Zillah, comfort, and delight

Methusael's son, even Lamech. Woods, and groves
Are conscious of their loves; and rocks, and caves:
The flowing rivers murmur with their sighs.
—Nor deem exempt from labour their delight:
For art invents new pleasures, and they toil
For new enjoyments, worthy highest song,
Were song not worthy now of highest praise.

‘Song was in Heaven the solace of the gods,
Innumerable ages of repose,
Ere it was known on earth to mortal men:
An inspiration, actual breath divine;
Or lyric rapture, human, yet from heaven;
Brought by the Heroic Angels, when they came,
The prefects, and their hosts, on Ardis down,
And sware, defying all Superior Power,
They would, O Men, your daughters beautiful
Crown with a race, celestially derived.’

Thus sang they, and with fable ended thus:
With fable; but, in coloured light, expressed,
Not without shadow, truth transcending sense.
Even like those who then together sang,
When the bright Stars were born, for very joy—
Seth's sons, by merit called the Sons of God,
Forsaking Armon, lost their high estate,
By woman lured among the tents of Cain.

III. The Prediction

Confused, the Shepherd hearkened; and beheld
The wanton sport; and had ere long been left
Alone within the hall; . . for now the Court
Prepared to rise, contemptuous of his suit;
But a loud voice from Speaker, yet unseen,
Insult arrested.

‘Sons of Adam, hear.
Have mercy on the Brethren, as your God

Was merciful to Cain, who slew their sire.’
—All turned, awe-stricken. Gradually revealed
Out from the air, the contour of a man
Appeared, as if a god, or angel stept,
Far forth the mystic hiding of his power,
The visible into. Beheld of all,
A venerable man, and yet not old,
Solemn of attitude, erect, unmoved;
Heroic form; awaiting who should speak,
Stood Noah, Prophet of the Most High God.

But none that apparition might address,
Except Naämah, of her beauty vain,
Like a young ash in bloom. Her wanton lips
No awe might check, no virtue might controul.
How delicately beautiful—as foam
On the wild ocean, and as sportive too:
Even in anger sportive, whenas waves
Toss high the slender bark, while suddenly
The moon is hid in heaven, and through the gloom
Thunders laugh loud—such was Naämah now.
As in a vale of pleasant bowers, o'erhung
With an aërial fleet of stormy clouds,
Conscious of gathering darkness, the bold oaks
Bend down to greet the shock; so men to her
Bow, as in worship, to avert what ire
Lours on her brow, else marble, so serene—
Or haply waiting, till far-faring winds
The squadron meet, and lead to other skies;
Rejoices then the vale, escaped from wreck,
And fair uprise her oaks in light renewed:
Thus smiling, she the Man of God bespake.

‘Pleasant surprise thy sudden coming was—
Fair jest thy words implied; that Cain's, forsooth,
Should pity Abel's race. We pity them:
Seed of the strong, we pity, and contemn
The children of the feeble. Corn, and oil—

Have they not flocks, and herds? or have they grown
So tender, they would spare a lambkin's life?
Less brave, then, than their father; for when he
Held sacrifice with Cain, not well content
With earth's first fruits, the firstlings of his flock
He slew upon the altar of his God.
Blood chose he as an offering; for his own;
And yet his own was offered. Death, since then,
On Life hath feasted; so hath Life on Death.
Go: kill and eat.’

Tears trenched the Shepherd's cheek,
When this he heard. Deep feeling, like the Nile,
River since known, and symbol of past Flood,
O'erflowed; and scarce, by fortitude restrained,
Permitted brief reply.

‘God gave to man
Each herb seed-bearing on the face of earth,
Each tree wherein is fruit that yieldeth seed
For meat, as to the beasts of earth he gave,
And to the fowls of air, and creeping things,
Every green herb. For holy rite reserved,
To make atonement with offended Heaven,
The sinless creatures roam, unfearing death.’

Whereto the Tetrarch. ‘To the Teraphim
We offer, like our father, of earth's fruits
Acceptable, whereby we spare our flocks,
And not the less our harvests they increase.
And, by the Teraphim, we will not bear
With other worship, blasphemous, profane.
Hence; glad to scape with life: so, linger not.’

Then Noah lifted up his voice, and spake.
‘Hear ye the words of the Omnipotent.
—With Chavah, and my sons, one eve I sate,
In social converse, at our frugal meal;
When, lo, three Men, for such the Strangers seemed,
Approached, not long unwelcomed, and became

Guests at our board, as travellers from afar.
Anon, of things far off we 'gan discourse,
And then to reason high on holiest themes;
As speech of distance will wake highest thoughts.

‘Survey,’ they said, ‘this world; a Paradise
Within an Eden, starry realm of space;
But greater far those things that are concealed:
Whence mind, and its dominion; . . and the law
That animates, and beats in every pulse
Of the all-teeming earth, which aye revolves
In ceaseless agony, producing aye.
And man is of these twain, and knowledge would
Of both, but can of neither, unless he
Become what he would know; and one is Life,
And one is Death; unique, or else impure.
'Tis in his will to choose, in Adam's was,
When God to him o'er earth dominion gave:
In sign whereof, two Trees he did appoint;
One called the Tree of Lives, the other named
Of Knowledge, and of Death; thus bidding him:
—Abstain from this, freely of that partake,
As he would live, and in God's love abide,
And knowing nought, know all. True wisdom this,
Not understood—till before human sight
God brought the Creatures; then Man felt the power
Whereof God spake, and gave them each a name,
According to its nature. Coupled they;
He was alone, and perfect in himself,
Awing the brute, yet awed himself of God.
They gambolled in the love-sport, like with like;
He held with a Superior high commune;
Not all unequal to such colloquy:
Or with himself discoursed, till thought grew big
For utterance, and wished companionship.
Then he discerned his insufficiency,

(Yet innocent, albeit deserving nought,
Having his being of Almighty grace;)
And what was good before became not good.
—These things return upon us as a dream,
As of the sleep he waked from, when thou, Eve,
Clad in thy beauty, burnedst on Adam's gaze.
He was not what he had been, yet was blest,
Beyond conception blest. What he desired
Had being, love-created, made for love.
‘Eve,’ he exclaimed, ‘flesh of my flesh thou art,
Bone of my bone.’ . . nor knew how he should quit
His heavenly Father, when he prophesied,
That therefore man should willingly forsake
Father, and mother, and his wife prefer,
More amiable, relation closer still.
—Her thus in virgin innocence he wooed—
‘Our proper bliss is to enjoy what God
Created, but enjoyment temperance needs,
Else none; and chief in kind, and in degree,
Moral delight; of sensual much eschew,
Evil, effect of sin, and cause of death.
For the capacity of sense hath bounds,
Being, as its object, finite; sated soon,
And lost all relish in excess. For this,
Test of our temperance, yon Tree hath God
Prohibited, of knowledge, and of death,
Of good and evil, . . evil the abuse.
But of our spiritual faculties
How infinite the scope, and only can
With what is infinite be satisfied;
Knowledge of God, to love whom is to know.’
—In such discourse, reposed they underneath
The Tree of Lives; whose umbrage broad, and cool,
Them there imparadised, and felt this truth—
To be is far more noble than to know.
Ah, all must be, what they would know aright;

And to know good, or evil is to be.
Whence sin, and whence redemption . . How redeemed?
By labour, and by death. For knowledge made
Man's nakedness ashamed of its own need,
Which hiding, from the Sacramental Tree
Its ample leaves they plucked. Aiming at what
Was His sole property who formed the heart,
They learned their wants, but not their remedy.
Discovery vain, till he, whose frown they feared,
Made manifest the love they dared to doubt,
As if the liberty of choice were not
Sufficient pledge of bounty. O forewent
Was reason then; false oracle believed,
Of knowledge without power; that God, and Man,
Made twain, until the Woman's Seed atone;
Better ambition justified, and man
With his celestial Father reconciled.
—Though as by fire; for who will not believe,
Must try experience, though it torture him.
Doubt if ye will, in order to believe,
But not to doubt; much less believe, to doubt;
But, and in faith, both doubt ye, and believe.
Men prove that fire will burn, by feeling it;
Yet he who feels to prove, must have believed,
That he should prove it, first, by feeling it.
—And why should Man doubt God, but to believe
The Adversary, false oracle, whose sense
Is double?’

There I answered; ‘True, my lord,
Of such false faith iniquity abounds.’
—Then spake again the Elder of the Three.
‘My Spirit shall not alway strive with Man,
For he of flesh as spirit is compact:
One hundred years, and twenty be his term.
His wickedness is great; and, in his heart,
Is each imagination of his thoughts

Evil unmixed, unchanged. Me it repents,
That I have made him; yea, it grieves my heart.
Whom I created, him will I destroy,
Even from the face of earth; both man, and beast,
And creeping thing, and fowl that wings the air.
That I have made them it repenteth me.
But in my eyes, thou, Noah, hast found grace:
Know, therefore, that the End of all flesh is
Come up before me; for the earth is filled
With violence through them: and lo, I will
Destroy them, with the earth. Make thee an Ark;
Of gopher wood, pitched inside, and without;
Three hundred cubits long, and fifty broad,
And thirty high; with rooms three stories up;
A window, and a door, set in the side.
For lo, I bring, even I, a Flood on earth
Of waters; for destruction of all flesh,
Wherein is breath of life, from under heaven:
And every thing that is in earth shall die.’
—So saying, they departed suddenly,
Or vanished; and we knew too late that we
Gods unawares, or angels entertained.’—

Thus, while spake Noah, o'er that lawless group
Passion, or influence, held attention mute:
But now it passed, or changed; and they exclaimed,
‘Ha! thou art Noah? Not to us unknown
The fame of what thou speakest. Pity though,
Prophets, who would save others, show small skill
In what themselves concerneth. Knowst thou now,
While thou art idling here, thy proper hearth
Protection needs; for that the sword of war
Hath entered Armon; and thy wife, and sons,
Thine aged fathers, call in vain for aid
On Noah's name, vaticinator vain?’

Whereto the Prophet, ‘He who brought me here

Will take me hence, if so his wisdom will.
Hither not of myself I came; for, as
Walking upon this Sabbath-morning forth,
To worship with my Sons at Adam's Tomb,
And thence to preach to the assembled throng,
Concerning the completion of that Ark
Appointed me to build, howe'er ye scorn;
A hand invisible seized by the hair,
And without pain conveyed me where I stand,
So soon, I may not count the time elapsed.
—Repent, or ye shall perish: and, in sign
Of my commission, learn; since ye refuse
The sons of Abel needful corn, and oil;
Your Seed-time, and your Harvest, they shall fail:
Your Cold, and Heat, shall strange mutation know:
Summer, and Winter; Day, and Night; shall cease.’

The Prophet's curse was spoken. Uproar wild,
And rout succeeded; but that unseen cloud,
Which him before concealed, now girt not him
Alone, but in its ample folds embraced
The Shepherd, too; and safely from that hall
They passed invisible—the righteous twain.

Now, sailing on the broad Erythræan sea
Were they. 'Twas past the noon, and from the shade
The herd had driven his flock; yet broad the sun
Shone o'er the billows. Fair the sight of beams
Reflected; grateful were the breezes cool;
And sweet to look upon the ancient trees,
Along the fringèd shore: while, in frail bark,
They voyaged to the Land of Abel's race.
So long they voyaged, that behind the hills
They saw the sun decline, and felt the gale
Of coming night blow coolly o'er the waves;
While rested sea-birds on the rocks about,
And silence slept upon the shores around.

—But deem not that in silence voyaged they;
Sweet commune long they held, and Noah thus
Instructed Hori, (such the shepherd's name.)

‘Fear not, although your corn, and oil have failed;
For he who took away, can give again;
Or if not, will permit that you supply
Your need with substitution, though of what
Is dedicated to the holiest use.
Nor take to heart that this the scoffing sons
Of evil dared to urge, nor do it not.
For man is lord of all the things of earth . .
All places, times . . his mind both place, and time.
Thus too, of Sacrifices be it said,
It is the soul that fits them, or unfits;
And fruits, and kine may both in turn be ill,
Be good: nor was the sacrifice of Cain
Refused, because the produce of the soil
On which he laboured; but on that account
Had been the more acceptable, if offered
With willing heart devout. Atonement may
With corn, and grape, earth's fruits, in liquid wise,
Or solid, as of bread, and wine, be shewn,
A bloodless sacrament; as well as by
The blood of bulls, or goats; or sheep, or rams.
All equally significant of this—
That man is not sufficient to himself,
On this hand, or on that; or earth, or heaven:
Needing both food, and raiment; would he live,
And have defence from Nature in her wrath.
This, physically, bestial sacrifice
Declares not only, but provides; and thus
Redeems the body into life again,
Ay, and well-being. But what thus is done,
For perishable flesh; in higher guise,
The human spirit asks, and shall obtain—
Even spiritual food, and covering,

Of quality divine, . . the Right, and True.
And this, methinks, less carnally were shewn,
In simpler rites expressed, by corn, or grape,
Such as Cain offered, or by them in what,
By art of man, has been from them produced;
Both bread, and wine; the latter rather, since
This Art is even a symbol, and a seal,
A part of the Redemption: shewing thus,
The soul is truly furnished, as it would,
With power, and wisdom; knowledge meet to save,
Food of the soul, at once, and clothing, too.
Hence, all these rites the Lord of all permits,
That none be superstitious. Hence, dread not
To put your holy things to common use,
But rather seek to use your common things
As holy. Make the business of life
Religious; every deed, and word, and thought:
Then, will each aspiration be a prayer,
Discourse a priestly lecture; nay, the act,
The simple act of dressing when you rise,
A pledge of reconciliation with your God;
Each common meal, a sacramental feast.’

Conversing thus, and charmed with such discourse,
Time passed them swiftly; and, on moonlight seas,
With Hori, Noah sailed afar away;
Forgot the vale of Armon, native vale.
O God was careful of his prophet, then;
Withdrawn from peril, destined soon to fall
Upon that spot, though consecrated long.
But not as yet had it descended there,
Albeit the prince of Enos so declared—
For not of execution but design,
Soon to be put in act, the Tetrarch spake,
Anticipating what he loved to think.
O impious: but the evil was delayed

By higher hand. For his voluptuous Sire,
Of the Death-Angel summoned, was perforce
To Hades borne; though there no pleasures be,
And Adah there, and Zillah, had in vain,
(Were they not old, and beautiful as once,)
Sought to delight the king in youth renewed.
There are the days cut off, the years deprived,
The residue of years. No more beheld
The dwellers of the world; departed, thence,
Is age, and as a shepherd's tent removed:
No praise hath it, no laud for God, or man.
No celebration utters silent Death:
No hope awaits, who to the pit descend.
Alas, and soon must all that shadowy bourn
Seek, nor return. For Time himself will soon
Take the unstable ocean for a throne;
And, riding in his fulgent chariot forth,
Rein his white steeds, or lash them into foam,
Till the waves seethe; and, then, at him will Death
Grin ghastily—at him—a desperate smile—
Death—as that ravenous banquet were his last,
Unless he gorge his famine on himself,
Like the hyæna, eating his own bones.

IV. Samiasa and Palal

And now, the Angel who had Noah borne,
The Angel of Repentance, Phanuel,
A mandate, in reply to his request,
Received from Archangelic Michael,
Regent of Manhood, and of Virtue Prince,
Guardian of Nations, and the Guide of Kings;
Once Samiasa's, ere, in selfish pride,
He had unto himself a god become;
Thence to his evil genius was resigned.
—For gentle Phanuel, pitying his estate,

From the Most High, with earnest prayer, desired
Permission, on each seventh recurring day,
To minister to his despair, and pour
The balm of healing through his smitten soul.
For this, with incense at the gate of heaven,
He stood, and at the altar ministered
His golden vial's acceptable odour.—
There Michael came;

‘Me God hath charged,’ he said,
‘O Phanuel meek, with answer to thy prayer.
The terrible thunder of his Word hath sworn,
'Tis granted to thy importunity.
Far in the wilds, beyond Dudaël far,
The miserable Monarch, now not man,
Dwells with the savage of the Desart wild,
Himself a savage wilder; doom severe:
A beast, but uncompanioned, and unstalled;
Wet with the dews of heaven; desolate
Of human habits, as of human heart.
Far other spirit rules his spirit now,
Than once; Hherem, the Cursed of the Accursed,
Whom Hell's own gorge heaved forth, abominable.
—In lofty disbelief, and wilful pride,
When first the Primogenial Parents plucked
That fatal fruit from the Sciential Tree;
Then Hherem, with ignoble aim, possessed
The inferior creatures, a substantial form;
And quickened with his rage the bestial soul,
The creeping thing, and bird that wings the air:
Whence enmity between the kinds; . . the weak,
Prey to the stronger, in earth, air, and sea.
The nobler fellows of the Fiend aspired
At quarry nobler far, the souls of men;
And scorned his sensual taste irrational.
Yet of immortal men there are, content
To share their nature with the prostrate brute,

Earth's erect animals, and vainly proud,
As the gay Peacock of his gorgeous plumes.
Not such the Monarch's sin. 'Twas too intense
A consciousness of immortality,
Of spiritual vigour; rebel pride
Of reason, of the human will divine,
That sought presumptuously to rival God.
The sin of Adam, sin of Lucifer:
For which the Sons of Adam undergo
Probation; whence the Devils are condemned
Without reprieve, and destitute of hope,
Incapable of change, repenting not.
Emptied of his humanity the King,
And even deprived its shape, and form extern;
That he might feel, of grace divine, and free,
He was a human creature; and might know,
The attributes, whereof he waxed too proud,
Were the good gifts of Him who made him great,
And glorious in intelligence, and power,
And ruleth o'er the realties of earth.
—Now, Phanuel, to thy prayer this boon is given;
That the blest Sabbath, day of hallowed rest,
Duly administer, to his estate,
From direst punishment repose, and brief
Immunity from demon prevalence.’

When this he heard, glad Phanuel's praises rose,
In angel-hymns, to Mercy's sapphire throne.
Away he sped into the wilderness,
Upon his joyful errand; and now came
Into the extreme Dudaël, where it bounds
Upon the land of Naid; and there discerned
The fallen King, commanded by the Fiend:
The human drooped to brutish, the sublime
Spirit to shape ignoble; quadruped,
And prostrate; every attribute of soul
Convert to abject quality; each sense,

To bestial uses, piteously subdued.
—Soon he the Demon's charms dismissed, and o'er
The seeming brute proclaimed—

‘In part fulfilled
The Season of Repentance.’

From the sands,
Upon his feet upstarted Samiasa;
Naked as Adam, in his innocence.
Still wild of feature, but his heart was calm:
Well Phanuel knew, he was no Savage there,
And hailed the Monarch to a Man restored;
Then, with angelic care, as well befits
A covering Cherub, cast o'er his bare limbs,
Majestic in their order, and design,
A fleecy mantle; skin of a slain Lamb,
Which, on an Altar in the Wilderness,
An unhewn rock, they had, in sacrifice,
To the Eternal offered, thus atoned.

And, with the King, the Fiend, too, was released,
And straight away to hell in triumph went,
And mingled with the world; . . a traitor foul.
Nor to his charge came back on other days,
Albeit on Samiasa yet came back
The spell; suspended only, not dissolved,
Though less severely binding on his soul,
And leaving space for hope.

Thus fared the King;
Yet not, even on the blessèd Sabbath-day,
Would Samiasa to the world return;
Till, by much meditation, he had fixed
His spirit in most resolved humility.
—Long wandering, in search of some lone cave,
Where, as an eremite, he could, with prayer,
And abstinence, completely purge his soul
Of pride, and passion; lust, and appetite;

He came, where Gihon bounds the sable land,
Beyond the broad Erythræan; where abode
A Cainite colony, . . by Kael ruled,
A prophet blind, and scornful, and profane.

Wild scene the spot he chose—an ample bay;
But, all about the shores, dark earth was riven
With sulphur; and dread thunder scorched the fields:
For inland, though not far, a mountain rose
Volcanic, from below precipitous,
Circled above with wood, stern, craggy, wild;
Wherein, from summit to its utmost base,
A central chasm of fire perpetual burned,
Like incense in a censer, in a cup
Of large contents, vast of circumference,
Preserved; a crater deep, and broad; its sides
With thicket covered, harbour for the Boar;
Its bottom spread into a treacherous plain,
Where cattle, unconscious all of peril, grazed;
And leading, by a passage in the midst,
To one more spacious; by a rocky way,
Milelong descent, with ashes strown; and pools
Corrosive, bitter, salter than the sea,
And boiling like witch-cauldrons. Hence arose; . .
After due warnings given to those without,
In rumblings audible, and visible smoke,
And demonstrations palpable of stones,
Red-hot, projected wide; . . eruption dire
Of flaming ruin, terribly diffused.
Cloud, then, on cloud was piled, sulphureous film;
White of the whitest; in the massiest wreaths;
Far o'er the mountain, an enormous height:
Columns of stones, and ashes, intermixed;
And burning lava, pouring down the hill;
And often deep-red blaze ascending high,
Midst the huge volumes of that atmosphere,

Surmounting, mountainous, the mountain's self;
And, sometimes, with a summer storm increased;
Vapours of rain; sulphur, and mineral;
Together blent, and swelling to more bulk.
Then was the fountain of the fire unsealed,
And up it rushed; so passing high, and bright,
That wonder died of fear, or fear of wonder,
As either had possession precedent,
And waited change. Then, tempest rode athwart,
In sable chariot, and with shadow veiled,
Pillar of flagrant sheen in folded shrine;
Or, clearing thence away, revealed at large;
New-tinted with reverberated light
From the white clouds aloft, . . whose many hues
With the pale levin-flash contrasted well.

Like an extinguished crater, stood aby,
A hollow . . cineritious, cavernous,
Fire-eaten. Large it was—a sulphur mine,
By Nature excavated, high, and deep;
And templed in the rocks. Here hid, adored
The sanable, and royal penitent;
And made it sacred. With an iron style,
The craggy walls he pictured, graving there
Religious symbols, hieroglyphic signs—
Mythi of mixèd creeds, and systems new,
And mystic speculations, still begot
By indefatigable faculty
Of fancy, on the still productive mind.
—Not like the race of Cain, a labouring tribe
Of handicrafts mechanic, were the sons
Of the apostate; but from reason judged
Things physical, and gross, yet not aright:
For not of nature cared they to enquire—
Idle, though curious—and conceived strange laws,
She knew not of, her goings-on to rule;
Deciding ignorant, and as of time

Eternity discoursing, or as it
Describing time: or, daring there to soar
Where no experience ventures; region high
Of pure abstraction, beyond earth, or heaven . .
World of void forms. Thus, of such phantasies
These sculptures were, mysterious. There, behold,
Adam in Chaos struggling, ere Day was;
Conception dim, yet bodily expressed:
And, on the other side, he had portrayed
The Universe in Deity contained,
And Order pre-existent—state obscure;
High thoughts, and visions of a gifted mind.

Thus occupied, One found him whom he knew,
Palal; his father's friend, and with his sire
Acquainted, ere apostate. Palal had,
A traveller, come to Armon; lover he
Of wisdom. Vainly, ere then, he looked, in all
The ways of men, for the image of his own
Excellent spirit; and, the impress liking not
Of others, so was tempted ill to deem
The signet, and its manifold device:
Yet, having heard, or read, the Soul of Man
Was in the Image of the Almighty made,
Thought, as its model, that it must be good:
Nay, that the all-wise Maker would not mar
His likeness, with distorted workmanship;
Like a mad limner, merry at his mirrour,
Copying his own grimace: and thence inferred,
False man had broken, in some mysterious wise,
The seal, intrusted to him at his birth,
Of the divine resemblance. Thus in all
Imperfect, yet not equally defaced—
He in the land of his nativity
Conceived it most defective; but among
The Shepherd seed of Abel, . . or the sons

Of Seth, fond of high meditation, on the crest
Of loftiest mountain, holding with the sky
Communion planetary, . . least of all;
As having least departed from the pure
Religion of first nature, and of God,
By Adam taught. He journied to enquire
Of all they knew, and practised; that he might,
In the virtuous, and the wise, made manifest,
Catch glimpses of the Godhead, and compare
With the judicial standard in his soul.
They asked him of his country, and its ways:
The appetite of curiosity
Grew keener, the more food; till, in return
Of courtesy, at his departure, he
Took, under his protection, two of the most
Importunate to his own land, that they
Might witness what they sought, and bear report
Unto their brethren; Adon of the twain
Was one—the other to the fold returned
In time—but Adon not until the last,
As will be told. The Shepherd knew him not.
—Also, when Adon won a crown, and realm
With Amazarah; Palal would his court
Visit, in intervals of travel, oft,
And what he had seen, and heard, discourse; and, ay,
His knowledge, thus imparted, was as power
To Samiasa, when, for war arrayed,
He went to conquer nations, and to rule.

Now, in his many wanderings, Palal came
Unto the Land of Gihon, where he found
Dethronèd Samiasa. He had seen
Each country watered by the rivers four;
Had traced the course of Pison; and had gazed
On onyx, gold, and bdellium in the hills,
And streams of Havilah;—and he had sped
On the swift billows of the Hiddekel,

And caught the Tigers on its dreamy banks.

High theme, and wonderous, had the twain to tell
Each to the other; nor was wanting, then,
Different opinion to raise argument,
The seasoning of discourse. From their proud height,
Had Palal's speculations of mankind
Fallen earthward; by experience taught, he deemed
That only thence, through organs of the flesh,
Might man gain knowledge; which, abstracting far,
The dædal to ideal elevate
Raised, and refined, from complex to the pure.
For, on the face of universal earth,
No Open Vision lingered to instruct
The sophist, how unto the pious soul
Came revelations of another world:
Creed this, which stood in contrast with the dim,
And high-wrought theorizing of the king.
—Hence argued they; till, wearied out with words,
Thus Samiasa answered.

‘I perceive,
No common ground of logic have we got,
To edify a structure sure for both.
Nor may I listen calmly, and permit
That Nature should usurp the Spirit's throne,
And Reason's; who is law, dominion, power:
For as her sceptre is, or straight, or bent;
So they become. And individual lapse
Maketh a slippery path, where many fall;
And if in each her image be debased,
What matter codes? The reinless desart steed,
Less wild—less rude, than self-ungoverned Man.
And wherefore? Know, the steed is guided still
By Nature's law; is guided, and controuled:
But, as a spirit, Man is free to quit
Her rule, and limit, with unfettered will.
—In private virtue public good consists;

With private virtue public good declines:
This truth my father felt. Could he, for shame,
A God-forsaking, God-forsaken man,
Teach godliness, without which virtue fails,
Wanting Faith's index in the night of storms?
And what could I, whose crude conceptions spurned
Their cradle; and, for liberty, and light
Impatient ever, sought to seal themselves
In living characters, or monuments
Of lasting fame, upon the external world;
In verse, or statue, or elaborate picture;
Giving words wings, stone eloquence, and colour
Thought's visible creations? Ay, give ear:
Words are oft winged—how, then, is summed the soul?—
And, in the effulgence of our essences,
The breathing thoughts are kindled, whence they came;
Like eaglets, with the beak in thunder clothed,
The eye arrayed in lightning from the sun:
And there, in that substantial fire, all forms
External, all the images of sense,
Are alchemized, and turned into its kind;
And, thence effused, are emanations thence,
Of it, and from it; and aspire beyond
The limits of their origin; and bear,
Within their plumes, strength to intrude within
All substances, and essences, and orbs,
Material, intellectual; Hell, and Heaven;
And stamp them with their impress. If our words
Have such prerogative; what then the soul,
Whereof they breathe, and burn? Can that be doomed
To eternal durance, never to go forth
Of its clay prison, and the fleshly nook
'Tis pent in? Lo, its freedom cometh. All
The elements expect it, and all worlds—
Its signet is upon them, and shall be;
Its knowledge shall increase—its power command:

The bodily, which veils it, shall give way;
And it shall be itself, for evermore;
Of its own pleasure, both to will, and do;
And what its dwelling may be, and how bright,
Man's loftiest faculty may not conceive,
Till franchised from corporeal servitude;
And then it shall inherit a demesne,
Essential, endless, infinite, divine.’

With that he rose, on his companion's lips
Imposing silence; proposition brief
Soon making, that together they should seek
Man's haunts again. Anon, for travel girt,
They left that rocky lair; ascending, gained
A summit, and looked out on sea, and sky:
A glorious prospect. Calm old ocean lay,
Beneath the ancient heaven. Awhile, they gazed
On the pacific deep, and silent clouds.
Tears Samiasa wept; then turned aside
His steps toward the desart, by that way
To reach the world—a wider wilderness.
It was the Sabbath when they thus commenced
Their journeying: but, at eve, fell on the King
His mystic doom. Amazed, and terrified,
Then Palal would have fled; but Phanuel swift
Descended; and, arrayed in human form,
Thus startling not the sceptic's prejudice,
Appeared, as their companion; and, that week,
Walked with them, till the Sabbath came again;
When Samiasa unto Palal told
All his disastrous state, and pity won:
Wherefore the Sophist yet with him remained,
The solace of his wanderings through the wilds.

Still Phanuel tended them, invisibly;
And, once assuming his angelic shape,
To Samiasa said—

‘Befits it thee,

Full penance be accomplished in thy heart—
Not yet thy degradation is complete,
Which done thy soul is saved. Hence, what awaits
Thy sad experience, both of thee, and thine,
Will task endurance sternly. Be thou warned.
So may the Sire of Spirits thee restore,
In mercy, to that Reason which He is;
As I therefore will intercessant pray.’
—And, with this sad farewell, the Seraph went.

END OF SECOND BOOK.

BOOK THE THIRD. LAMECH, AND ELIHU

I. Lamech, and Elihu

Valley of Armon, Vale most beautiful,
Whose verdure is eternal in its bloom;
Skirted with forests wide of oak, and ash;
And graced with waterfall, or mountain flood,
And rock, and cataract, with changes wild,
Yet dear to fancy, and awakening thought.
For, on the mountain's brow, the heroic oak,
With falling cliff,—down from on high in air,
Smit by the thunderbolt, its head in vain
With cloud enwrapt, such havoc to preclude—
A craggy wreck, would, haply, sometimes meet;
And, bowing to the shock, with all his weight
Of mossy bough, and branch, and ample trunk,
Torn from his roots, with crash, and groan descend;
And, from the noisy hill, the foaming floods,
Radiant, and rapid, toward the lake rush on,
Before them driving arm of rock, or tree.
Oft, in the lonely desart of the dark,
The Screech-owls, scared with lightning's angry flame,
Flashed o'er the rocks, scream hideous with affright.

But thou art gentle, Armon, lovely vale:
Why should the wild alone in Armon dwell,
Where peace domestic roosts with pious men?
There hill, and tree do diadem the plain:
Their stately heads in heaven, their feet imbowered
In shade, and arbour, haunt of loving birds:
And lake, and river glass the blue blue sky,
Or lonely star, that not, athwart the vault,
Darts its strange way in fire, at mid of night;

Old Night who, watching from her dusky car,
With terrour sees, and upward looks no more;
But stedfast in its place, and ordered well,
Still brightly on the watery mirrour smiles.
And of all brooks, thine, Armon, is the sweetest—
Whose waters glide as with volition gifted,
And him who bathes in them baptize with power.
—O Armon, mystic stream; and holy, as
The hill, and vale, . . named of thee, thou of them.
And, though sometimes dark shadow cross the hill,
And clouds conceal the sacred sun in heaven,
While tempest flocks foresee, and hide them straight
From threatening ruin; if the blast have not
O'erthrown their tree beloved, or pleasant grove
Of elm, and stately fir, and left them bare
Of shelter, knowing then not where to flee;
More frequent yet, hill, vale, and tree, and grove,
Rejoice in light, and melody, and love.
The sun will o'er the kindling summits peep,
As measuring, at one survey, leisurely,
His journey to the west, ere he commence
Diurnal travel; while, from fields of dew,
The Herds upraise them with the joyous dawn;
Of wood, and grove with gratulation hailed,
Singing, in chorus, anthems unto God.
Oft, by the sound aroused, the lordly Stag
Quits the low brake; and, high upon the plain,
Stands viewing, pleased, the glittering hills afar.
Soon to old Night an uttermost farewell,
Climbing the northern hill; though oft behind
Disdainful scowl she throw on coming Morn—
Her path by the glad Hours with saffron strewed.

O'er Armon's groves the spoken doom impends;
Even now awaits. The hour is nigh at hand.
For them hath vile Azaradel betrayed,
The Land of Eden, and its Rivers four;

That, with Methuselah, chief patriarch,
To him are tributary, lord of earth:
Such lords, then, earth acknowledged. Lamech, now,
For Noah's absence sorrowed; wretched man,
With many wounds, on times of evil fallen,
Still stricken in his soul; in spirit poor,
Debased, and e'er afflicted. Now, apart,
He wept, in his despair. Apart he sate,
Alone; for that he would not, now, unite
In holy Festival; . . which, in the plains
Of Armon hence, beneath the cope of heaven,
Methuselah, with all who own his sway,
In presence of the Ark by Noah built,
With celebration, at autumnal tide,
Hold, for the Harvest-Home—a feast of bread
And wine, and of thanksgivings unto God.

Not in this festival would Lamech join,
Albeit holy, by his grief withheld;
Grief even as holy—a father's for his son.
Old was this sire in years, but older far
In grief; not yet attained eight hundred years—
In that rare time, by near two centuries
Short of extremest age: so long endured
Life's spring, and summer in primeval world.
Dim yet were Lamech's eyes; for they too oft
With tears had been acquainted, to maintain
Their native brightness: his uncurlèd hair
Was over-grey, and on his shoulders drooped
In tresses long; which down his breast he drew,
And mingled with the remnants of his beard;
Shorn of its pomp of hair, a scanty grace.
Silent he sate, low bent; as musing, mute,
Heedless of interruption: and of garb,
Save for one single garment, naked else;
Caring for nought but what was in his mind.
Fast by, as by a tomb reared on a plain,

Did flow the murmuring stream; and bloom around
Green shrub, and bower; and, at high noon, the flocks
From solar heat retire; and, every night,
The lone bird breathe in shades melodious doubt.
Unconscious he of all, in grief intense,
Only these thoughts conceiving—sighs, not words.

‘Happy wert thou, O Adam; . . for thy God
Provided thee a son; another seed,
Instead of Abel whom Cain slew, and thus,
To thee, himself; unsonned of both, at once.
But Seth was in thine image, like thyself,
Appointed sire of many; thou, of all.
And yet, alas for Seth; condemned to prove
What strife with doomèd earth hath man to wage,
Ere it to him will render aught of good.
Hence was his first-born named. O Enosh, thou
Wert even as Abel; happy in thy heart,
For thou wert good, and evil might not irk
A pious spirit by the Truth made free.
And, ah, to listen to thy lips inspired,
Rapt into heaven the soul, though bruised, or broken;
And made the dimmest spot, and hardest chance,
A paradise, a mean of happiness:
So faith can conquer what subdues the flesh.
Friends made he to him of the holy Prayers;
Angels of light, for him, with glowing speed,
They sought the throne of Grace; and wooed, from Love
Divine, a worshipful inheritance,
A sacred fellowship of holy men,
A peaceful brotherhood of charity.
By Cainan well expressed, his first born son,
Right-worthy image of a worthy sire:
To whom, as a possession, earth was given;
Bought by submission, by obedience won.
Glad to the labour of the field went he,

Heart in his hand, and wisdom in his work;
And, in the intervals of labour, prayed,
Or meditated on sublimest themes.
So revelations opened on his soul,
Glimpses of heaven: for which, in his son's name,
He lauded God; and offered, as a hymn,
The boy, Mahalaleel; and taught him how
To sing thy glory, Maker of the World.
Then, were Religion, Law, and Government,
By Contemplation ordered, and his son,
Jared, held high command. A ruler he,
O'er many tribes; like a descended god,
A priest, a king. Soon, competition rose;
Contest for rule, and battle for reward:
And men, once calling on Jehovah's name,
Profaned the solemn word; and Seth, and Cain
Were covenant together. It is done—
Children, begotten of unlawful beds,
Witnessed their parents' wickedness. But, then,
The righteous was prevented, and with God
Had rest. For honourable age stands not
In length of time, nor by the numerous years
Is measured. Wisdom is grey hair to men;
And an unspotted life, that is old age.
Young Enoch pleasèd God, and was beloved;
And, living among sinners, was by him
Translated; taken speedily away,
Lest haply errour might pervert his mind,
Or guile bewitch from honesty his soul.
O why was I not taken from among
The wicked; for to me may never come
Due honour as of old? Methuselath
To me may never leave what Jared left
To him; nor to my son may I bequeath
Rule unimpaired. O Noah, O my son;
Of Consolation named; for sore I felt

The appointed labour still by earth required,
And looked to thee for aidance in my toil.
Nor vainly—with good hope by thee performed,
In Cainan's power, and spirit, the daily task.
Then came to thee the Word of the Most High,
Judging the earth; . . whence rose the mighty pile,
To swim the Deluge threatened to o'erflow.
Ah me; . . and whither, now, hast thou gone hence?
With sorrow to the grave my head is bowed,
And my soul feeds on ashes, and on dust.’

Alas, for Lamech. Even now the cloud,
Late but hand-size, develops to a storm.
—Shrieks loud, and long break his abstraction up;
And Zerah, by his side who still had sate,
Unseen, in filial love observing him,
Starts to her feet—

‘O father, whence that wail?’

But then in rushed Zateel with weapon bare,
Blood-stained, and cried, . .

‘Here stand I, to defend
Thee, Lamech, now. Yonder, my work is done.’

‘What work, Zateel?’
‘O Zerah, may the God
Of Adam pardon what, this day, his children
Have shed of blood, upcrying from the ground.
—Far o'er the plains, the faithful Sons of God,
In presence of the Cherubim, were spread;
Offering the holy feast of Bread, and Wine,
For Harvest well accomplished; with the shout,
And song of praise, and supplicating prayers.
There were the tribes of Seth, of Enosh there;
The tribes of Cainan, and Mahalaleel;
Of Jared, Enoch, and Methuselah;
And thine, O Lamech: sons, and daughters both;
With their sons, and their daughters; in their tribes,

And in their generations, ordered right.
Midst all, upstood Methuselah; and blessed
The multitudes; and cried aloud to God;
And blessed the bread, and wine, and hallowed them:
Partaken soon of all with joy of heart.
When, hark, the yell of onset; and the men
Of Naid, and Enos; by Azaradel,
With numbers from the City of the Wild,
Enforced, and guided; skirt the peopled plain:
And, driving in the outer circle, make
Huge massacre of man, and woman; boy,
And girl; the aged, and the infant; slain,
Without remorse, or pity. What I could,
I did, with this good sword, to stay the slaughter;
While of the inner ranks as many as might
Fled, and sought refuge: some even in the Ark;
Before which stood Methuselah, as guard;
With Japhet, Shem, and Ham. Then I sped hither;
To thee, and Zerah.’

While he spake, Elihu
Appeared before them, saying;

‘O my father;
The youngest, and the sole-left of thy sons
Kneels for thy blessing. Bless me, O my father.’

While Lamech wondered, sad Zateel replied;
‘Art thou, Elihu, spared? Then, praise the Lord,
The Merciful. O Lamech, pardon me—
I sought to shield thy heart from a new blow,
That well might break it; now, thou knowest all.
The day was ordered so, the tribe of Lamech
Lay, as the last in time, the last in rank;
Where massacre began, nor paused an instant,
Till all were sacred to the wanton sword.’

‘Alone scaped I to tell,’ Elihu said:
‘Nor thus had scaped, but that the plague was stayed,
By miracle divine. Before the Ark,

Whither had fled the people, Japhet stood,
With Shem, and Ham, and old Methuselah.
—‘Approach not,’ cried the aged Patriarch;
‘For know, my Death produceth the outbreak
Of what ye dread; and only by my death
New victims ye may reach. Away, fond men—
Slay me, and from the heavens the Floods descend,
In sudden vengeance; and from earth shall rise;
Deep call to deep, and heaven to earth reply.’
—As smitten with conviction of these words,
The Cainites paused, in superstitious fear;
And saw increase in splendour, as in wrath,
The Cherubim; and glow, with fiercer fire,
The flashing Sword; whence darted terrour forth:
Terrour so terrible, the enemy
Fled as before the Angel of the Lord.
In heaps they fled, and of each other made
Havoc; as, in their fear together thronged,
Either by other's death his life preserved.’

While thus spake they; Lamech, in silence deep,
As it were death, and prostrate as in slumber,
Clasped Earth; seeking, perhaps, within her bosom
To sleep, as in a mother's would a child;
And answer none returned to sigh, or word,
Heedless of sympathy, and scorning comfort.
—Soon Japhet, Shem, and Ham came there to him;
And wept to see him weep not; wept aloud,
But vainly. Ne'ertheless, with him they stayed,
And sate about him seven days, and nights;
And oftentimes Methuselah repaired,
To help them in the labour of their love;
But, when they saw his grief was great, forbore
With words to wound him; and in silence watched.

II. Lamech's Lamentation

And when these days were ended, Lamech spake;
‘O that to me no children had been born.
The Comfort of my work is rapt away;
I know not whither; even like Enoch gone,
Perhaps with God, but still to Lamech lost.
O that to me no children had been born.
All slain, slain, slain, by Murther's cruel hands;
All—and their families—their little ones—
Their wives—sons—daughters; withered, past away,
Like visions of the night. Ah, I have dreamed
That I had children. 'Twas a lying dream:
I waked, and found I was a barren man.
And well I was so; for had I not been,
They had been martyred. So they were; they were.
O that the sap of life had been dried up
Within me; and the marrow of my bones
Perished, from the beginning of my days;
Or they had ne'er begun. Yea; cursèd be
The day that hailed me first: and on the night
When it was said, a man-child is conceived,
Be malediction. Let it see no dawn:
But be for ever lost to blessèd light;
Not only of the sun, but moon, or star.
Why died I not beneath my mother's heart?
Then, had I now been still; been quiet now:
I should have slept: then, sweet repose were mine;
With Patriarchs, and with Prophets—Adam, Seth,
Enosh, and Cainan; with Mahalaleel,
And Jared; and, perhaps, with Enoch too:
With kings, who built them places desolate;
With princes, who had gold, and houses full
Of silver. There, the wicked cease from troubling,
The weary be at rest—the prisoners, there,
Unheard the oppressor's voice: the small, and great;

The servant, master-free; there rest together.
O in the many chambers of the grave,
There dwell high thoughts, and populous memories;
There are my treasures hid, there let me go.’

Then Japhet answered:
‘Wherefore wouldst thou leave
Even us who love thee? Are not we thy sons,
Sons of thy son, even Noah? Let us be
In place of whom thou grievest.’

But Lamech cried—
‘O God, that thou wouldst grant me my request;
Spare not, destroy me. Is he Man, who would
Teach to my grey hairs wisdom? Have I erred?
Would he reprove the desperate? Teach me then—
Submiss am I to learn—thou sage to teach—
Why should I not loathe life? Why should I wish
To live for ever? Are the days of Man
Aught else but vanity? and is there not
A time appointed, when reward shall be?
And shall I not complain; and not express
Anguish of spirit, bitterness of soul?’

A solemn thought then sate on Japhet's brow:
‘A happy man is he whom God corrects;
Therefore despise not chastening divine.
Speaketh not God in dreams? Here, watching thee-
Thought was tumultuous; visionary, night;
Deep sleep on all had fallen; and none beheld,
Or heard, beside myself, the fearful Thing:
For lo, a Spirit passed before my face.
I trembled, my bones rattled horribly;
My flesh crept, and its hair all bristled up:
I could not choose but gaze—and It stood still—
That Shape, if shape it were; for what its form
Discern I might not. But an Image stood
Before me, silent: then, I heard a Voice—

‘Shall Man, who mourns, be justified before
The Almighty?—Man, in best estate, be pure
In his Creator's presence? Angels he
With folly charges; and is man exempt,
Dwelling in clay, and founded in the dust;
Crushed ere the moth, and perished ere the eve;
His beauty first departed, and devoid
Of wisdom; mind with body even decayed?’
—Then be not wroth: commit thy cause to God.
Thy seed he can increase; thine offspring yet
Perpetuate, like the verdure of the earth;
And save thee from the grave till latest age,
A shock of corn in season fully ripe.’
‘I know it, of a truth;’—then, Lamech cried—
‘Even so the unwritten word of Enoch saith,
Tradition sacred, that no flesh shall be
Before its Maker just. Were I to say,
That I am perfect, I were proved perverse;
Nay, grant me perfect, the Supreme destroys
The pious, and the impious both alike;
For what avails the excellence of dust?
Hence is my soul aweary of my life;
For he hath given the earth into the grasp
Of wicked men . . the blessed land of trees
And herbs, and fruits, and waters, . . hill, and vale,
Though holy. God; thou hidest in thy heart
Decree divine; I sin, thou markest me;
Am wicked, and woe to me; righteous, yet
My head I may not lift; yet shall I die

Even as the sinner . . die in grief, and gloom.
And what advantage have I over him?
Are we not equal? Equal are the dead,
Nor look on light for ever. Meanwhile, he,
With meat, and drink; with plunder, rapine, lust,
Wealth, and good days; hath been made arrogant:
But the poor saint has sorrowed, while he lived,
And died in trouble; going to the land
Of darkness, and the shadowy vale of Death;
The shadowy vale of Death, of order void;
And where the very light as darkness is—
Let me alone, and soothe me as I may.’

The passages here and elsewhere referred to as “the unwritten word of Enoch,” are to be found in the pseudo Ethiopian prophecy; and which is thus used on the hypothesis of its including some traditions of Enoch, though not the genuine Book of the patriarch; such genuine Book being subsequently given in this poem, as supposed to be revealed by inspiration to the Poet.

Here Lamech paused; and Shem to him replied:
‘Art thou as Adam, first-created man,
Or wast thou made before the hills, and hast
The Almighty's secret heard? Or hast thou quaffed,
Like Enoch, wisdom from the fount of God,
With whom the spirit of instruction dwells,
And power, and the souls of those who sleep
In righteousness? Sayest thou, that he destroys
The perfect, that of thee may none infer
Aught other from the doom on thee divulged?
But gave not Enoch to Methuselah
The word of wisdom? Blessèd—blessèd all
The righteous; blessèd they, for unto them
Shall mercy come, and utter might accrue,
And sinners be delivered. Would my eyes
Were clouds of water, and my tears might flow,
Like to the rain that Noah hath foretold
The world shall overwhelm; then, might I weep
What woes shall seize the wicked. To the wise
The earth was given; neither need they fear
The sinner's strength. Breaks in the oppressor's ears
A dreadful sound; late by the Cainite heard,
When he his hand stretched out against his God.

Woe, woe, to him who builds his house with crime;
And lays of fraud foundation; and acquires
Silver, and gold. His riches shall depart;
His chambers be subverted. Woe to him,
Who to his neighbour renders recompense
Of evil.—Woe unto the proud of power,
Who feedeth on the glory of the corn,
And drinketh at the sources of the spring;
To him shall be denied Life's Fountain pure,
Nor of the Tree of Life shall he partake.
Woe to the crafty; to the simple, woe—
Contemplatists of earth, effeminate,
And clad like women, gorgeously, and vain:
Like water, shall their falsehood flow away,
And folly. Woe to him, the obdured in heart—
The stained with blood, the witnesser of lies,
To him who worships idols, or who makes.
But wait in hope, ye righteous; in the day
Of suffering, your posterity shall soar
Like eagles, and your nests be built on high,
Safe in the rocks; and, in the rocky clefts,
From sight ungodly be securely hid.
—Therefore, prepare thy heart; and stretch thy hands
Toward thy God, O Lamech:—put away
Whate'er offence be thine; so unto thee
Shall restoration come; thy griefs forgot;
Or but remembered as the waters are,
When passed away. Then, clearer than the noon
Shall be thine age, more glowing than the morn.’

These sublime passages are all adaptations from the Ethiopian Book of Enoch.

Hereat, in passionate grief, Lamech exclaimed:
‘Heard I not Enoch? Am not even I
Son of Methuselah, sire of thy sire?

'Tis now long since that Wisdom found no place,
On earth, she might inhabit; though of old
She came to dwell among the sons of men,
Ere Cain forsook her presence. Banished thus,
She to her throne returned, her heavenly seat,
Amidst the angels; Sister-spouse of him,
The Secret, and Elect, whose name was named,
Even in the dwelling of the Holy Ones,
Ere that the sun, and starry signs were made.
Since then, of all mankind, she thee hath chose
To visit only, and with thee hath vowed
To live, and die. Better it thee befits,
Pity to shew to sorrow, than rebuke.
The arrows of the Almighty are within,
O, and their poison drinks my spirit up.
But wherefore should I be to thee, as one
Whose slipping feet are like a lamp despised
To him who walks at ease? Yet well I know,
That Wisdom unto thee hath not yet shewn
The palace of her treasure; nor declared
The secret path thereto, by lion's whelps
Untrod as yet, by lion never passed,
Known to no fowl, by vulture's eye unseen;
Since thou not knowest, that who would seek out this,
Must rise to higher wisdom, than concerns
Life natural, or spiritual life;
Whereof experience none hath yet been had.
Yet ask the beasts, and they shall teach thee true;
The fowls of air shall tell thee;—earth, and sea,
With voice oracular, avouch—with Him
Abides the Soul of every living thing,
The breath of all mankind—All-wise is he,
And his alike deceiver, and deceived.
Herein is wisdom; whoso knows her ways,
He can declare, that good, and evil both
Befall the righteous, and the wicked, too.

Nay, that the wicked prosper, and hold rule
In the dominions of sublunar life,
Such pregnant instance in these days have we,
Divine interposition needs prevent,
And he, who first created, now destroy.
They do remove the landmarks; and compel
Flocks not their own away, whereof they feed—
Afar they drive the orphan's Ass, and take
The widow's Ox in pledge; themselves meanwhile,
Like the Onagras of the desart, prey
Upon the needy, yet in their own fields
Reap every one his corn, and gather in
His vintage. This our eyes have seen; and how
The murtherer, rising with the day, hath slain
The poor; and, in the night, is as a thief.
Did He not now permit the robber band
To slay my offspring, children of the Just?
For is he not Jehovah? and besides,
There is no God but he. He formed the light,
And darkness he produced. Peace is his work,
And evil he creates. Be silent, clay.
—Yet will I trust in thee. Crush not, O God,
A withered leaf, thus driven to and fro.
My purposes are broken, with the heart
Which thought them; and for me the light is brief,
Anxious awaiting darkness, and the grave.
Corruption, welcome; thou my father art—
Hail, worm; my mother, and my sister thou.
Yet earth hides not my blood; nor God rejects
A father's tears. He knows my prayer is pure.’

III. Lamech's Resignation

Thus Lamech spake: grief brought him to a pause.
So long they argued, that the day was gone:
Unmarked the sunset, though most beautiful;

But night was glorious. In that orient clime,
Heaven kissed the earth, so nigh to her embrace;
And broad as bright the stars, and the round moon
Was larger than the sun to other lands,
And like to moons the planets, worlds indeed.
Seemed to the upward gazer, as he lay
Supine, that with the people of those orbs
He might converse; that voices might be pealed
From sphere to sphere, communicant of mind.
Day hath no pomp like this: so splendid nought,
And nought so shadowy soft—so like a dream,
And yet so real—all so hushed, and deep;
Holily breathless, awfully serene.
With look intense up to the sacred Night,
(That there displayed to him the Universe,
The choral echo, image multiform
Of that divinest Word, which, filially,
Affirming the great Being, and his own,
Pronounced Beginning in Eternity,
And spake the heavens, and earths to wonderous birth;)
Ham there reclined adoring, silently:
His steady soul collected in that act
Of worship pure. Slow, then, to thought restored,
Utterance scarce conscious murmured, like a gush
Of waters from a fountain in a vale,
In sweetest undertones, yet not unheard
In whispers by the children of the hills;
Or like the mellowed sounds of ocean's roar,
That comes in sighs to far, and lofty cliff,
Whereon the traveller, looking o'er the main,
Stretches his length, else dizzy with the height.
—Thus deep his soul; thus distant from the sense,
The emotions lowly syllabled by Ham—

‘Far hyaline of light; dwells not in thee
The Eternal? Stars, how high are ye; how high

That height above you; far above that height,
The throne of the All-Holy. Say, can He
Look, from that elevation, through blue sky,
Or darkened cloud—(for sometimes even thy smooth,
O Sea of Glass, storms wrinkle, and obscure
Mirrour so placid now)—and from the heaven,
Whose circuit he inhabits, stoop to judge?
So sinners deem yon deep expanse a veil
That hides them from his eyes, and him from theirs.
Yet with good things their houses who hath filled,
If not the bounteous Maker? Who but he
Shall their foundations with the Flood destroy?
Make then to him thy prayer; and he shall raise
The humble, and restore the meek of heart.
Pride was not made for man; and what may boast
In presence of the Eternal? Lo—behold,
Radiant the stars; though lofty, yet be they
Not pure in the Eyes of Him who made them so.
Not pure, all sin, though all sin not alike;
And sorrow waits on sin, just punishment.
Hence, righteously, the righteous are condemned
To months of pain, and nights of weariness.
Thus God is justified; and, in the end,
Will doubtless vengeance take for the oppressed;
Though ill it man beseems to call to him
For justice on his fellow, who himself
Is yet imperfect, and deserving wrath.
—Attend we then in patience, and in faith,
That equitable state, which saint, and sage
Shall recompense; unanxious of what doom
May crush the worser sinner—rather hope
In mercy his redemption, that to us,
Coming to all, compassion may be sent.
For, from the gulf that separates too oft
Success from human merit, soars a voice,
Announcing difference in man, and beast,

Whose aims aye prosper to their destined end.
Difference in kind, no less than in degree;
Ay, and a contradiction in ourselves,
Creation elsewhere knows not; Mind, and Will
Diverse in law, and choice; and what the sense
Affects too mean to satisfy the soul:
Whence an enigma all the world without;
Fortune, and circumstance; whereof the word,
That may the riddle solve, is then pronounced
Whene'er the human feels itself divine;
Set free from sense, and free from accident,
Immortal; giving Nature's transiency
Permanent attributes, like to its own;
Beauty, and Order; Harmony, and Law;
Motive, and deep Significance sublime;
Yea, and Existence—testifying thus
To its own being—its eternity—
And oracling a promise of a state
Continuous; and adapted to content,
And to employ each organ, pre-assured,
Anticipant, prophetic of its use,
In region suited to its highest aim;
Whereof credential Enoch gave to man,
Who walked with God in groves of Paradise.
—With Him, the Woman's Seed, the One foredoomed
To sway the kingdom of the skies, the Hour
Abides, that shall reveal the treasures hid,
And kings, and warriours from their couches raise,
The teeth of sinners break, and from their thrones
The mighty hurl. The Light of Nations he;
The Rock whereon the holy shall depend;
The Hope of troubled hearts. Before the world,
He was; and, in the presence of our God,
The portion of the righteous has preserved;
Himself their lot, and life. When he appears,
None shall be saved by silver, or by gold;

Nor by escape, or flight; nor shall there be
Iron for war, or mail-coat for the breast.
But blessèd they who trust in the Elect;
For them the light of everlasting life
Is as the sun, and a perpetual day;
For darkness shall be scattered, and destroyed,
And they shall magnify the name of God,
For his long-suffering to a guilty world,
And for the glory for the good prepared.’

Thus counselled Ham; and Lamech thus replied:
‘I know the Eternal my Redeemer is—
Surviving all things, and transcending dust.
With frame renewed, and in immortal flesh,
God shall I see; mine eye shall see him then,
Estranged no more—my Advocate, my Judge.
My heart consumes within me at the thought:
I pant to stand before him. Then will I
His mercy implore, my sins acknowledging;
This chiefly; that with murmuring discontent,
On stubborn earth my brow's sweat I bestowed,
Regarding not herein creating Love,
That willed all pleasures, or of body, or mind,
Should be by labour earned; suspending thus
Fatal indulgence, and obliging man
To wake sublimer faculties, to war
Successfully with nature, by the might
Of ghostly power. The families of men
Had reared them habitations on the earth;
Founding their cities on the rocky steeps,
Or in vale-hollows, sacred to their sons,
Named by their names, or honoured with their own—
Nay—even won them from the fearful wilds.

Hence I, the eighth from Adam, had to seek
Remoter dwelling, for a later race,
In soil yet virgin of the plough, or spade.
—Herein, aright considered, mercy was,
That Life in me might be developed full;
Moral, and intellectual. Spirit acts,
Nor can be idle; or if idle, dies.
Hence speculation evermore suggests
Inquiry, and new knowledge; to erect
System on fact; then only edified
Secure, when theory is built on truth.
Hence Reason (by like spiritual act
As Nature is subdued, ere for the frame
Of outward life provision may be made,)
Must hold like war with Nature, on a stage
Of nobler conflict; in her strongest holds
Of low propensity, or feeling high;
Ere right intelligence may rule; and Will,
Admonished in the members, to a Will
Superiour yield, and it in act express,
In practice, as in precept, still supreme.
—Oh, as in seasons past that I were now;
Then God was with me—then my children were.
He breaketh down that none can build again;
He shutteth; none can open: he withholds
The waters; they dry up: he sends them out;
And they the earth o'erturn. Speed, God of doom—
Make ready, as a king prepared for war.
Shake, from the oppressor's vine, the grape unripe;
And, as the olive, cast his flower away:
Let not the dew lie on the wicked branch,
Let it not come to verdure. Rise—arise—
Blood of the righteous; from the earth ascend,
And cry in heaven before him. Yet, oh spare
The innocent—so that thy work, great God,
Perish not utterly from off the earth.

Perish therefrom who have offended thee;
But be the upright stablished, as a plant,
To flourish, and bear seed, for evermore.’

Thus ended Lamech: and all had relapsed
Into like silence, utter and intense,
As the deep stillness that was broken then,
When grief found words which else had madness found;
But here Elihu interposed, with speech
Of wonderous wisdom, though the youngest there;
And whereof, in the end, more wonder grew:
Such great event, and high result ensued.

The foregoing remarkable passages are also from the Ethiopian Book of Enoch.

The text is here again indebted to some majestic verses in the Ethiopian Book of Enoch

IV. Lamech's Death

‘Father belovèd, God is merciful.
Hath he not, for thy sake, Elihu spared?
That, even till Noah do return, a son
May for his absence comfort, and their loss
Whose cruel doom I weep. Oh, I had spoke
Ere this; and with my grief thy grief relieved;
But that, of youth admonished, I was fain
Years should teach wisdom. But there is in man
A spirit, and the inspiration of
The Almighty knowledge gives; of matter full,
And as with wine, am I constrained to speak.
Yea, now esteem me in God's stead to thee;
A Mediatour, but of clay composed,
Whose terrour need not make thee sore afraid.
—Think not, O Father, that the Highest seeks
Occasion to afflict, who loveth all
The creatures he hath made: yet, sooth to say,
Greater than man, he stoops not to account,
Or, if he speaks, man's understanding fails.

In dreams, in visions of the night, when sleep
Deepens on men; in slumberings on the bed;
Them hath he visited, himself revealed.
In sorrows also, tempering human pride,
He chastens even with life-abhorring pain,
And flesh-consuming agony, the soul
He would from hell deliver. Oft hath he
To such his Angel sent, interpreting
The grievous visitation merciful,
Instructing how uprightly thence to walk,
And thus avoid the need of lesson hard.
So worketh God with man. And why? that light
His life shall see, who loved the darkness erst,
Because his deeds were evil, now are good.
And shall we say, it nothing profiteth
Man should delight his soul with God? Be far
From God injustice. For his works, shall man
Abide the eternal Judgement; nor may he
Arraign decree divine. From whom hath God
His charge o'er earth derived; and who for him
The universe disposed? Let him but will,
The spirit, and breath of man should be recalled;
All flesh shall perish, and return to dust.
When he gives quiet, who can trouble make?
He hides his face—who can behold the same
Of nations, or of men? Befits us well
To say, that we have borne due chastisement,
And will offend no more. For none may claim
More righteousness than what to God belongs,
And think no profit to be cleansed from sin.
—What can it profit thee?—Nay, rather, him?
Look to the heaven—behold the clouds aloft;
Thou sinnest? well: 'gainst Him what doest thou?
Art righteous? what receives He thence from thee?
Thee—others—it may hurt, or may avail;
But the Most High how can it move, or reach?

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Yet may his work be seen, even though from far—
But who can understand it, or know Him?
'Tis wisdom, not to question, but adore.’

Elihu thus. Even as he spake; the Youth,
Beautiful ever, glowed more beautiful.
Whoso beheld him, saw a mystery
In his composure, and his youthfulness:
Nor seemed his youth as of few years, but as
Of dateless, and unchanged eternity;
Even as the form of Wisdom, ere the hills
Begotten, yet new always in all ages;
Simple, and childlike, to the child a child,
To youth a youth appears; howbeit to age
Not old, but blooming fresh, as in the day
Of her espousals; and with growing charms,
Yet undiscovered, smiling, when the grave
Imprisons flesh, to set the spirit free.

Softened to tears, hereat old Lamech wept:
‘Elihu, still hast thou a prophet been,
Though youngest of my sons, and now the sole.
More wisdom yet this day hath dwelt in thee,
Than in all former days, though ever wise.
And who am I, that should contend with God?
Nay, shall I answer him who speaks in thee?
Once have I spoken, and again: but now,
I lay my hand upon my mouth. I know,
Thou canst do every thing, O Lord, my God;
And that no thought from thee can be withheld.
Grief from my heart hath utterance wrung of things
Not understood, too wonderful for me:
But even herein I find, that it was good
For me to be afflicted: wiser hence,
Now know I what I cannot know; and where
Experience ends; and whence Faith upward soars.
Faith? even by hearing of the ear it hath

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Come hitherto; but now, as with the eye,
It sees the Eternal. Dazzled with the gaze,
How vile seem I; abhorrent to myself—
Great God; in dust, and ashes I repent.’

‘And God’ . . Elihu said . . ‘hath looked on thee,
And seen thy sorrow, to compassionate—
The Merciful. Hence was I sent to thee;
To utter words of comfort, to reveal
The purposes of Wisdom. He forgives
What grief imagines lest the heart should break;
Climbing for solace to the Throne of God,
In daring question; and meet answer finds.
Thy sins are pardoned, and thine end shall be
That of the righteous. But behoves it first,
That Noah should return. And lo, he comes.
A blessèd death shall thine, O Lamech, be.’

Then Lamech looked, and saw his Son aby,
Led by Methuselah, in solemn talk—
Oldest of men; image herein express,
Antient of Days, of thee. Mysterious Man;
Nay, an embodied mystery, in his
Identity, to whoso him bethinks,
How hard on earth that absolute to hit,
Of all relations head: wisest, or best;
Or worst, or simplest; in extreme degree:
Knowing it is, yet what, or where unknown:
In all that is, inferring, elsewhere, is
Still something more, above it, or below;
Wiser, or better; worse, or simpler, still.
Oldest of Men—the Abstract Sublime of Age—
Like an Idea in its Purity
To contemplation, worthy thought's high mood;
By fancy deemed Old Age Impersonate;
A patriarch indeed. And well expressed
The venerable man, the kingly priest,

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To fleshly eye, proportions visible
Of dignity; in sinews, thews, and limbs;
Majestic height, expanse of chest, and breadth
Of shoulders, and of back; surmounted with
A head magnificent as that of Jove,
Sculptured by that old sculptour's hand, who, taught
Of Homer's song, that ancientest of heads
With manliest beauty, most luxuriant hair,
And beard august, elaborate, and profuse,
Invested, with ambrosial locks adorned.
—Melchizedek he might have seemed, the priest
Of the Most High, who met, with bread, and wine,
(Refreshment for himself, and wearied troops,)
Abram returned from rout of Elam's king,
Chedorlaomer; and those other kings,'
In Siddim's slimy vale, who battle waged,
And won, but to be lost again to him,
The Father of the Faithful. He pursued
The victors unto Dan; by Salem's prince
In Saveh's royal dale, on his return,
Blessed. Priestly monarch, sacramental type;
Whose priesthood of eternal Order was,
And he a priest for ever, as would seem;
Fatherless, motherless, without descent,
Having beginning none of days; nor end
Of life: to him, as to his greater, gave
Abram the tenth of spoil, Similitude
Divine, whose blessings rest on Abraham's sons;
Not of the flesh, according to the faith.
—Him might have seemed Methuselah; whose death
Seemed distant still—his life fore-doomed to end
But with the world, which now by right were his,
Subdued beneath his patriarchal sway;
Had evil, and rebellion not forbid:
Whence doom shall be pronounced.

With Noah, now,

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Came on that reverend Sage; in all the pomp
Of many years; and told, in solemn wise,
Of Lamech's grief; and soon to Lamech's arms
His Son beloved presented. In embrace
Mutual they stood; and, though in sorrow, both
Were glad, as the survivors of a wreck,
Long to each other lost, and late restored.
But Lamech's gladness was the greater far;
And, like a sluice unbarred, in deluge rushed,
And brake what it o'erflowed—a father's heart.
So, when for answer to his greeting sought
Noah; behold, from that enraptured face,
The spirit had passed; but left its likeness there,
In that entranced expression it had fixed;
The last the features wore, by death impressed—
In death how lovely. Not grown rigid yet,
But life-like; only softer than in life;
Life's lingering look; and, if of motion void,
Only reluctant to forsake its shrine,
That aspect of paternal ecstasy.

END OF THIRD BOOK.

105

II. Part the Second. ELIHU.

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The Lay of LILITH'S SON; Dreamer of Dreams, Seer of Visions, in the Morning Land.

Crowned with the Martyr's crown, and in the robe
Of purple cinctured; hail, triumphant Faith.
By thee we rise . . and rise; our thoughts by thee
Soar to the heaven, the Heaven of heavens, and build
Them habitations there. Nor these alone:
Thou givest wings unto the soul herself,
Wherewith supported, she shall downward look
Upon destruction in serene repose,
And smile above the planetary wreck.

Thereafter, shall the immortal soul rehearse
What harmonies she heard at hush of Eve;
Or in the quiet of the paly moon;
Or audible breathings of the coysome dawn,
When thought profound listened, as to the stars,
And silence had a voice. A still small voice,
Less than the slenderest whisper: twilight birth
From Nothing, and Creation; as their feud
Were intermitted, and their strife the while
But amourous play had been;—each lost in each,
Like light, and shade on Nature's countenance;

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Or wave on wave, within some gentle bay,
In multitudinous unity dissolved;
Or the light azure filmy clouds, within
The bosom of heaven's blue o'er Italy;
Or the self-moving undulations bland
Of the once Athenian marbles. 'Twixt that still
Small voice, and very silence, there abode
Nor embryo, nor shadow, of a sound.

And higher harmonies shall there be heard
Than what, from this material universe,
—In the most holy hour of sympathy
With its completions, when it best is felt,
Like an Æolian tone, within the soul,—
Inspired imagination may conceive,
Of sound, and sense, as from an oracle:
Higher, and happier harmonies; unmixed
With the blind darkness, and the wasting grief,
Or mournful reminiscence, which disturb
The sweetest music here; though joy there be,
Ay, and the most ennobling joy in grief:
With melancholy retrospect unmixed;
But warmed with that high fortitude of faith,
Which makes a seraph's harp all ecstasy,
And every number burn, as it were fire,
With most substantial rapture; at the shrine
Of Holiness, and Beauty kindled well.

Therefore, for Lamech's death no grief lament;
But rather triumph greet his happy change.

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BOOK THE FOURTH. SIGNS, AND WONDERS

I. The Incarnate

Change rules in life, as death. Transfigured, there,
Elihu stood. As when Messiah took
Apart, into a mountain high, those Three,
Who saw his face shine as the sun in heaven;
His raiment pure even as the light; the while
Talked Moses, and Elias, there, with him;
Anon, o'ershadowed with a radiant cloud,
Whence cried a Voice, ‘This is my Son beloved,
In whom I well delight me; hear ye him:’
Over Elihu such the change that came.
His face glowed, and a spirit breathed; enrapt,
As if a vision dawned upon his soul,
And warmed him with its lustre; nay, enlarged
His attitude into such majesty
As would become a god; . . . and, like a god,
Thus he that group bespake.

‘Effectual is
The prayer of pious men; and Lamech hath,
That which he prayed for, Death; his fittest doom.
Thus blessed, whom God corrects; if for past sins,
That they may be forsaken, and forgiven;
If righteous, that bliss future may surpass
The present pain, or be in joy secured:
Else taken from the ill to come away;
And for the sufferer, in the worst extreme,
A crown of glory incorruptible
The Eternal hath prepared. Mine hath it been,
To comfort the expiring saint, who meets
Elihu now in Hades; there, before,

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Gone with his brethren, on that fatal plain
Doomed to the slaughter. Ye, too, have your tasks.
Thine be it, Shem, the interiour of the Ark
To furnish; both for use, and ornament.
Thine, Japhet, outside to protect, and watch
'Gainst the designs of foes; for such will be.
And, Ham; thy passion, and thy crafty skill,
Well, if well used, shall find employment meet.
—Go forth: and, from the desart, and the wild,
Bring forth the savage; beast, and bird. Know, strength,
And wisdom shall be given thee, in the hour
Of trial in the chase. Thereafter, will
The time appointed come. For He shall make
Small water-drops; and they shall pour down rain,
According to their vapour, from the clouds
Dropt, and on man abundantly distilled.
Then, unbelieving man may question God,
If he can understand. Or let him, now,
Tell, if he knows, the spreadings of the clouds,
The noises of his tabernacle; and mark
The growing gloom, whence cometh peal on peal:
My human heart is moved—when God thus speaks.’

Thus spake the Incarnate: glowing more, and more,
With glory still diviner. Sensibly,
Voices, and lightnings, from the electric cloud,
The presence of the Omnipotent announced.
Anon, the sound of whirlwind, and of wings;
Ministering seraphs, o'er his awful head,
A canopy expanded of their plumes,
As of a fiery sky; while, from amidst
That dread pavilion, Thunders thus discoursed.

‘Man! where wast thou when Ages I decreed,
And laid for Space foundations? Knowest thou
Of the Beginning; when the Heavens, the Earths,
His filial words, were of the Eternals born?

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To thee all void, and formless, and a deep
Of darkness, till thereon the Spirit brood,
And the voiced Light distinction introduce
In Hades, else confusion; and divide
The light from darkness, making day, and night.
Light immaterial first; till, self-evolved,
It shine, and glow, and burn, within, and on,
The earth; and, with the watery element,
Act in construction, previous to the sun.
Where dwelt it, then?—now, dwells?—the Darkness, where?
—Hast thou commanded, since thy days, the Morn;
And caused the Day-spring gild the purple air?
The treasures of the Snow hast thou perceived,
Or those of Hail, for time of wrath reserved;
Of these yet inexperienced? Canst thou tell
Who, for the overflow of Waters, cleaved
Its channel; and divided the fit way
For Lightning of the thunder; that the Rain,
Whereof thou knowest not, may fall from heaven;
In Judgement, and then Blessing; and oft time,
On desart wild, untenanted of man,
To quicken desolation into bloom?
Hence, when to heath, and waste, and far-off isle,
Not habitable, or mountain too sublime
For human feet to tread, the traveller come,
Exploring, and shall see, distant or near;
There, he shall own a God; and laud the hand
Benevolent, the barren bleakest soil
That leaves not, mid frost, snow, and ice, undecked
With vegetation, but prepares a shew
Of Beauty to delight the Wanderer's eye.
—From seas, and rivers; lakes, and rivulets;
With the moist earth; the Clouds, in vapours, rise
To elevate expanse. Hast thou explored
Their secret treasures; searched Life's fountains out?
Hast thou the Centre reached, or have the gates

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Of Death to thee been opened? Hast thou seen
The dreamy portals of his shadowy halls?
Or, hast thou soared on high to other orbs,
And taken knowledge of their secret years?
The greater Light, and less; with the bright stars;
Morning, and evening? or their number learned?
Canst thou unrein the Comet, or upbind?
Or travel to Orion? or exchange
Impulse that gives them motion, or the checks
By which the attracting Spirit reins them in?
Canst thou command the Sea, and Earth obey
United influence both of Sun, and Moon?
The Vapours draw from waters, floods from clouds,
Replenishing the earth with great increase
Of flowers, and fruits? or teach the forms of things
The power to separate the beams, and rays,
Whence glow with various hues the works of God?
Settedst thou in the Old Obscure the Plants, and Seeds;
Then gavest to them the Sun, whose beams should call
Their beauty, and their produce, into life?
Madest thou for light the Temple of the Sun?
Or multiplied it sevenfold; and shrined
In floral emblems, vegetable life,
His loving gifts, in grass, and herb, and tree;
Each teeming to the birth, with germs, and seeds
Productive, with progressive growth endued,
With blood, and bone, and brain, and nerve, and skin,
According to their kinds; the types of thine,
As they of thee, in birth, and life, and death;
As thou, in all things, image art of God—
Who wisdom in the human bosom put,
And understanding in the human heart?
—The cunning of thy frame, it is not thine.
The heart itself is his; and unto him
Belongs thy spirit, as thy being doth:
And whatsoe'er, in other creatures, shews

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Thyself to thee, a shadow shews of God,
Of higher Wisdom vouches, greater Power;
Both what the seas produce, where great Whales swim,
And what in air soars far above the earth,
Fowl in the heaven's open firmament.
—Behold the Hawk; he by thy wisdom flies—
Whither the summer travels, and due south
Stretches his wings, to men ill seasons leaving—
Or, lo, the Eagle; sure, at thy command,
She hath upmounted, and her nest on high
Made, where she dwells abiding on the rock,
And in the crag her palace fortifies,
Whence with a glance she dooms her far-off prey.
Fed are her young with blood; and where the field
Craves for the slain in battle, there is she.
—Remark the diligent, and frolic Fish:
Play all their work, their labour only sport;
Them moves, not thy volition, but their own;
Their proper mind inspires them, guides, and guards;
To swim—to fly—to leap—to climb—to crawl,
According to their needs; in sea, or air,
Up cataract, or palm tree, or on shore.
Some, when the streams are dry in which they dwelt,
In search of water migrate o'er dry land,
Or in the night for food; oft time in shoals
Banded, with leaders marshalled rational.
With what nice judgement, they direct the blow
Against the insect: lo, from peril how
In mud they hide them; and, when storms approach,
Sink to the bottom, to the surface soar,
As wishing to avoid, or to enjoy,
The agitation of impending change.
Colours, and sounds distinguish they; and burn
With love of mate, of offspring, and of kind.
Some sleep in herds, appointing first their watch,
While on the rocks they sun themselves at ease—

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A peaceful race—a happy social tribe;
Various of bulk, but still the huger size,
In consciousness of power, the more serene;
Fearless of death, in pleasure living still,
And dying in a moment, with least pain;
Heirs of an element, wherein but they
May none exist, and made for their delight,
In motion slow, or swift, free from the change,
And influence of seasons, creatures bright;
Bright, as if woven of beams; amber of hue,
Or golden—azure, and green—and of all tints—
Making the deep a marvel. Knowest thou,
How they were framed to balance, to adjust,
Their weight against the waters; to divide
Their way therein? to see—to hear—to breathe
The fluid pregnant with the air of life?
Or how they choose to wander, or prefer
Local abode? or from the sea saline,
Against descending currents persevere
To the selected stream; there to depose
Their eggs in fitting beds, by bank, or shore?
—Of them may man tranquillity of mind,
And abstinence of appetite, be taught;
Wise, if he learn. From God their wisdom is;
Who giveth will, and wisdom even to forms,
So brief, and so minute, the straining eye
Discerns not parts, nor motion. Beauty, also,
He grants, and Music to the higher kinds:
The Birds of plumage glorious, rich of song;
Whose home is in the air, and there their road,
Wherein they cross the ocean, visiting
East, west, north, south; the ends of heaven, and earth.
Learn wisdom, too, of them; for ne'er have they
Absurdly done, nor ever folly known—
Accomplished in their nature, to the bourn
Of their perfection come; while thou hast yet

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To rise to thine by labour, and by death—
Needing redemption. Sinless are their ways,
Having affections, nor unapt to judge,
And act on thought, reflective, and enrapt;
And, with their numbers various, and how sweet,
Awaking meditation in thy mind,
And ecstasy of feeling in thy heart.
Yet fierce of these are some, on raven bent;
But most are gentle. So of Cattle too—
And all were thus, till Evil, made by man,
Was found in Nature; to correct in him
Fatal result, and mortal tendency.
—But in the coming age, when blessèd Life
Shall Death have conquered; then, will peace return
To all creation; both to man, and beast.
For unto thee hath God dominion given
Over the inferiour kinds. Wherefore he made
Thee in his image, that even thou shouldst rule
Over the fish of the capacious sea,
Over the fowl of the expanded air,
Over the cattle, and o'er all the earth,
And over every creeping thing thereon:
Blessed to be fruitful, and to multiply;
And to replenish, and subdue the earth.
—And Bird, and Beast to thee, O Ham, shall come;
From brake, and den; in desart, and in air;
In quiet majesty, and peaceful might;
Come, as of old to Adam, to be named
Of him in Eden; and as yet again,
They shall with Man abide, when He, who made,
Shall re-create the Heavens, and the Earth.
—Thine with their restoration reconciles;
Nature advanced to Spirit; when with all,
Even as with Shem, the Godhead shall abide.
Thrice blessèd be Jehovah, God of Shem;
By Ham, and Shem, and Japhet; for to them,

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His incommunicable Name is given,
The knowledge of himself. On earth shall be
His Residence divine—his Mercy-Seat—
And spread his glory o'er the Cherubim.
Of human seed becomes, of human loins
His Incarnation grows—the Son of Shem,
Pacific Victor; Lord of Heaven, and Earth;
In whom the fulness of all lands convenes,
The consummation of the Age to come.’
Thus spake the Incarnate; and was borne away.
Now, when the Thunder, and the Voice had ceased,
Together with the noise of winds, and wings;
Up from the ground, where, prostrate, they adored,
Methuselah, with Noah, and his sons,
Rose; and lo, none was with them: save there lay,
His face on earth, the corse of Lamech dead.

II. Burial of Lamech

Seven days from Lamech's death were passed in sorrow.
The day then dawning was decreed to do
Exequial rites to the forsaken shrine,
The temple of his body; of worshipper
Now void, but not of God. For, as on wilds,
Once cultivated, once the abodes of men,
Altars in ruin picturesque survive,
By Saint, or Idol o'er-presided still;
Thus, with our flesh, or buried, or cast out,
His Providence remains, preparing it
For restoration incorruptible.
Therefore, o'er corse, and sepulchre, the Sun,
Regardless of the dead, still rises, sets,
As when the wept-for such vicissitude
Found grateful; hence, the waves dance in their joy
Over the drowned. Air freshens yet, the fields

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Laugh, and the flowers do vaunt their dewy charms;
Though day by day, and hour by hour, Time dooms
And slays his thousands: for in earth, and sea
The human seed, in much dishonour sown,
Corrupts but to requicken gloriously.
O Death is kingly, and high state affects:
Quiet, and placid; of uncertainty
Untroubled, and, with destiny at one;
In independence of the illusive hours,
Crowns the pale corse what mystic majesty.
—Thus now, up from his bed with health aglow,
The Sun arises at this autumn tide,
Rejoicing o'er the golden sheaves of corn.
Hues sport in clouds, whose fleecy skirts are checked
With silvery tints of light, and glancing shade;
While the round orb awakes on the blue hills,
And the wild Deer play in his dewy beams,
And the birds sing their pæans: chief, the Lark,
His grassy couch forsaking, hymns the gate
Of everlasting heaven; but, heard on earth
At intervals, the speckled warbler's song
Wafts on the breeze; the pious Shepherd's joy,
His sinless flock unfolding, early risen.
—At later hour, that Shepherd pipes along
The hills, unconscious: pensively, the Peasant
Unlatches his lone wicket; and his flask
The Housewife fills, as he his ripping scythe
Sharpens in preparation; while his Dog
Expects his homely crust. As wont, the Cock
Rouses the barn; nor Partlet wakes alone,
With all her scarce-fledged brood; but eke the Maid
That, laughing underneath the shady elm,
Fills, for the dairy, swift the frothy pail,
Milched from the patient Cow. Thus Life proceeds;
While to the grave a patriarch's corse is borne—
Nor cares the Woodman, as he cleaves the oak

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In the deep forest, whom amongst mankind
Grim Death hath felled; and, on the daisied green,
The frolic Children, chasing Butterflies,
And principled in every limb with life,
Dream not of death; its terrours unconceived.

Of Lamech's hallowed corse, yet are there who
Be mindful; friends, and foes. From every part,
—Laid in his coffin, laved, and well perfumed,—
Came crowds to look upon his winding-sheet,
And gaze on his shut eyes; his silent mouth,
Closed with the fillet; and his tresses shorn.
Great were the lamentations in the ways,
Whenas the pomp of funeral passed by,
Of brethren, and of sisters, and of throngs:
Great was the wailing among multitudes,
Natural emotion, for restraint too big,
Nor of excess ashamed; so worthy whom
They wept. Now, at the burial-place arrived,
In the hewn rock a sepulchre prepared,
They, on the threshold of its narrow porch,
Repose awhile their burthen; whiles they pray
Above the dead; whiles friends, and relatives
Take their eternal farewell; ere the grave
Close on the form they shall behold no more.

But ere these rites were well begun, arose
Loud clamour. Lo, a host of warriour men,
In long procession, came; a gorgeous train,
On chiefs, and monarchs tending. Head of all,
Haughtily moved the enormous Elephant,
And his intelligent proboscis swayed
From out his ivory tusks, conscious he bare
What was or worthy, or of high esteem.
Not worthy, though of high esteem, was he;
Azaradel. Next, on a Zebra, came
Jabal; and Jubal, on an Antelope;

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—Full grown, and of dimensions larger far
Than, now, in Ind, associate in herds,
Timid, and shy; or Nyl-ghau, provincèd
North-west, 'twixt Hindostan's peninsula,
And Persia's once renownèd empery—
Hunted of Aurungzebe, when that Mogul
Held progress gay from Delhi to Cashmeer,
Summer retreat. Liker this beast to that
Which, on Euphrates, trees with jaggèd horns
Sawed down, though tangled in their bushes oft,
The hunter's easy prey: but likest far
The Unicorn, though other; for upon
That fearful brute, of high exalted horn,
Symbol express, and very type of pride,
Rode Tubalcain. And other chiefs were there,
In chariots lion-yoked; and, mounted, or
On foot, the populous throng rolled after them;
Like billows topped with foam, so thick the plumes
In ostentation worn. Right in the midst
Of that funereal train, Azaradel,
Advancing, spake.—

‘Wherefore are multitudes
Assembled? Hold ye politic debate,
How ye may cast the inevitable yoke,
Imposed on the surrounding lands through them,
The children of the City of the Wild,
By Adon prospered, deity benign?’

Him answered, then, Methuselah.
‘O prince,
No yoke can be imposed upon the free,
The truly free, who are not less at large,
Albeit in chains, or close in dungeon penned.
The soul no bars, nor shackles can confine;
Her liberty is of herself, or God,
Of every Being the essential Self.
Therefore, no controversy we maintain,

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To break what galls us not: else, even with thee,
We might dispute the right of mortal man
To question our design, yet unsubdued;
Or why assembled here, to assemble free,
Or not assemble, even as we list.
Yet know, we meet to consecrate the bier
Of Lamech; and within the grave repose
His clay, whose soul in Hades hath found rest.’

Replied Azaradel, the glozing prince:
‘To him yet higher honour had we done;
By force of his descent, and rightful sway:
And now for such, even o'er the precipice,
And brink of the all-feared grave, contention hold.
—Why hath not the anatomist made meet
The corse for the embalmer? Why not he
Anointed it within with cassia,
And aromatic myrrh? O kinsmen false;
Were ye impatient of his poor remains,
Ye hurried them into their resting place,
Seven days passed only? Them why seventy days
Preserved ye not, to be with gum prepared,
In linen swathed, and shrined in carvèd frames?
Where are the judges too, and oratours,
To set forth all the merits of the dead?
The mausoleum might build up his fame,
And Earth adore his planet in the Heavens.’

Whereto thus Noah:
‘At the portal, now,
Of Man's last home, and peaceful house, we stand.
Wherefore should Strife upon its threshold step,
And, with his clangous foot, break silence there?
Wherefore, since honour to the dead do we,
Debate the form? Honour is honour still,
Whate'er its shape; the spirit still the same,
Through every metamorphosis unchanged,
Alike indifferent to whatever mode.

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Yet, free to choose, that spirit transmigrant
May not of right be bound to other will.
Our customs have we—ye have yours: and both
Our sorrow, and our hope, may well express;
Or better one: yet neither may, by force,
Procure observance; but, by reason, shew,
At fitting time, and place . . for time, and place
Are her's to appoint, if reason be to rule . .
The ground of preference. But now reason is,
Our custom be permitted, and obtain,
For future hour reserving argument.
And rather, seeing that the day arrives,
When Deluge shall distinctions all confound,
And earth in one great interest unite,
Whither salvation, what, and how, to seek.’

Hereat among the ranks of Cain was zeal.
‘To whom are forms indifferent?’ Jubal said—
‘Thoughts ill expressed are maimed; and harmonies
Of verbal images, and metrical
Proportions sweet, make not a pleasing song,
If unto music set unskilfully,
Or married unto sounds unmusical.
Religious rites are holy: holy they,
Inviolate as fair religion's self;
The altar as the God, the sacrifice
As he it worships. Whoso one contemns,
The other offends, and merits penal stripes.
—The sons of Cain are wise; and, in their rites,
Best signify the soul's return to God,
And body to its elements restore.
Raise high the funeral pyre; and let the flame,
To such the corse converted, soar to heaven,
Type of the soul's ascent; while with the air
Mingles the smoke, or into fluid melts,
And blend with dust the ashes; element
With element composed: and thus, farewell;

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Thus, air to air, water to water, fire
To fire, and earth to earth. Of these is Man;
And unto these reverts, in order meet.’

This speech loud murmurs followed of applause,
Sent from the hosts of Cain: but, on the part
Of the mixed race, disapprobation rose.
Then weapons were unsheathed, and blood was shed
Betwixt the opposing creeds; and more had been,
But that Azaradel, and Tubalcain
Together spake, apart. Soon both exclaimed:
‘Bring forth the Prophet. Let the gods decide.’
—At once arose the universal shout,
‘Bring forth the Prophet.’

And they brought him forth;
Kaël, blind seër; blind of mind, and eye;
Who dared to deem even his own visions false,
Even to his own predictions infidel,
Yet ne'er the less believed by them who heard.

III. The Blind Prophet

Now, in the rear; high seated on a car,
Drawn by two Leopards; Kaël came enthroned:
Of a barbaric army chief adored.
Prince of a savage tribe, that dwelt beyond
The far Erythræan Sea; once immigrant;
From Naid, and Enos for their crimes exiled;
And, free from government, thenceforth declined
From lawless human to mere animal;
Half brute, but not half angel; and yet men,
If but as idiots. Hence, into their souls
Glimpses of reason flashed an awful light,
More piercing made by the surrounding gloom.
So had they superstitions; and from Death,
And from the Dead, were visited of dreams,

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Acceptable to Faith—high faculty,
By weakness to credulity reduced,
Yet even in weakness to be reverenced.
For them, strange meaning had the closing Year;
Since on its Last Day, at the mid of night,
The ghosts of the departed wont appear
To friends, and relatives; . . who ready made
For spiritual visitants their house,
And set the room in order, and prepared
Water to purify, and wine to welcome,
The traveller from worlds transcending this; . .
Whose coming they awaited all the night,
Until the hour appointed; then held they
Communion with their guests invisible—
Which whoso failed to do might vengeance fear.
Such vengeance fell on Kaël. Lightning smote
His eyes, and so they withered; and his frame,
Convulsed with the quick flash, in agony,
Shrunk; and, for sickness, he was cast abroad,
Into the fields where corses had been strewn,
As one already dead, or doomed to die,
Left with dry bones to perish. What great Power
Preserved the abandoned wretch? More helpless he
Than unprotected babe; yet he returned
Even from the Place of Skeletons, to health
Restored; and, by the people, thence believed
With spirits, and demons, in the haunted fields,
Communion to have held; whence, in their fear,
Him they avoided, till by priestly hands
Made pure, and then as prophet him esteemed.
—Such Kaël was; whose inspiration, now,
Armies awaited, to decide dispute
Of rituals vain: and he, with writhings torn,
Prelude of unintelligible sounds,
And other signs of ecstasy, at length

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Was of clear speech delivered; thus it ran.

‘Fools bury, fools embalm, fools burn their dead.
Fling them forth to the plains: and let the bird
Not shun them, nor the beast, as if abhorred,
And doomed to hell; but, as sweet morsels, eat,
And worthy entrance into worlds of bliss.
The feathered tribes may bear them then aloft,
Their pastimes to partake, and bathe in air;
And the four-footed creatures on the hills,
And in the forests, and by banks of streams,
Teach them new pleasures, and delightful sports.
What murmur? ha! ha! ha!’

And then he laughed,
So wild, and loud, and long, that all the rocks,
And burial places, in that field of graves,
Echoed the bitter mockery of that laugh.
Loud pealed the same from Jared's sepulchre;
Mahalaleel's replied to his dread mirth;
Cainan's that laugh resounded; and the vault
Of Enosh was alive with that mad voice;
And Seth's twin-pillared temple of repose
Was wakened with the hoarse profanity;
And Adam's tomb reverberated deep
The cachinnation; strange, and hollow tones
Of laughter, and of blasphemy prolonged.
—And well that scorn succeeded to allay
The growing tumult, which had else arisen,
And, in that prophet's infidelity,
Found reason 'gainst the judgement that pronounced
Their prejudices void; and, in their stead,
Proposed what all abhorred. But, in that pause,
A power, unfelt before, the savage swayed;
And change in his aspect, and form produced,
Whence wonder died of awe:—a gazing corse,
Not uninformed of life, but seized, and fixed

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In catalepsy, senseless—speechless—blind;
Though glaring, as restored to sudden sight.
But blind he stood a swarthy monument,
Gigantic; for his hue was as the night;
Burned by the sun, and clime where he was born,
With fervency intense; his flesh was coal,
And his blood fire, black with excessive heat.
And he was huge of size; his limbs were cast
In mould Titanian, shrivelled yet, and shrunk
From what they might have been; by indolence
Enfeebled, such as, in the wilderness,
Weakens the human rival of the brute.
Held by the charm whose spell he could not break,
He stood enrapt; and, though unwilling, spake
Words, which, though true, and because true, the more
He disbelieved.

‘Laugh, Spirits of the Dead,
Laugh, laugh; and, like the impatient battle-steed,
Cry ha! ha! to derision. Laugh; ay, laugh.
Came not the Foe your Children to subdue?
Came not the sons of mischief forth, to seek
A quarrel, and, with insult, to shed blood?
Laughed not your God in heaven as they came,
And beckoned to the Angel of the Air,
Whose sword, and symbol is the hairy Star;
Whereof none knows but He, who measured out
The appointed ages of its mystic course,
That it should wing its fiery way to earth,
And lash it with a scourge? Make from the wreck
Of worlds. The void, and formless deep returns:
Such as it was, ere moved the Spirit there;
Ere the quick fiat of his strong right hand
The Light created; when the Sun leapt forth;
And, with his left begotten, rose the Moon;
While, with his speed, were kindled the bright Stars.
—And shall I curse whom He in heaven hath blessed,

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Who lies not, nor repents? What charm is there,
Or what enchantment, 'gainst the sons of God?
Here divination fails. But, from the heights
Of Armon, I behold the sacred Ship,
Walking the waters o'er the drownèd world;
How lovelily—alone—a goodly tent,
A blessèd bark, none curse but the accursed;
And blessèd he who blesseth it, and them.’

By this were weapons flashing in the wind,
Some at the prophet's throat; he saw them not:
But now, recovering from that strange access,
Finds words of recantation, to appease
The credulous crowd:

‘I spake not, 'twas the Fiend—
The lying Fiend, commissioned to deceive;
Believe it not.’

Thus leads the blind of eye
The blind of heart. But the more politic chiefs,
Self-shamed of such absurdity, postpone
Their primal purpose; and, with ill design,
One insult with another substitute.
—So they, imprompt, about the patriarch's corse,
Funereal games, mock honour, celebrate.

Straight were the prizes placed in view of all;
Women, and vases; mares, and mules, and steeds;
And ornaments of silver, and of gold;
And instruments of music; bowls for wine;
And gems of price, and wonderous works of art,
And talents of great worth; which who possessed
Might purchase what to him gave most delight;
With sacred tripods, palms, and verdant crowns;
And arms, and vestments for the conquerours.

The trumpets blare; forth the keen Racers start,
Each eager for the goal. With various luck,
The rivals haste: nor is ill chance to lack,

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Sport making for spectators; who laugh loud
At him who slips, his feet on treacherous ground,
Or wearied with exertion. Olive crowns,
Steeds, helms, and quivers grace the victor-youths.

Then stand the Combatants in order forth;
Of shoulders broad, and strong, and large of limb;
The hand with cæstus, or with gauntlet gloved,
With clenchèd fists attacking, and attacked.
On tiptoe first erect, their arms in air,
Thrown up defiant, either head drawn back
From blow expected, they the fight provoke;
Then strike the void of air; or, on the sides,
And breast, sounds loud, or hollow next excite.
Ears, temples, jaws resound. Now this avoids,
Now that misspends his stroke—falls—rises: shame,
And skill, contending in the indignant soul,
New vigour give, add fury; and, like hail,
Incessant pelts, sans pity, blow on blow,
Till mouth, and teeth, and nostril run with blood,
And the faint head trails ghastly, sick to death,
Over the unconscious shoulder, gory, pale;
How pale—and paler by such contrast made
With that purpureal tide.

Less savage game,
The race of horse and chariot puts to proof,
O generous Steed, thy best nobility.
—Even as thy master's, on thy back enthroned;
Or, more conspicuous in the lofty car,
Lord of the reins, to guide, or goad thy speed;
Haply unskilful, from his seat of pride,
Cast, ignominious, under hoof, or wheel.

Pleased with the rapid motion, even though blind;
Kaël permits his charioteer to strive
In emulation; whirling him along,
To the far goal, how eager for the prize.

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Great was his skill—for not in steed, or car
The artist trusts; but, as a pilot guides
Through storms his vessel, with unerring hand
Drives forthright to his aim. Not his the steed,
But the strong Leopard; male, and female, as
They couple in their solitary dens:
Conscious of force, although to them denied
Sagacity of dog, or wolf; which given,
End none had been to ravage. Furnished so
With horrent teeth, set in the mouth, and jaw,
Incisor, and canine; and, in the cheek,
The lacerant, for deadliest purposes;
The tongue even armed, and the ridged palate rough.
Nor these alone; but claws, keen, long, and curved,
And each with sheath defended, skinny folds,
And callous, whereon, as a sole, the foot
Rests in progression,—with the teeth combine,
To rend the prey, dashed with the flexile paw
To ground, and irresistibly compressed.
Hunger to sate, the forest depth they leave;
Steal on with noiseless tread; or ambushed lie,
With ears astretch for slightest sound, or step
Far off; and eyes that see by day, or night.
—Slow of their gait, incapable of speed
Continuous, well behoved the charioteer,
Caution like theirs; suspicious watchfulness,
Lest swiftness him unskilful throw aback.
But Art prevails. In dusty whirlwinds driven,
Coursers are lost, and chariots hid in smoke—
And wide afield in vain contention spent.
He, by the shortest line, holds on his way
Patient; nor finds obstruction; for none deems
Such tardy motion might the crown attain.
Anon, he nears the goal; . . not unobserved;
And competition burns. Now—now—be proved
Muscular power, and force of giant size.

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‘Now—now—my leopard coursers. Brief the game;
Not far the goal—not needed swiftness long—
Start, and away.’

What speed may rival theirs?
In vain contends the horse. For what is he,
But as his rider? Nothing in himself,
By man unguided; only confident
In that superiour wisdom which controuls:
Insensate now, for idle human skill.
Not so that twain feline. Their genius waked,
Malignant, and ferocious. Agile, thus,
As with one bound, the appointed bound they gain;
Then stand—the victors they, in that career.
How beautiful of hue, and spotted well,
In rose-like circles, though irregular,
With centres coloured like the gentle fawn,
Upon a lighter yellow for its ground.
Head, neck, and limbs, and right along the back,
Dotted how thick with small unopened buds,
And of pure white the belly, chest, and neck.

Proud of the conquest; Kaël stood upright,
In triumph, and had spoken words of vaunt;
Straight by a spirit not his own constrained,
Possessed with prophecy. Hence, to the race
Of Cain, repeated he that parable,
Which Noah for that Shepherd lately spake,
In open hall, not then by Kaël heard.

‘Repent, or ye shall perish, who refuse
The sons of Abel needful corn, and oil.
Your Seed time, and your Harvest, they shall fail;
Your Cold, and Heat, shall strange mutation know;
Summer, and Winter; Day, and Night; shall cease.’
Scarce were the words pronounced, ere flashed on high
Steel in his rival's hand, a Cainite chief,

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The second victor in the chariot race;
Descending soon into the prophet's breast,
A sudden stroke, and mortal in its aim.
Back Kaël fell. But, in his driver's hand,
The scourge resounded; and, with wondrous speed,
The leopard pair fly thence, like wingèd steeds:
So, when disturbed, they frightened bear their prey,
Else on the spot devoured, to lonely place,
Glutting their raven with the carcase meal.
Thus ceased the impious games; and, from the graves,
Those wicked hosts, in wild confusion, fled;
Awed with strange fear, presaged from that event.

IV. Signs of the Seasons

Fair, at the close of this tumultuous day,
Art thou, O Moonlight, on this field of death;
Reposing here where mortal flesh decays,
Even at the portal of Eternity,
While, in the myrtle walks of Paradise,
The virgin spirit contemplates its bliss.
Sweet are the breezes that now cool our brows,
Erewhile with wrong inflamed; soft breathe ye round
These peaceful beds; and soft, ye honey dews,
Drop on the rocks, and fitting soil prepare
For vegetation. Mallow, purple-streaked,
And Asphodel with yellow flowrets, bloom
Where'er the dead are pillowed. Weep, ye Trees,
Shed your dishevelled leaves o'er the calm vale
Of their deep slumber. Willow, Ash, and Birch,
With heads suspended, mourn—and hang your fruit,
Ye laden Fig trees, to the hallowed ground.
Or rather let the mountain Cypress, with
The Poplar, and the Fir, of spiral form,
And floating foliage, point, like Faith, to God,

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Nature's own obeliskal monuments,
Raising their arms to heaven, while they deplore
Their brethren of the earth. But chief the Pine,
In his perpetual green of solemn hue,
His shape pyramid, his aroma sweet,
And his wind-shaken branches' hollow moan,
Symbol of grief, and immortality.
Also, thou Yew, whose years outlast the tomb,
And on the wreck of temples flourish still.
Osier, Oak, Vinestock, Laurel evergreen,
And Myrtle; Violet pale, and meek Primrose;
Ivy, and Olive; with the Jessamine,
Heartsease, and Holly; Honeysuckle, too,
With Palm, and Cedar, consecrate with life
Thy garden, Death. Thus, at extremest South,
The sepulchre of nature, Winter's tree,
Rich in perfume, perennial, shades with green
Valleys of snow, and territorial ice,
Mountain, and promontory, frozen isles,
And floods of crystal, and wide tracts of snow,
Even by the Petrel, and the Penguin shunned;
Left all to loneliness, and sullen gloom,
Save gleam of star, or moon, or meteor wild.
For Thou, who madest, givest to the soul
Lift, in the regions whither she is gone—
There morning from the orient aye looks down
Upon the laughing sea, that hyaline
By saints in spiritual vision seen;
And in the Eternal Presence she subsists.
Thus to the Patriarchs came serenest peace;
But on the race of Cain prediction fell.

Behold the Stags—how mournfully they gaze
Upon the waveless brooks, and pass away
In sorrow. Is it Winter? No—the time

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Of Autumn only; and but late the fields
Were white for harvest: but no harvest now
Hath Hope to glad withal her prophet eye.
A blight, and mildew, and a blasting wind,
Passed o'er the plains; and withered every ear.
One morn, the Huntsman rose; the biting air,
Charged full with fog, and mist, rebuked his sport,
And made him glad to shut his casement close,
And cower anigh his hearth. Then stood aghast
The Statist, and authority decreed
The Sower to go forth. The plough, and wain,
With clods of iron, and a soil of brass,
Prevailed not; and full soon the labouring Ox
Was to his stall returned. But not to feed:
For his provision now is needed more
By man; and he himself must die for food,
If the superiour animal be still
To live, and lord it o'er the barren earth.
The lowing Kine awaits the flowery mead;
But cold hath parched the pasture—and the grass,
The everlasting verdure of the earth,
Hath perished.

What may then long time survive?
For it is written, that no higher can
Without the lower be; albeit the least
Seek to the greatest, by that perfect law
Which urges to perfection all that is.
Hence appetite, in man, and brute, desires
The inferiour aliments which earth provides,
Inanimate, or animal; as those
Without which all would cease. The vegetable
The inorganic nourishes, and thus
Aspires to better; so the herbage soars
To a superiour life in beast, and man:
Material transmigration, melting one
Into the other; from mere mineral

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To human, and divine. But, now, the links
Are broken of that mutual harmony;
Interdependence wise.

Work, self-despised,
Is scorned; nor labours in his hut the Hind,
While dreams the Hound upon the household hearth.
But he hath slain his faithful Dog for meat;
And from the axe, and spade the Robin dashed,
That there for refuge perched, a famished bird.
Then Pestilence came on, a meagre fiend;
And wretches blessed the Winter, whose sharp cold
Was a defence against infection's breath—
In vain. For now the heavens all glowed, as they
With fervent heat would melt: the sun was wroth,
And glared with anger. Then the chains dissolved
Wherein the soil had suffered. But the race
Of men, plague-smitten, at their useless toil,
Died; and the unseasonable solar heat
Pierced the cracked ground, and obvious laid the seed
To bird, and beast, or smote it in its bed,
For lack of moisture, with a treacherous ray—
Life from the germ extracting. Tree, and shrub
Died with excessive heat.

Men cried to God,
He would withdraw the sun from midst of heaven.
And soon their prayer was heard. The months arrived
That Summer had been wont to visit earth;
When lo, the cold returned. With evening airs,
Came on the incipient chill; and men were fain
To shelter in their homes. Hour after hour,
They slept, and waked; and slept, and waked again;
But still no dawn. They looked out, and behold,
The round red moon, of unaccustomed size,
Made pale the planets' ineffectual beams;
And rose, and set in blood, and rose again.
But the sun rose not. Night had Day usurped,

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And Winter, Summer; as before it had
Autumn displaced: and blank uncertainty
Made strange vicissitude more hideous still.
At length the sun appeared; O blessed orb—
And warmth came with him: but sad earth was bare
Of vegetation. Morn, and noon have been;
And evening looks to see the Sun decline:
Still reigns the fiery king, and Day prolongs
From week to week, until the wearied eye
Loathes the unchanging light: and the worn heart
Sickens with uniformity, and longs
To sleep in darkness unashamed; . . nor less
Ashamed in day so long to waste the hours
In idleness, or only half employed.
'Twas Autumn; but no harvest was there, now,
To gather in the barns; nor grass to mow,
Nor fruit to pluck. But all was to begin
Anew: earth lay before them as a map
Uncoloured, and unnamed; and of their toil
No certain issue. Winter came at length;
Spring, Summer; and the soul of man rejoiced
To look upon the produce of the fields,
Grass, corn, and fruits; and flower, and herb, and tree.

Not only in the great metropolis
Of Enos;—but in Naid; its towns, and fields;
And in the Capitol that Irad built,
Won from the wild; and in the Cities, too,
Of Mehujaël, and Methusaël;
And the luxurious town of palaces,
For Lamech's pleasure edified; prevailed
These Wonders; that their dwellers might repent.

And were the Wicked warned? Hither, oft came
The Prophets from the land of Eden; Shem,
And Ham, and Japhet, and their Sire; to preach
Sincere repentance, that these ills might cease;

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And more, the threatened Flood not drown the Earth.
But they were hardened in increasing sin,
Because of the dread judgements; which were signs
Of Power divine, and Will for punishment.
And, chief, their hatred burned against the line
Of Abel; for whose sake, and by whose arts
Of incantation, evils so extreme,
(Thus they believed, by malice rendered prone
To credit aught against the race they wronged,)
Fell on them: and they sware, in council met,
To wreak dread vengeance on the favoured seed.

But greater grief remains for me to tell,
Whereto my shuddering soul may scarce give voice.

Nature is like a chariot, and needs Movers;
When drawn, it runs; not drawn, it standeth still;
Spirits of Fire, like steeds, are its precursors.
They fly; it follows flying, as they fly,
A glorious equipage, round a circle driven,
Bounded by the Infinity alone.

Beyond the bounds of the Erythræan main,
A Continent dispreads; a region wide,
And unexplored, named of an elder world,
Whereof who dwell therein believe a Wreck
The present was, and wherefrom claim descent.
Hear, then, their Creed.

Long ere Man's story dates:
Upon this planet sudden Judgement fell;
And it was blotted from among the stars,
Made void, and formless. But that Land was saved,
Though still in gloom involved. At length, the Light
Was reapparent; but not whence it came,
The solar orb, or any planet else,
Lunar, or stellar. Gradually, the dense,
And dismal pall of vapoury darkness melts;
Until, behold, the dawning Sun awakes,
Cheers with his beams the mountains, and the vales,

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And shines on seas, and rivers, as of old—
Him saw, and, after him, the Moon, and Stars
Saw those who dwelt on that surviving Land,
Masculine Creatures; whom Paternal Love
Created for his Glory, each one so
Begotten at the Source, not generate
By sexual mixture, and successive births;
Each one, like Adam, called a Son of God,
Immortal Offspring of Eternity.
Both him, and them, saw these; and, when they saw,
Shouted aloud, and hailed their glorious show,
Decking the forehead of the firmament;
A radiant crown, illuminate with globes,
Illustrious as with gems, and spheres of light:
Shouted aloud, with most exultant joy,
On their once-more inhabitable realm,
Encircled with a purgèd atmosphere,
And arched above with azure clear, and pure,
In the swift billows mirroured.

Happy they,
Those Sons of God; for they were sinless, then;
And proved, while so, imperishable too,
Even mid utter ruin. But, alas,
Not sinless they endured: . . by Woman won,
They fell, like Adam's self, and Adam's Sons,
Whose Daughters they beheld; beholding, loved:
And, their superiour natures mixing thus
With human, became Sires of giant men;
Who overran the earth with their renown,
And quelled all opposition by their might;
Making, and ending wars, as if for sport.

Alas, those Fathers of that Titan brood
Had bartered Immortality for Love;
Wedding with mortals, mortal had become,
And, with her Daughters, shared the lot of Eve.
—As Light unto the Sun, is Truth to God.

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Now on that Land, in melancholy groups,
Those Signs, and Wonders, prophesying Doom
They had observed; mutation, and surcease
Of Day, and Night; of Seasons, and of Times;
Mysterious, and premonitory signs:
Not deathless now, defiant of mischance,
As when the perished world, they had survived,
Felt the dread shock that crushed her germens in,
And made her as a grave, or as a womb,
To bury one, and bear another earth.

Great is their fear, expecting Destiny.
As yet, not one amongst them had felt Death,
Alarmed the more by inexperienced pain,
Which yet, by Oracles they might not doubt,
They knew themselves predestined to confront.
Great is their fear; and Terrour, like a god,
Their souls o'ershadoweth with his wings unseen,
Whose distant thunder spake of his approach.

END OF FOURTH BOOK.

138

BOOK THE FIFTH. THE CHILDREN OF ABEL

I. Junia and Nain

Meantime, in peace, and blessedness reposed
The far Erythræan Isle; and stern farewell,
O Abel, to thy children, Famine's fiend
Pronounced; then, winged his way to distant shores.
—Now, from the beach, two Maidens fair behold
The fresh awakened sun from ocean rise,
Dallying awhile with the crisped billows' mirth;
Whose foam, else white, is tinted with a blush
From his salute; and, dimpled by the breath
Of the young breezes, breaks upon the waves
In sparkling smiles, innumerous, to hail
His resurrection from the apparent sea.
Of Love the maidens talked; nor were defiled,
For love was here religion—sinless—pure.
Of Love, and Hori, Junia talked with Nain,
The shepherd's sister; no ungrateful theme,
Yet not from sorrow free; since Junià
Pines that the youth, for whom her heart was sad,
Met not her virgin love. To him the stars
Had beauty far more excellent than all
The daughters of his land; and the bright moon
Was as a golden goblet full of wine,
A garland of renown, and on his soul
Shed inspiration, glory, life, and power.
Song him delighted too. The youth was wont
To mould the sea-shell to an instrument
Of music; and therefrom the tones extract,
Accordant with the feelings of his heart,
The thoughts of his high soul. And much he loved

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The solitude of ocean's shore, to muse,
And mark the poetry magniloquent
Of wave, and wind embracing. Hark; she hears—
Junia—the murmur of the shepherd's shell.
And, with her fairy finger, hushes now
The lips of her companion; both concealed
Behind a crag of rock, where well they list,
Unseen, the lay of Hori. Thus he sang:

‘Dear is the Ocean to the Island Bard,
As to the flapping Gull from coastward flying;
Or Swan, that in the bay, when waves are calm,
Conscious of grace, floats proudly on the rise,
And fall of billows; fearless; all the more,
Arching her neck with freedom, and delight;
Oaring her way, with glancing feet reversed,
Striking the enamoured surge to foam minute,
Like silver sparklets on an emerald urn.
—Frail was the tender bark, but fair, which bore
The remnant of the Martyr's exiled seed
O'er the thence-named Erythræan, to the wild
Of waters trusted—God their only guide.
Balm the propitious gales, and glass the sea;
For He had made it smooth, who wisdom gives
To the winged sojourners, to leave the land
Of coming winter for benigner clime.
Like them, they voyaged forth; and, as they went,
The lyre preluded to a pious hymn,
The winds enchanting, and relieving well
The else-wearied oarsman, with its cadences
Solemn, and sweet, and sweeter because solemn.
The Dolphins sported round, as pleased to hear
The anthem on the surge. Silence, and night
Succeeded; and the moonbeams rushed from heaven,
A cataract of light, on measureless
Expanse of ocean, and of air. The stars,

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With lamps of love, came dancing on the deep,
A solitude but for our lonely bark,
Companions lovely, smiling from the sky.
—Glorious the Sun-rise on the desart main;
The hum of billows awful, as they wake
Out of their silence, by the breathing Morn
Admonished of his coming, Seraph bright;
And the swift murmur of unnumbered fins,
Rejoicing in his welcome influence warm.
But he who would magnificence behold
Too broad to bear, intolerably bright;
Let him, mid boundless Ocean, in mid noon,
Gaze on the burnished billows, and o'ershade
His dazzled eyes from the volcanic orb,
Making a desolation, how profound
And hushed, throughout the wilderness of waves,
The universe of water, and of sky,
Interminable. Eden; like thy Mount
Cherubic-guarded, on the eternal sea
Of Sunset the great Vision. The wide West
Is as a Temple, and an Ark of clouds:
With pillar, and with cupola, all hues
Of costliest splendour, as in gems, and gold,
The chariot of the Sun. Awhile he stays,
So pausing on the brim ere he descend;
Until the mighty Shadow of his Orb
Apparent rise, where Heaven, and Ocean meet,
And he into her open bosom sink
In motion visible, and both immerge,
In bridal union, mystic, and divine.
All day, and night upon our endless way,
By Angels we were watched; till, lo, the Gull,
And fragrant breezes token gave of land,
Whereof our Dogs were conscious long before.
The faithful Dog, dear to the Shepherd's heart,
Dear partner on the hill side, and lone height,

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And meditative as the race he serves,
Inseparable friend—a pious brute.

How beautiful the far Erythræan Isle—
The ocean breezes visit her pale shore;
With grateful warmth, and genial moisture charged,
For wanton flower, and bud of living leaf:
With the far boom of rolling billows, borne
In murmurs on his ear, who muses, lone,
In the dim vale behind the cliffy beach,
On either hand a fair, and verdant hill,
Delightful solitude, an inland scene,
So nigh the world of waters deep, and wide.
And there are minstrelsies of torrent streams
And rivers, growling over rugged beds,
Fringed on each bank with trees as old as Time,
Sown in creation's hour; majestic Oak,
And leaf-proud Elm. And far away the woods,
Pensile, or level, stretch their shadows broad,
On upland slope, in valley serpentine;
Forests, and groves apparelled by the hand
Of the Almighty, with a luxury
Of bough, and branch, and foliage; bounty such
As his alone would on his works bestow.
How grandly rocks, and mountains heave their scalps
Into his heavens—the footstools of his throne.
With what delightful change, he scatters, o'er
The verdant sward, the prodigal flowers, amid
The waving grass, up-sparkling their own hues.
Myrtle, and Rose, and Woodbine; rathe, or late;
Report of human dwellings, to the eye
That, from the hill, the prospect meditates;
Nay, even the stern rocks hath he adorned
With Moss, and Lichen; and the barren heath
With dew-drop Blossoms, elegant though wild,
Small Shrub, and Berry, hyacinthine dark.
For this, thy children, Abel, on the brow

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Of yonder hill, have raised a votive shrine,
An altar to his name. There morn, and eve;
Where Eagle once, and Hawk, held sole domain;
Hymns celebrate his greatness; and the voice
Of choral psalm, and anthem magnifies
The praises of the Highest.

Sweet it is,
To praise Him who has cast the exile's lot
In this so lovely isle. Here glows the Vine—
How lush of tint, how frankly clustered. Fig,
And Olive flourish; the ripe Orange blooms.
Who may report his gifts? Who name the sum
Of the spread sands on ocean's shores, the stars
Within the firmament? He gave, even He,
The father's heart to man, to woman her's—
Sweet is the love of woman: sweet is Truth;
Of all things greatest: but far loveliest,
When in the heart of womanhood it lives—
How lovely then, my Junia, if in thine.’

Thus closed his song. Deep thrilled with bliss the soul
Of Junia, as she heard; and Nain exclaimed
Aloud with joy; and both, discovered so,
Were found of Hori: With a trembling lip,
His Sister he saluted with a kiss;
And to his bosom clasped his blushing Bride.

II. Michael, and Azaziel

No more of pastoral loves. War wears on high
His horrours, like a plume; and his loud voice
Roars, like a whirlwind, amid echoes wild
Of rocky beach, or desart solitude.
—Hovering like ominous bird; a veriest speck
Upon the horizon rising; might be seen,
A wingèd Bark, that larger, more distinct,

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Grew, and approached, ere long of men beheld—
Nor unobserved of angels. Michaèl,
Guardian of Nations, rushed on Helam down;
Bold cliff, that, beetling, far o'erlooked the main,
And not in song unfamed. For fable high
Thereof young Hori had conceived; supposed
Of island dwellers ere the arrival there
Of Abel's seed; a mythos well designed,
With passion graced, and manners suitable:
Nor ill-conjectured. For beyond them lay,
In isle remoter, that same race, for whom
Kaël was seër. Blinder they of mind
Than he of body; haply—'scaped from Naid,
In fear of vengeance for enormous guilt—
Furthest was best, they deemed, from that cursed spot,
Where justice might be born; but ne'ertheless,
The Cainite found them soon, and not as foe,
Chance-roving on the deep, in search of gain.
—Whereof let this suffice. Me it behoves
To speak of Michael, the Archangel, whom
Met strong Azaziel,—Fury of the War,
Demon of Battle,—on that rocky height.

Straight each the other seized, in mutual wrath,
Well matched; and wrestled there from morn to eve.
Meantime, the Cainite, with malicious speed,
Like a sea-hornet, from the o'erswarmèd air,
Lights on thy coast, O far Erythræan Isle.
Fame spread her bruit, and Battle raised his shout,
And his loud trump resounded. On the beach,
Full many a man of the invading hosts
Was victor—of a grave—a common grave,
Dug in the sands. For to the shepherd race,
Where'er they spread, the sacred threshold they
Of each loved home, the fender of each hearth,
The temple's portal, and the altar's steps.
Such was that shore—so dear—so sacred then;

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And holily defended, as from touch
Of sacrilege, with heroism so devout,
That whoso fell was as a sacrifice,
An offering slain to God; to whom the warm
Steam of the living blood, like incense, rose,
By angels in their golden censers waft,
When they present the Throne Divine before,
The prayers of saints, accepted graciously.
—O there is Sympathy for evermore
Of Angels with Mankind. Nor wanting proof.
Witness the infernal God of Battle wage,
With the Archangel, conflict terrible,
On Helam in the clouds; so high its scalp
The craggy summit reared. Less high the hill
In Rephidim, whose top ascended once
Musah, with Hur, and Aaron, while in war
Strove Isräel with Amalek. In hand
The Legislator held the Almighty's rod,
Wherewith the Rock in Horeb he had smitten,
Whence water quenched the thirst of discontent;
A weight but ill sustained: and ah, when fell
His arm, the foe prevailed; nor might succeed
The chosen race, if it were lifted not;
But, by the twain upheld, his heavy hands
Were steadily preserved, till going-down
Of that victorious sun. Like fortune waits
The seed of Abel, now. As prospers, here,
Michael with his assailant, on this height;
So they below advantage gain, or lose.

Nine days the Angelic Wrestlers, on the head
Of visionary Helam, ruled the doom
Of meeting armies. Hand in hand, they strove;
With strenuous wrist, at arm's length either held,
Lest, closing, one antagonist might win
Possession of the other, and o'erthrow.
Struggling they kept at distance, so from side

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To side swung with contention emulous,
And action muscular, supernal strength.
O for the war embrace. With outstretched hand,
Each aims to grapple at the heaving chest
Of his opponent: by a mighty gripe,
To strangle, and subdue; or to enclose
The staggering victim in the stringent folds,
As of a serpent's clasp, and so to crush.
Now, either shoulder clenched in either fist,
Their arms at equal length are mutual crossed;
But neither yet might cling to other's neck,
Not yet compressed the bosom, or the throat.
Deep-dinted in the substance; from such grasp
Reciprocal they shrink; and writhe, and reel,
Till shaken off, or with a sudden sleight
Removed; that, by some other joint, or limb,
The foe may be constrained; by hip, or thigh
Caught, and, with dreadful violence, elanced
From the strong wrestler's seizure, in his wrath;
As, from an arbalist, or catapult,
Arrow, or stone, the enginery of war.

With various fortune thus, but equal force,
On Helam strove the gods; while in the plains
Men fought with men, from morn to eve, engaged—
The invaders, and invaded; those constrained
Battle to court, and foremost to attack,
Safe only when assailing; these inclined
To wait occasion's favour. But ere long,
War won more inland passage; and hewed down
A pathway to the valleys, and the hills.
—O Vale of Elul; once so beautiful,
So tranquil in thy beauty: now in thee
Is exclamation; with the shriek, and shout
Of battle; wanton with the loud uproar,
As a glad hunter, with the merry noise
Of hound, and echo, discord musical.

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There, Hori, were thy mother, and thy sire,
Adra, and Abi, sheltered in their age;
Watched o'er by thee, and by thy sister, Nain,
With filial love; in humble confidence,
Reposing, and in peace, a blessèd pair.

But Strife now enters; and the whetted Sword
Is forth against the Shepherd. Warriours sing
To it their songs—to it, and to the Spear,
And to the Shield . . boasting that they with them
Till, sow, and reap, plant vines, and press the juice,
And hail them conquerours of field, and flood.
Slaves in Ambition's service; scorned by hell
For fools, less wise than are the fiends, who prey
Not on their kind, but, strong in multitudes,
Find wisdom in convention. Yet with these,
Man maketh widows, orphans, and doth mar
His brother's visage, and the father's face . .
With woe-begone expression for the slain,
The prematurely dead. In gorgeous weeds,
The fine proportioned, and elastic limbs,
(So skilfully marked out, that cunning art
Of painter, or of sculptour, fails to mend
Contrivance exquisite) of generous Steed
They gird for battle. Pleased with such array,
The heroic Courser, gently pacing, or
High bounding, goeth, proud of his career.
How mild the Elephant; yet him man makes
Furious in war, and cruel as himself;
Yea, and the adoring Dog instructs to rend
The human form, whereto the conscious brute
Else bows in awe . . the deity he loves.

There grew an old Oak in the Vale of Elul,
Old as the world, and planted in the Day,
In that mysterious day, wherein God made
The earth, and heavens, and each plant of the field,

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Before it was in the earth, and every herb
Before it grew, while man as yet was not.
Of stature scant, its sturdy trunk threw out
Huge arms, and branches o'er an area wide:
Birds loved it for its shelter, and its boughs
The Raven loved, to build her eyery in;
And young, and old of humankind, beneath
Its umbrage, on a summer eve, indulged
Innocent mirth; or listened to the speech
Of Abi, priestly man. There was he wont,
With Adra, to preside o'er pastoral sport;
And to the swains, and maidens oft would they
Give counsel prudent, couched in proverb quaint,
Or ancient saw, or present parable;
Then pause at intervals to listen, pleased,
To Hori's sylvan song, . . a happy group.
But, now, no more may Hori's numbers charm
Old age, or youth; the shepherd's pipe is changed
For battle weapon, and the rural bard
Lost in the patriot hero, brave to share
The common peril in his land's defence.
—Now the parental sage, and monitress
Are fain, beneath the favourite tree, to wile
The anxious time away, in simple talk
With sinless childhood; to their guardian charge
Confided, or resorting to their smiles,
For consolation, in the hour of doubt,
By weeping mothers tended, crowding round.
But, ah, not sacred long that spot from strife;
And massacre found unresisted way
With womanhood, and infancy, and age.
Slain by the Cainite, there flowed Abi's blood,
And Adra's, watering that agèd root
With needless moisture: for the murtherers,
In wanton malice, laid the axe of war
Thereat, and hewed it till it fell to earth,

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Groaning; its feathered burthens undislodged,
And, with their nests of many centuries,
Crushed with the crashing boughs; thus slaying, there,
The unfledged offspring, and the mother bird.
—Needs not of Hori's grief to tell; the heart
That's human will conceive; but rather now,
How, on the Hill of Dreams, angelic might
Mortal controuled, by mystic sympathy;
That so the coming doom, and what the end,
May be prejudged, and soothe the expectant mind.

Equal the wrestlers yet. Advantage none
Had either gained: and the ninth sun went down;
When, as by compact, each antagonist
Upon the summit slept, to rise refreshed,
As wont, when morning dawn. So Michaèl
Lay down to his repose; but in his heart
Azaziel had imagined treacherous wile,
And feigned to sleep, but slept not. 'Mid of night,
He rose; and the Archangel, where he lay,
Seized by surprise. In wonder, Michael, roused
From slumber, with a shout, alarm conceived,
And strove amain with his perfidious foe.
Yet, ah, what now avails?—Can this be night?
Than noon more radiant, but in terrours clad,
The sun knows not at mid-day? It is night,
With vesture all ablaze, and hair aflame,
Like a Bacchante, in her phrenzy fired,
With torch, for revel meant, to ruin turned.

The crackling Forest burns into the heaven;
And the clouds glow: the skies are drenched in blood;
Type of the blood now shed, in agony,
Upon the quaking earth. In Elon's grove
Of many trees, a wilderness of wood,
The race of Abel nightly shelter sought
From the invading hosts. Inspired by hell,
The Cainite, in his cruel mind, resolved

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To fire the forest in the noon of night,
And to each corner set infernal flame.
Gradual toward the centre of the wood
The element careered, converting to
Its proper substance, and consuming, all.
Escape was none; on every side was fire;
The baffled victim only could retreat
Into the depth of Elon, and await
His death in horrour. O what shrieks arose,
Unheard without; but not within, by those
Whose own soon echoed to the shrieks they heard:
Nor with the howl unanswered, wild, and drear,
Of beasts, and savage tenants of the wood.

What name had borne the fair Erythræan Isle?
Whate'er it was before, only by this,
After these deeds, 'twas known, . . Aceldama.
Hence fitly were that sea Erythræan called,
Which circled in that isle, or led thereto,
As to a land adjacent, red with blood:
But at the first, because that o'er its waves
The martyr's seed fled from the wrath of men,
It from the blood of Abel name derived.
—Not that the Persian, or Arabian Gulf,
Of Edom styled: they other; for o'er this
Great Deluge rolled, displacing every site
Of a past world, on ocean, or on earth.

III. The First Rain

Swift, o'er the far Erythræan, wings its way
The Slave-Ship of the World before the Flood.
Heaven loured above its course, and gathering clouds
Spake anger. But worse horrour waited it,
The Horrour of great Darkness, on the shore
Whereto it voyaged. Blessèd light enough
Was but permitted to debark the freight

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Of captives; then, into the city passed
The Cainite, and his victim. Capitol
Of Fratricide, what glories now adorn
The huge, and still enlarged metropolis?
Vision by gloom excluded; skill of man
Dies unadmired, unused. 'Twas morn—bright morn;
Bright as if meant to make more bitter still
What followed, and, with disappointment, carken
The care, and woe, and agony, which Wrath
Supernal had prepared. Night—starless night,
And moonless, quenched at once the Eye of Day:
Deep sleep o'ercame the Watcher of the Sun;
And Earth was Hades; and as ghosts were men,
Unseen, but not unheard. Shriek, sigh, and sob,
Were frequent; and the ear, grown sensitive
To malady, was startled evermore
With constant sounds of lonely misery:
A solitude, though crowded. When came on
The Darkness first, man converse held with man,
In mutual wonder; but, when it endured
From day to day, by weariness induced,
Silence—dogged, sullen silence, shut the heart,
In its own wretchedness pent broodingly.
By curses yet preceded; for, whenas
Communion ceased, and motion was essayed,
The blinded came in contact, and provoked
Contention in each other; ire, and oaths,
And blasphemy, and malediction, first
Cast on their fellows, next upon themselves:
But chief, 'twas horrible to hear the tone
Of woman's accent changed to malison,
Vindictive as more feminine:—the lips,
The very lips of infancy expressed
Feelings of desecration, and partook
The common madness with the common doom.
And there was random slaughter: father slew

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His son in darkness, and the son his sire,
In ignorance, and rage; as each opposed
The other's wished escape from out the cloud
Into what sunnier air, for so they hoped,
Might lie beyond. And reason for the hope
Had they; for, as at ease, and in the light,
They heard the voice of prophets, Woe—Woe—Woe—
Denouncing to the unrepentant still.
It was the voice of Noah, and his Sons,
Who through the darkness moved as in the light;
Protected, by the Holy Ones, from touch
Profane; nor touching in their progress aught
Of opposition, person, brute, or thing.
To them the Highest had appointment given,
To pass with word of warning, though in vain,
Through that great Plague of Darkness; and absolve
The Maker's mercy, and his justice save,
If man should perish, obstinate in guilt.

Such Portents spake impending Judgement nigh;
And well it might have seemed, that now had come
The very doom pronounced. For the dark cloud,
Whose bosom had embraced the sons of men,
Dissolving, shed upon the startled earth
Premonitory Rain; even thus forewarned
Of Power Divine, to accomplish that, prepared
For the unrighteous world, which it foreshewed:
But Wisdom ne'er with Unbelief consorts.
—First, was seen through the accumulated gloom
A flash:—'Twas Lightning.—Next was heard a peal,
And peal on peal succeeded. Thunder called
To Thunder, from his thrones of mountains, where
He reigns ubiquitous, expressive form
Of God in anger, voice armipotent.
And evermore the lightning's sheeted flame
Enlarged, and made a chasm of fearful fire
In that felt darkness' thick, and heavy fog,

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Infesting as with death the breath of life.
Then seemed heaven's gates to unshut, and the shower,
Ne'er known till then, to come down in a flood;
Nor ceased the lightning, nor the thunder, then;
Unquenched, its jaggèd jaws still oped, and closed,
Like to a dragon's mouth, outspitting fire,
In the o'erburthened air it purified.

Fear with that deluge fell; fear, that it was
The final doom. But, no: great Mercy sent
The Sign before, to warn, and to reclaim:
Yet with no Rainbow followed—such as, since,
Makes a triumphal arch of the whole Heaven,
For Earth redeemed from tempest once again,
Obedient to the promise. God's own bow,
Which in the clouds he set, encompassing
First Altar raised on the restorèd earth.
Such, too, as circled that Archangel's form,
Who stood in air, on ocean, and on earth,
All three engirdled in that triple round,
Bended on high by the Almighty's hand—
By Noah seen in vision, which foretold
The doom of Deluge, whose receding skirts
Therewith were beautified; for Love had shed
Light on the cloud, and grief to glory turned.
Token of everlasting Covenant
To Earth, and to her savèd worshippers;
Celestial way for Mercy to descend,
Upon a flowery bridge; a fluid arch;
The Brow of God shewn smiling, and appeased,
Visibly shewn, distended, and relaxed.

Sad was it to behold the scenes, and groups
Of men, and beasts, and things inanimate;
After such visitation. Trees were black,
And smouldering, blasted with the electric wrath;
And tower, and temple smitten to their fall:
And on the plain sheep, oxen, steer, and dog,

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Like statues, lay, or stood, as the swift stroke
Had found, and left them; life-like, but not living:
Life with a touch quenched, or transfused, or caught
With the quick flash, and to its source returned.
And human forms there, too, were piled in heaps,
Like ruined pillars—woman, man, and child,
Old, young, and middle-agèd; all in groups
Fantastic, or grotesque, or picturesque,
But each in mockery, and most so the last.
Cold—cold stood the survivours, though unscathed,
Shivering; and, soon, the unaccustomed Rain
Hardened to Hail, and agonized the flesh
With keen impression. Straight the symbol changed;
And it was Winter, . . such as winter is
In the restorèd world. Rain, vapours, snows:
Snows—like swan's down, or sea birds, they descend
On the diluvian earth; a volant flock,
Wonderous as novel, sailing on the wind;
Feathery, and flaky, sharp as arrows are:
And the bleak storm, with piercing violence,
And stern in desolation, teaches man
What wretchedness may yet appal his soul,
Or if not, penetrate his shrinking frame,
And task much fortitude of mind to bear,
And much experience to inure the flesh,
Else quivering with smart pain.

And were
The innocent race of Abel then involved
In the just vengeance that thus fell upon
The Cainite for his crime? That were unjust—
And thus in this Heaven's hand was manifest.
For not alone were Noah, and his Sons
Free from the darkness, but the captive race,
And with the prophets were delivered thence.
In Armon's vale, and in the Land of Streams,
They lived at large; while signal miracle

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The City of Enos, and the Land of Naid,
Irad's, and Mehujaël's capitols,
Methuselah, and Lamech, visited,
With signs of doom, and witnesses of power.

Free welcome gave the patriarchs of the vale,
O Abel, to thy seed; and young Zateel
The influence of his virtue, birth, and rank
Exerted in behalf of injured worth:
But, chief, with Hori rapt communion held,
By sympathy of soul; alike akin
To the great heart of nature, poets both.
—Born in the exile's land; far, far away
From old traditions, and the sacred soil,
Of high renown for deeds, and names of fame;
Fame honourable in the sight of God,
Not of men only; to the Shepherd Bard
Zateel had pleasing knowledge to impart.

‘Come with me, Hori;’ said the lovely youth—
(O both were lovely; amiable they
As Jonathan, and David, singer sweet,
In after-ages, whereof may be read
In Hebrew Scripture episodes divine.)—
‘Come with me, Hori; and in Armon's vale,
I will instruct thee in the wondrous spot
Where Adam was created, ere his Maker
Set in the garden Man whom he had formed—
Till then the child of Nature, thence of Grace.
Moreover, I will shew thee the sad Vale
Where fell the father of thy sinless seed,
Beneath the hand of Cain. Nay, weep not, Hori.’

‘It is no grief, Zateel; or if it be,
It pleases more than it afflicts—it soothes
With a calm joy that elevates the soul;
As when the dews have fallen, the fields revive,
And look with gladness into the blue eye,
And glittering face of the encircling heaven.

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IV. Vale of Adam

So to the Vale of Man's Creation came
The friendly pair. A shaggy wilderness;
Luxuriant, void of culture, beautiful
But savage; wide as wild, an ample grove,
Or rather forest country . . a wood world;
It stretches far, a wonderous theatre,
Huge, and majestic; of a scale so bold,
As Nature's hand may only operate.
On high rose cliff, and rock, and precipice;
Mountain magnificence; stupendous ridge;
Whereto the Teneriffe of an after age,
The Alps, and Andes of a future world,
Were common heights, or ordinary hills,
Mean, and domestic, by the eagle scorned,
Nor to be named in story, or in song.
—Far hiding in the skies their secret heads,
Above the lurid storm, and thunder cloud;
Serene, and hoar, no Sun may ever melt
The untrodden snows that face his burning rays,
With everlasting laughter bright as his,
And silent in its scorn. Down from their tops,
Rivers descend, large streams; and hew them out
Broad channels, and in hushed seclusion lie,
In linkèd fellowship, a chain of lakes;
And islanded therein, a brotherhood
Of crag, and brake, abode of bird, and beast;
Horrid with thorn, and briar; vexed with weed,
And binder, cleaving to the nobler trunk,
And intricated with the branches, bare,
Or leafy, and the boughs of tangled trees:
Haunt of the Asp, the Adder, and the Snake;
Jungle, and lair; and dens, and caves, and sands;
Desart, forlorn, and drear, and desolate;

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Marshes, and swamps, and bogs, and miry fens.
—There dwelt the Tapir; there the Jaguar dwelt;
Puma, and Bear, and Wolf, and reinless Deer;
Reptile, and Insect grown to monstrous bulk;
Viper, and Toad, and Bat, and noxious Ant;
Vulture, and Eagle; Condor, and Macaw.
Man had no habitation, here. August,
And lonely, to its silent solitude,
—So deep, and so profound it startled him,—
Chance-led, if he approached, he left it still;
Avoiding it from reverence: and that it,
(For so had God commanded,) should remain,
Type of man's state by nature; ere God's grace
Elect him, and exalt him to become
Heir of his mercy, child of Paradise,
Born to God's Eden, freeman of his Church:
Oft yet beheld at distance, or more nigh
Surveyed, permitted for example so.
Hence, hither led Zateel the Shepherd Bard;
Now both into the hallowed precincts set
Feet unprofane; yet they, with very awe,
Put off their shoes, as entering holy ground.
And it was holy,—and soon the twain adored.
For, in the navel of a woody scene,
Nigh to the portal of that mystic place,
As at the altar of an outward porch,
Guarding the sanctuary it precedes,
Sate, in a radiance flowing from himself,
One like Elihu, spiritually bright.
With fear, the apparition they beheld;
Their knees smote one another, and they fell
Trembling to earth, and worshipped silently;
For terrour made them mute. But mildly he
Rose gracious; and, advancing, gently spake:

‘Stand up; I am your fellow servant, sent
To teach what ye would learn.’

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With this assured,
Their confidence returned, and they resumed
An attitude erect; but, with bent brow,
In veneration stood, while he pursued.

‘Hence was the dust derived, whereof the Sire
Of Heaven, and Earth first moulded flesh of Man;
Then breathed into his nostrils breath of life,
That he became a living soul. Awhile,
Within these wilds he wandered, innocent,
And unrepining; and forsaken not
By him who made him, and, with thoughts divine,
Led to aspire, and warranted to hope;
Till in a cultivated garden set,
To dress it, and to keep it, lord of all.
Then he beheld how lovely Order was,
And how rude Nature put on novel charms,
When unto Law obedient, God's, or man's,
Trained by his will, and nurtured to his use.
But, ah, that blest estate he forfeited;
Living, not Knowing, he preferred to die,
Though by well living he had known all things,
And known all without evil, or delay.
Thence to the ground whence he was taken, Man,
Remanded, was by labour doomed to win
What Love had given, had he not doubted Love:
But that same Love it was, appointed now
Labour to Man; to call the spirit forth
Wherewith had God inspired him; to subdue
Chaotic Nature, and impose what form
His heaven-derived Intelligence decrees,
And so regain the life which he hath lost.
—Thus Man by Wisdom shall dominion use,
To govern, or evade all powers perverse,
Or rebel unto his supremacy,
And substitute them for his force of limb;

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And by his knowledge of them, and the might
Which knowledge gives, rise into blest estate
Of leisure, and ability to rear
Moral, and intellectual edifice;
Wherein, as in a temple, he may dwell,
With happiness, as to the present life,
And feel the Eternal, like an altar-flame,
Descending, in a cloud of glory, down
Into his soul, and charming it midway,
To meet it in the air, and guide to God.
—Not that the state of nature is not good,
For He who made it then beheld it so;
But that 'tis chiefly good, because it hath
Capacity of better, which to work
Is, under God, the privilege of man.
Beautiful on this silent wilderness,
Their cataract of light, the moon, and stars
Shed, like a sea; but few the forest paths
That feel their influence, few their shadows know.
Sublime, the sun at noon to burnished gold
Turns, with alchemic touch, the branches high,
That shine into the heaven; which, again,
Shines down on them, reciprocally bright:
But all within is as a dreary cave,
Scarce speckled, even at noon, with Uriël.
Still desolation spreads; bare rocks, and sand;
Nor visit there the seasons. Spring ne'er makes
The crevices of rocks to teem with life;
Nor hath the Summer beauty to bring forth;
Nor Autumn aught to garner: well it were
Might Winter's influence cool its scorching sands,
But they may thirst in vain. The unlaboured earth
Is hidden with the multitude of trees;
The untaught rivers, in no channels kept,
Drown, with perpetual flood, plains fertile else,
And to unhealthy moist convert the dry.

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Vain the warm sun, vain climate of the south,
Vain soil prolific, that, with idle growth,
And rank luxuriance, vegetation clothes,
And chokes the wood, and covers blessèd earth
With useless shrubs, and herbs, and noxious weeds—
Unfit for habitance, or nourishment.
To life unfriendly, breathes the stagnant air;
With putrid exhalations water teems;
And earth, encumbered, feels not sun, nor wind.
—Not there the brute gains vigour, though so wild.
And of the wild free denizen, and lord;
Dwarfed in his bulk, nor various in his kind,
Nor numerous, though undestroyed by man:
While the less noble tribes of creeping things
Increase, and multiply, and grow in strength
And size; the active principle of life
Its force expending on inferiour forms,
Offensive, monstrous, poisonous, and strange.
Only the birds, set free by gift of wing
From the controul of earth, howe'er it change,
Preserve their beauty, and their dazzling hue;
Yet with less various note, less pleasing song,
In the too-silent ear of solitude,
No man to listen, they attune their loves.
—Man, elsewhere, taught by Wisdom diligence,
Makes habitable what were desart else;
And with fertility, and beauty clothes,
For use, and ornament, the mended earth:
And, while he works, redeems from fleshly coil
The soul which animates it, and acquits
Some faculty from its imprisonment;
Till his perfection be accomplished quite
In revelation full, and use of all.
And One shall come, who, in the sight of men,
Shall the divinity of perfect man
Illustrate, and identify: and He

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The Word, and Will of God shall incarnate,
For Man's atonement, and instruction both.
His soul he shall possess in liberty,
Made free by truth, and purity of life;
And thence of all things shall he knowledge have,
And earth to him, and water shall submit;
And air, and fire acknowledge him divine;
And life, and death await upon his word;
And miracle on his creative will;
Who shall to Man ensample meet bequeath,
What, in the consummation of the age,
Shall crown him Monarch of the Elements.
—Meantime, shall many, though imperfect each,
Each in his several faculty complete,
Like functions of humanity set forth;
So that in all the whole may be expressed,
The want of one by other still supplied,
And that of many sometimes by the one;
But still by each his imperfection felt—
Nay, all—and over land, and ocean wailed;
So loud that heaven, and hell shall hear the moan.
Yet fear ye not; for peace shall come at last.’

He paused; but answer none his auditours
Had ready; mute with awe, and fixed to hear.
Then he resumed.

‘I go to Armon hence,
To Noah, and his house: there would I have
Your witness to the words, I bear in charge
To utter; and confirm them to the world,
That doubts the man who hath with me found grace.’

With this, he led them by the hand, and they
In silence yielded, unreluctantly,
And on each side attended him along.
Beautiful Armon: There, assembled, now,
The family of Noah. Chava sage

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Rejoices in her sons, a second Eve,
The mother of a world; nor less in you,
Her duteous daughters, lovely in your love,
Fair in affection; a domestic group,
A touching scene; but more pathetic made
By majesty of age, Methuselah,
Oldest of men, nor dying but with earth.

Noah was absent; for it was the eve,
When he went forth into the silent fields
To meditate, while nature was serene:
And often then he heard the voice of God.
Soon, at brief distance, he beheld approach
Zateel, and Hori, by Elihu led;
And hastened to adore. Anon his guests
He welcomed to his hospitable home;
Then Noah thus.

‘And hath my Lord come down
To see if Earth hath altogether done
According to the cry that hath gone up?
O be not wroth; permit thou me to speak,
Who am but dust, and ashes; and still spare—
Nor with the wicked slay the righteous too.’

Whereto, placed in the midst, Elihu spake;
‘Thus saith the Lord to Noah, and his Sons;
Man but for them should perish from the earth,
Whose countless sins have sieged the Eternal Throne;
And the loud voice of blood incessant cries
For vengeance. Soon He riseth, and will sit
In Judgement; and his sentence will go forth,
Armed with omnipotence; and on all flesh
Death ride in Deluge, that His Spirit may
Be freed from bondage, and new Life may teem
From the baptizing flood, and Conscience rise,
With Godward answer, meet, and right, and good.
—Therefore prepare, O Sons of Noah, now,

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For those appointed labours, which erewhile
Were set you; since by wonders, and by signs,
And tribulations hindered, for so long
The All-Patient waits; for what to Him is time?
But He to time is all: and therefore Time
Hath now heard warning spoken; pleased, awaits
Another change; not inexperienced, hails;
Knowing that each brings on the accomplishment
For which he worketh, anxions to become
Complete, and perfect in Eternity.’

This having said, he vanished. Heard with awe,
The household trembled; and, in prayer devout,
Sought for the soul that solace it imparts.

END OF FIFTH BOOK.

163

BOOK THE SIXTH. THE PREPARATION

I. Vale of Abel

The frosted Sun, half shaded by a cloud,
Set like a crescent, during harvest time;
Red as a bloody banner in the air.
—Zateel and Hori stood alone, within
The Vale of Abel's Sacrifice, and Death.

‘Here are the altars, Hori,’ said Zateel:
And Hori, pensive, murmured, ‘Which is Abel's?’

‘This,’ he replied;—‘by memory arboured round
With flowers; but now they all are dead, as he
For whom love planted them.’

Both, pausing, mused;
But Hori spake at last. ‘It is the season,
And suits my mood, Zateel. More rude was Cain
Than winter. Wherefore smote he, like a blast,
The lovely and the loving?’

Sadly looked
Zateel, while thus he answered: ‘Cain was tempted.
Wisdom had left him; but his Fury came
To Cain, deep musing, and dissatisfied
With toil, with sickness, and with threatened death.
The Tempter came; and both high commune held
On good, and evil; freedom, and fixed fate;
God, and creation; man, and his dominion;
The heavens, and this dim earth. Spiritual Law
With Nature strove; and, with creative force,
Resurgent from the human soul, wrought out
The form desired, from quarry, newly bewn,
Of the material elements around,
And in the very flesh—the heart—of man.

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Hence labour, and hence pain: and much of both,
By circumstantial evil, is required
For its removal; but far more the flesh
Demands, for that in it the spirit lives,
And works, and by it, and a law creates
Against its own, in organ sensuous,
Which, but for spiritual influence, were as none,
Blind, tasteless, deaf, intactual, nor of smell
Sagacious. Of this double task, had Cain
Toil so extreme in conquering the first,
(Else flesh had wanted life) that, in his person,
The harder labour had not time to prosper.’

Whereto thus Hori, low of tone, and mild:
‘But God, Zateel, had of the better law
Provided him a witness, in a Brother.
In concert, would together both had worked,
Mutual defect had mutual been supplied,
And unreluctant Abel—’

Suddenly
Zateel drew up, exclaiming: ‘Son of Abel:
Nature is proud of her priority.
The spiritual but succeeds her; and she scorns
To yield to second comer; nor e'er yet
Submitted, Hori, without agony.
This I have felt, and so may testify.
Nor would his natural delights man yield,
But that short of the infinite they fall,
(Whereto the senses would their organs task,
Being spiritual,) and so of happiness,
(Which must for infinite capacity
Be infinite, or fail to satisfy,)
And soon expire in pain Him to redeem
From their indulgence, fatal even to death;
By labour God suspended it, and raised
Man to exert high faculty of skill,

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To vanquish Nature in the outer world,
And inner.’

Hori, thus reproved, more meek
Responded: ‘O'er the outer world, as first,
Was Cain appointed victor, blessed to eat
Bread by his brow's sweat; and to Abel was,
As second, given that inner world to rule.
But aye the sensual is averse from toil,
Moral, or carnal; yet would be divine,
In knowledge absolute, obtained by theft,
Not earned; and, stretching beyond bounds desire,
Leaps the abyss of space; and what finds there?’

Whereto Zateel replied, in kindlier tone:
‘Ay, Hori; what, indeed, but utter Chaos?
O Reason's self oft wanders there unwise.
And thither led the Fiend the First-born Man;
Beyond the habitable world, into
The Abyss of Space; there, with one sudden flight,
To learn at once the story of all worlds,
Past, present, and to come, and of them ask
Questions that might experience supersede,
And please imagination indolent,
With phantasms, and vagaries; to the realms,
Anon, of Death arriving, Space surpassed,
And Hades entered, yet at length to earth
Returning, all as ignorant as before.
—So, much perplexed and maddened, Cain came back,
Wearied with speculation, uninformed,
And troubled with the Mystery of Blood;
But, in his phrenzy, shedding what he loathed,
Giving to God the victim he misdeemed
Wroth Heaven of Earth demanded.’

To such words
Hori these gravely added: ‘Still the race
Of Cain present in worship but earth's fruits,
And shudder at the life-blood, which the seed

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Of Abel offer.’

Meditative, then,
Zateel spake, mildly: ‘To the sense still chained,
The race of Cain, though grown in diligence,
Read no high meaning in the life of man,
No revelation in the sealèd book,
Which God has written in the things he made.
The stars to them, indeed, a language speak
For seasons, and for years; but not as signs.
Good workmen are they; and, with cunning hand,
Controul material substance, and employ
In uses, worthy deemed. Even thus instruct
Fathers their sons; but unintelligent
Of scientific principle, and rule,
And only careful of the body's good.
Hence, Cain could understand not, in the blood,
Aught more than victim slain to Wrath Divine;
Not that the merely animal was doomed,
For man's perfection, to be sacrificed;
And carnal death despised, so that the soul
Be quickened, rising glorious from the grave
Of mortifièd flesh.’

While Hori listened,
His brow grew heavy with the weight of thought,
Which found in these relief:—‘And Abel's blood,
Zateel, thus shed, reveals an earnest truth;
That he who would redemption for himself,
Or for his race, accomplish, must be brave,
In patience to endure the deadly hate
Of man, from nature undelivered yet;
Content, if so salvation come, to be,
First, an Ensample; next, a Sacrifice.’

Thus moralized the friendly pair: then home,
By the moon's light, returned; for now the stars
With chilling influence smote. When Hori next

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The Vale of righteous Abel visited,
He was alone, and summer had restored
The grave-flowers all their bloom, a beauteous shew:
But not to Hori beauteous; for his heart
Was broken with affliction. Vain all signs
Unto the Cainite; still, with mortal rage,
He followed up his victory, and claimed,
From their retreats, the captives as his slaves.
And Hori thus was seized, and to the will
Of tyrant was subdued. His free-born soul
Revolted, and then drooped, deprived of life,
Of moral life, and motive power of act;
To every influence of joy, and pain,
As bards are ever, all too sensitive.
Thus, in the morning, odours from afar
Attract the Bee, and, in the eve, or ere
The storm come on, the absence of the sun
Chills back the busy creature to her hive—
Like her, much store of honey, and of wax
He gathered, and laid up on his return . .
A mental treasure. Now his work is wrought.
So the poor Bee, of her antennæ shorn,
The instruments, with which she once received
Effluvial motion, broken, and destroyed;
The spell of her activity is dead,
Contrivance, wisdom, ingenuity—
Stupid, and helpless; torpid, and effete;
Order, subordination, loyalty,
Thrift, occupation, all are over now,
Wanderer forlorn, and isolate, and dull:
Such Hori was; and, in the populous world
A stranger grown, he had no interest there.

Scaped from despotic vigilance, he came,
One summer's day, into the Vale of Death;
And laid him down upon a sunny bank,
And looked into the heaven's unclouded blue,

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As his blue eye might blend therein, or that
Melt down into his visionary soul.
Thus he, in silence, and in solitude,
Gazing reposed; nor moved, when night came on,
Nor when the day returned; and, day by day,
And night by night, unmindful of the claims
Of hunger or of thirst, into the face
Of daylit sky or starry, upward still
Looked patient, like a prisoner supine,
Chained to a hill side, doomed to lonely death.
—By chance, Zateel there wandered; led, one eve,
By tender memory, to the sacred spot;
And there beheld him in the loveliness,
And resignation of his lifeless brow.
High meditation in the glazèd eye,
His gifted vision read; and then, aloud,
He prayed the Shepherd, by the flocks he knew,
The pastures, and the rivers that he loved,
The green hills, and the quiet of the heavens,
To wake from that deep sleep. Soon, on his soul
Came twilight, and a haunted gloominess;
And murmurs, and dim sounds of shrieks, and sighs;
And shapes, as in a dream, were struggling there,
Pale even to polished whiteness, terrible.
—Was it a dream? Lo, on the outlined air,
Michael appeared; and, with angelic hand,
Blessed the belovèd Dead on whom he gazed.

‘Thrice blessèd be the sufferer, set now
From the oppressor free.’

Thus Michael said.
But then, as with strange power, permitted him
Since that disastrous night, Azaziel smote
The extended benediction, and uptowered,
With all a victor's insolence, above
The Seraph of the sky.

‘Bless not whom God

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Hath cursed; whom, for the guilty, he hath made
A curse. Curse whom he dooms—the innocent,
Successive victims to atone his wrath,
Until One die for All.’

This to his knee
Brought down the faithful Guardian. Not to him,
But to his God he prayed; and short is now
The demon's triumph. Fallen on earth's face,
Elihu's presence he confessed; who thus,
As on a cloud supported, eloquent,
Bent the right hand of his extended arm
In action of command; and, with the left,
Appointed him his place of prostrate shame.
‘From Abel's blood to that last Sacrifice,’
Exclaimed he, ‘Man must answer. God demands
No victims to his wrath; but man doth make
His prophets martyrs, sent in love to man,
That he might hear, and live.’

This heard Zateel—
On one knee kneeling, one hand on his heart,
One high in air; thus, with the gaze he looked
Of him who sees a vision, wonder-rapt,
Entranced in ecstasy, possessed, inspired.

II. Animals

Need for high faith had sorrowing Zateel.
To him had Hori been, as once himself
To Samiasa; but the loss he felt,
Was for the Shepherd keener than the King:
For Love descends more easily than soars.
But now a void was left which Zerah might
Even fill not in his mind. Not seldom too,
The monarch's mystic destiny awoke
Inquiry, to be satisfied ere long.

By sea, and shore, the Sophist, and the King

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Held on their way; until their wandering steps,
Dudael, once again thy lonely waste
Trod, not unknown. New wonder waits them there;
For, fearless of the sands, behold, afar,
Two Pilgrims of the Wild, yet not on foot,
But mounted, as in triumph, on white steeds.
On still they came; and, round about them, thronged,
As by their presence charmed, the desart-beasts.
—There were the Lion, and his Prey; as though
For them they had the ready hunters been,
And for his young provided, with consent
Right leonine—his young, couchant in dens,
Lying in wait, else hid in covert glades.
—The Raven, satisfied, as if his brood
Cried not to God, nor needed, hovered there.
—Peculiar kind, and tallest of the race,
The mighty Ostrich; large, inapt for flight,
Upon her wings; but, powerful of leg,
God gave her swiftness, and unrivalled speed,
That dares the horse, and rider to pursue;
Now fleeing not, she swells the lordly train.
—Patient of desert thirst, the Camel-Bird;
With Cassowary, Rhea, and Emeu;
The Dodo, and the Bustard—giants all,
Yet gentle; iron eaters, not without
Heart for their offspring, watching o'er their eggs,
Laid in the torrid sands, solicitous
With circling flight, or sitting o'er the pit
Which serves them for a nest in cooler climes.
—There were the mountain Goat, and forest Hind,
Whose many moons none knows; they bow themselves,
Bring forth their young, and cast their sorrows out;
Hale are their young, nor need be fed of corn,
Forsaking once their dam, returning never.
—There also the free Pard, whose bands none brake;
Whom, in the wilderness, God gave to house,

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And make his dwelling in the barren land:
Afar he sees, and scorns the city throng,
And disregards the crying of the driver;
In purest air, his mountain pasture ranging,
And of his verdant feast in joy partaking.
—There was the Unicorn obedient. Who
Beheld him then, might deem, that he would stand
Beside thy crib, and live upon thine alms,
Bow to thy yoke his shoulder, and for thee
Harrow the vale, or in the furrow plough.
Yet trust not him, for he is strong, nor leave
To him thy labour, doubting not but he
Thy seed will sure bring home, and heap thy barn.
—There came Behemoth: he, whom God did make
Docile, though mighty; eating of the grass,
Ox-like; but with superiour force, and power
Embedded in his navel, and his loins.
No more is seen Behemoth now: . . but, then,
In motion like a cedar was his tail;
His sinews wrapt the shelly substance up;
Even as strong bars, his ribs; and, like strong bars
Of iron, were his bones; chief work of God.
Not him might man, but God, pierce through, and wound.
Mountains, where beasts play wild, to him gave food;
Trees shadowed his repose, in covert hid
Of reeds, and fens; the willows of the brook
Compassed his cool retreat. Was he athirst?
He drank a river, persevering slow,
As Armon might be drawn into his mouth,
So fixed his eyes upon the lessening stream,
While his strong snout brake way through every snare.

The Mastodon, provided with huge teeth
And tusks of ivory, in the incisive bone
Inserted, thick of limb, and with a trunk
Graced like the elephant, rival in height,
Of length exceeding his, herbivorous brute,

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Succeeded. Others smaller; and with them
The Mammoth, mighty of bone, and short of neck,
Horrent with mane, and hornèd from the jaw,
Also with tusks, but doubly curved. The Sloth,
The Ai, tree-climber, with reverted look,
While travelling along the line of branch,
Gazing at the observer from below;
The Megalonyx, monstrous brute, of claw
Immense, thrice lion size; were there. Nor there
Wanting the Megatherium. Tardy of gait,
Brief-trunked, brief-tailed, and resting on its hand,
It walked, robust, yet feeding chief on roots,
And to its talons trusting for its food;
Enormous creature; elegant, and light
Of head, and neck; bulky its hinder parts.
—Tiger, and Wolf, with the voracious Bear,
Then tame, there herded gentle. Hunters them
Since seek in jungle, and den, both east, and north.
In thicket hid of wood, and grass, and rush,
The Tiger slinks; meanwhile, the sportsmen band,
Warned by the instinct of the Elephant,
Wake him to roaring, till he covert break;
Then furious war begins, nor peril free.
Lone with his females in tree-hollow, cave,
Or rocky cleft, the hybernating Bear
Immures lethargic: soon the hunter's skall
Them circles with a cordon populous—
Tracked in the snow their doubles, and ringed round
Miles in circumference, silently, with skill,
Till found their lair; attacked with men, and dogs,
Slain are they in their den; or, summer sport,
Roused out the furious brutes, noble sometimes,
With head erect, and spirit fiery,
As of the war-horse, dashing in full speed
At hunter, or at opening for escape,
Fain to take refuge soon in tangled brake;

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Beset, and wheeling still from side to side,
They keep at bay pursuers, but at length
Fall dead with many wounds;—they, and their cubs.
So too in glen, the Wolf, sequestered, wild,
Rock-strewn, a craggy dell. A fiercer dog
Is he, and may be tamed; and, like a dog,
He winds his prey afar; yet them between
Is mutual enmity, and when they meet
Stern strife begins, but, in the end of such,
Difference ensues; . . the victor Wolf devours
His victim; but, not so, the nobler Dog
Leaveth untouched the carcase on the field.
The shades of evening set, forth prowls the Wolf,
Timid, yet strong, made but by hunger bold,
All things his prey, in wintery droves he scours,
Ferocious, hot for blood, from meanest thing
To that of man. Now, both with man, and brute,
In peaceful guise he comes, in order due;
Nor shuns man's friend, the Dog, nor seeks to slay.
—With him the simple Hare, Roebuck, and Fox;
Badger, and Stag; Rein-deer, and giant Elk;
In fellowship, together journey on.
Largest of Deer, the Elk, profusely horned,
Majestic creature: when incensed, his mane
Upbristles like the lion's. Graceful, too,
The Draught Deer, swift of foot: in after time,
Him shall the dweller of the realm of ice
Rein to his sledge, the slippery path along
Borne joyous rapid o'er the wild of snow.
The Stag how stately; of the woodlands king:
With beamy crown adorned his antlered head,
Agile of motion, beautiful in strength.
What anguish feels he in the cruel chase;
His eyes weep human tears, ere, panting, he
Resigns his towering front, and dappled skin
To the impatient pack. Of humbler shape,

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The Badger's cutting bite frays off the hound.
—The Urus, elephantine in his bulk,
With a red eye, and fiery; thick, and short
Of horn, and neck; with curlèd hair o'erveiled
His forehead—shaggy maned. With these came on
The Lynx feline, meet cousin of the Wolf,
Now mild as he, with the Hyæna Dog,
And the Hyæna's self, the Tiger-Wolf:
Cruel, and fierce, by solitude made stern,
Of flocks, and herds rapacious . . hunger-mad,
Even new-closed graves he rifles for his food.
Now gentle as the gentle Pelican,
Which, with the Cormorant, no glutton now,
The Raven of the Sea, expands on high
His dusky wing; nor fears for lack of food,
His well-filled wallet hanging down his breast,
That with his bill he presses, when he would
Nourish his young in desart, or on isle,
Or feed his brooding female on the nest.
—There, too, the Vulture hovered; and the Roc,
Fabled, or true; . . big, strong, and wide of wing;
Ferocious Bird—but with the Puma, now,
Llama, and Calf, its wonted prey, at peace.
With these the Griffon, bearded or without,
Kite, Buzzard, Falcon. Prominent of brow,
Hook-beaked, the Falcon tribe, and their great strength
Is in their talons, curved, acute, and long;
Tenants of rock, and cliff, and mountain range.
Nor absent was the strong-beaked Vulture-King,
With ruff of ashy grey, and brightly plumed,
Carrion his food; or, wanting this, the Snake,
And Lizard are his meat. Lizard, and Snake
Are here: the Tortoise both of land, and sea,
And Salamander, in the cold, and damp
Rejoicing, with the Frog, and harmless Toad,
Oft musical, and laughing in the fens:

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Beaver, and Otter, with the Serpent tribe,
Subtlest of beasts, quick—strong—voluminous,
Plated in mail, and loving best the storm,
The hurricane; rejoicing in uproar.
Python—keen-sighted, patient to restrain
Impulse, until secure to seize his prey;
Beautiful oft, and bright of hue, he lies
Beside the waters; of capacity
Goat, and Gazelle, even Tiger, to receive,
As raven for his maw; once by a god
Slain—great Apollo's shaft: the Boa huge,
That, with enormous folds, involves, and clasps,
And crushes soon the victim it absorbs:
The Rattle-snake, that warns ere it attacks,
Of man afraid, yet dangerous if disturbed:
Naja majestic, with a human face,
Glowing in coloured scales: Cerastes horned;
The agile Viper, elegant, and light,
Tinted, and lively, capable of love,
Of fond attachment, and familiar play
With childhood. Nor were wanting Insects there;
The Bee, and gaudy Butterfly, and Moth,
The humbler Fly, the Beetle, and the Gnat,
With the wise Ant, and irritable Wasp,
The Spider, and the Glow-worm, and all worms,
Not without mind, though creatures of small size,
And worthy their Creatour. Thronging there,
Attendant on those Pilgrim twain, they came,
By Samiasa, then, and Palal seen;
With wonder, and with awe not uninspired.

III. Edna, and Azaradel

Attended thus, Ham, and Elihu rode:
Serene, Elihu; wonder-stricken, Ham.
As o'er the realm of life Elihu held

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Sovran supremacy, and regal rule,
Like One, God made to be with glory crowned,
And set above his works, beneath his feet
All things disposed, in due subjection placed.
Him knew not Samiasa, but conceived
Some attribute divine incarnate in
That image of dominion, and, with knee
Low bent, shewed reverence; eftsoons, bid to rise,
Called by his name, he started at the sound,
But answered not, while on Elihu spake:

‘Discrownèd king, but new enthronèd man;
Here loiter not—the City named from thee
Thy presence needs, which yet 'twill fail to save.
What then? What is it to thee? His task to do
To man is given—the issues are with God.
Behold, I have endowed the Horse with strength,
Have girt his neck with thunder—and can shake
His courage, as he were a grasshopper.
Mount on his back, even thou, and Palal, too;
Palal, in whom faith buds not, though I quench
The glory of these nostrils terrible,
That he may ride in safety. Be it so.’

And as he spake, submiss two Steeds approached,
And pawed with pride the ground, and in their strength
Rejoiced; valiant, as if prepared to meet
Men armed for war, and making mock of fear:
Not them the sword would fright; 'gainst them in vain
Quiver would rattle, glitter spear, and shield.
In haste, then, on their shoulders sprang the King,
And Sophist; nor gave time the rampant steeds;
The ground in rage, and fierceness they devoured—
War-steeds they were; whence come they might not know;
But from afar—hark, sounded clarions loud;
Straightway those battle-horses reared their necks,
Doubting the trumpet's blare with scornful neigh,
Saying ha! ha! and snuffed the distant strife,

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The captain's thunder, and the shouting hosts:
Then sought, as if on eagle's wings, what they
Deemed the heroic conflict that they loved.
—But their high Master otherwise decreed.

Till Night, the brave Steeds bore the Wanderers—
And the Stars on the sands looked from the Sky;
A Paradise all Heaven, Earth all a Waste,
Save for the Horsemen twain, in whom Life lived,
Only in them; elsewhere was Life as Death,
Death without Birth, a barren sepulchre.

But lived it in them only? Voices scare
The silent Moon, admiring as she sails,
Like Hades through the Deep of fluid Air—
A ship of Souls, a populous Orb—and long
A Wanderer o'er the desart solitude;
Yet wondering more to hear, or to behold
Vocal, or moving aught, though few, and rare.
Round, and at full, her broad bright beams shed down
A radiance o'er strange group, at distance seen,
Chiefs, and attendants; horsemen, and men armed.

What did they in the silent Wilderness?

Nor men alone:—a Woman in the midst
Shrieked loud to the deaf wilds, and hearts as deaf,
And wild:—for, obvious in the light, the King
His Brother recognized, Azaradel;
And Sodi; and with them was Edna fair.

Had Sodi, then, by force, and, with the aid
Of sovran power, conveyed, from her far home,
The Maid who scorned his love, here now to sate
Passion grown savage since? No—in his heart,
Once good, ruled vengeful Hate where once reigned Love,
That to the incestuous prince was willing now
To sacrifice fair Object, whom he loathed
Still fair to see, still pure . . a blessèd thing.

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Then paused the Twain, to note what there might chance;
A friendly mound of sand concealed their forms,
And weariness had tamed, and hushed their steeds,
So hard had they been ridden. Thus, by chance,
All they o'erheard, unable to contend
With troop so numerous, lawless, bent on ill.

And Edna pleaded for her virgin rights:
‘Men cruel; men profane; why have ye rapt
Me from the vale of peace, and holiness,
From Armon, and the Family of Seth?
Sodi, thou lovedst me once. Can one who loves,
Who loved me ever, seize by force, by fraud,
My innocence, thus—thus—transporting me,
—Whither?’—

Then Sodi answered her, in scorn,
In irony:

‘Edna; to a monarch's arms—
To future honour, and dominion—Say,
Is this not love?’

‘O save me from such love;’
Cried Edna, falling prostrate on the earth,
‘Father of Heaven, oh, save me from such love.’

‘And I will save thee,’ . . Samiasa said, . .
And forth had rushed, but then his Angel came,
Even Phanuel, and stood before him here,
Restraining him with this admonishment—

‘She shall be saved; for God has heard her prayer.’

Then o'er her bent Azaradel, and raised
The dropping maid.

‘Why shouldst thou fear, who love?
Fair Edna, daughter of translated Enoch,
Named from thy mother, thee I saw in tears,
Then loveliest, at Lamech's burial-tide;
Hopeless of other chance, 'twas my despair
Surprised thee, and with seeming violence,
Hath borne thee from the Patriarch's land away—

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To Enos bent’

‘Bad city,’ . . then, she cried:
But he:

‘There, with the aid of Tubalcain,
Bride of a Prince, from Amazarah far,
We may both reign, and revel in high joy,
'Till to return it please us, and to wrest
Dominion from her hand, decrepid now,
And hated by the people.’

Here he paused,
As having said too much—but safely more
The traitor might have uttered; for all sense
Had left the Virgin, sunk into a swoon.

‘Ho, Hherem;’ cried Azaradel, . . ‘take charge
Of sleeping Beauty; for without thee, how
Could we for safety answer in these sands?
And if aright I augur, a wild storm
Will waken from the calm of this fair night.’

‘Fear not;’ said Hherem, coming from the train,
‘God-born.’—

‘God-born?’ demurred Azaradel:—
‘Adon's a god to them who so believe;
But not to me.’

‘Not he thy sire.’

‘Who then?—
What, thou?’

‘Now, heed the tale which I will tell—
Fit place, and time, the Desart, and the Night,
For such revealing. 'Tis the Mystery
Of Amazarah. Sit we down, awhile,
About this Fountain in the Wilderness.’

So down they sate in circle; Hherem, then,
To willing listeners thus his tale pursued.

‘When Cain from her by name of Wisdom known
Departed in his anger, and his heart

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Set on stern Beauty, such as Fury wears:
The Spirit whom he mated, then, conceived
Vision how Murther followed hard on Theft;
And the Fiend burned to example the bad league.
Eve's first-born solemnized the marriage-rite,
And shed abroad the sacramental wine,
That made it holy, from the living tree.
Glad I beheld it pour from out the cup,
Then dashed the void vain vessel to the ground.
—Once I was beautiful, as Woman is—
How beautiful, when in the Tiger's form
Or Lion's, in the life of wrath, keen wrought
By hunger, I was limbed, and in each limb
Shewed life in motion—beautiful, when in
The human heart I found a templed ark,
Wherein my laws were hidden. Beautiful
I seemed to Cain, till Conscience waked his soul
To fear, and in the mirrour of his dread
Changed my aspect to satyrane, and vile!
Upon the manèd Steed, he flew afar—
I followed, all as fast. Now Enos rose,
And was enlarged; and Wealth increased, and lust
Of Lucre, that divinest appetite
Which pleases most thy avaricious soul,
The noblest attribute, Azaradel.
Beauty in women, Majesty in men
Had birth, and being, and dominion won;
And straight the Spirit of Pride from the Abyss,
Walked in its ways; finding a home, and shrine,
A Temple in the City, and was adored
Under the name of Mammon, haughty god,
And heartless, heaping-up for self-good only
Wealth, or Opinion, careful of none else—
And, ay, at many a hearth was welcome he,
In more familiar guise—and in the house
Of royal Lamech dwelt, and had high speech

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With Zillah fair, and Adah beautiful.
—I saw him there, and knew the sports he played;—
Ah, present then was I, when Lamech breathed
His dread for them he slew, in Adah's ear,
And Zillah's. There between the Twain he stood,
Trembling; the reeking weapon in his hand,
The witness of his guilt. With drooping mien,
Zillah that story heard, and in her soul
Felt the cold hand of death, and with the touch
Thrilled, shuddering, terrour-stricken, awe-subdued—
But Adah was of bolder strain, and she
Cheered him with hope, and of resources spake,
Such as but women find, when perils throng,
To break successfully their dædal net.—
Like them their daughters:—fair Naamah, soft,
Soft as her mother, Zillah;—Adah's child
Was Amazarah, brave and brilliant maid;
For Adah to god Mammon listened pleased,
And her the Power compressed, whence issue grew,
The glorious Queen, whose daring waked to Love
Adon, soon slain by Amazarah's scorn—
Her scorn?—Ope, now, thine ears, Azaradel.
Her scorn?—Thou doubtest well, my Son, my Son,
Thy godship sprung of Adon. Not of thee
Was he the Sire. I wooed her, in her scorn:
I—deity—wooed her, the daughter of
A deity—preferred accepted claims—
And thou—nay, start not—for there comes of this
What will to thee do service.’—

Then loud laughed
Azaradel, exclaiming—

‘Speak it out’—
And Hherem said:

‘When to that City thou
Arrivest with this thy charge, there I'll repeat
The Legend I have told, while sitting now

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About the Fountain in the Wilderness;
And thou, in right of thy descent, shalt claim
Honours divine, as both by sire, and dam
Divinely sprung—God Mammon thou shalt be,
Made visible, revealed to mortal sense;
And this shall be thy Bride, by Oracle,
Destined, within the Temple of the Power,
To bless thy bed, shrined in the Secret Place.’

Then rose the Prince, and all who there on him
Attended, with the feint of Hherem glad;
And made for Enos with what speed they might.

And Samiasa spake, while Palal heard:
‘My heart was bursting in me while the Fiend
Lied in my Brother's ear. But 'tis to him
Appointed to degrade me; and a spell
Was on me while he lied, and still remains.
Yet do I feel my own good Angel nigh.
Palal, save for his word, that Edna's prayer
Was answered, and the assurance that I feel,
He who sustains all power owns will to save
Her innocence . . fair Edna's innocence . .
My trust in him had given my single might
Success against those hosts. Moreover, He
Who rules the tribes of animals, and lent
Us safety in the steeds we now bestride,
Imposed on me high duty, to return
Unto the City of my Name, where aid
Of mine was wanted. Nor may I presume
To change in aught the tasks appointed me.’

‘I know not,’ answered Palal, ‘aught of word
Angelic; but dispute not thy resolve.
'Tis Wisdom to escape, with utmost speed,
The desart-wild, for human dwelling-place.’

With that, the Sophist, and the King spurred on
Their rested steeds, swift o'er the sands conveyed.

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IV. Ham, and Elihu

Onward to Naid, Ham, and Elihu wend:
And, through the gates of that metropolis,
Pass with the miracle of multitudes,
Ferocious once, now tamed—increasing train,
In countless numbers it were vain to tell.

The tall Giraffe,—since Ethiopian brute,
A Cameleopard, male, and female here;
The male the taller, with high-raisèd chest,
And taper neck, and head; placid of mien,
Dun, with brown spots, his hue, and bristly-maned:
The Monkey, with the crescent on his brow,
Like the night's borrowed sun, the crescent moon,
Befitting symbol, mimicry of man:
The Oran Outang—wild man of the woods—
Ape, and Baboon, with face for ever old;
Ingenious race, of many species they,
The wilderness their home; in reverence held,
By superstitious husbandman, who views
The herd of satyrs, issuing from their woods,
Seize the collected produce of his toil,
The cultivated fruits, and fain submits,
In apathy, his orchard to the rape:
The Squirrel, various—Tamia named, and Palm;
A social tribe, roof-builders, and within
Domestic sanctuary entering free,
Like the red-breasted bird, to pick the crumbs
That fall beneath the hospitable board
Familiar. Provident, and active these,
Protecting from the wind their mossy nests,
High on the forkèd branches, and, in store
For winter, laying up their proper food,
Nuts, chestnuts, acorns, berries, fruit, and maze,
Hid in tree-hollow, or beneath the ground;
There burrowing long galleries, passaging

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To meet apartments, chambers separate
For each variety of treasured meat;
Or in migration, from the pine, or birch,
They build their boat of bark, to cross the lake,
And woo the wind with obvious tail upraised.
Grey, red, and black—some flying, or so fast
Leaping, no swiftest arrow sent from bow
In sport, or strife, e'er sped so swift as they
From tree to tree, by moonlight foraging,
Or skimming through the air from branch to branch,
They feed on leaves, and insects, . . all the day
Still nestling in the hollows of the trees.
— The double-wombed Opossum next, who loves
Trees for her dwelling, in a marshy site,
Or by the sea—the dreaming Civet too,
Slumbering the day, and prowling through the night
For birds, and smallest deer; draining the gore
Ere gorging on the flesh; yet odourous both.
— The Glutton, darting often, from high bough,
On Elk, or Rein-deer's head, and tearing thence
The eyes, and sucking of its blood, until
Death ease the prey of anguish; when he feasts,
Feasts till no food remain, or sleep surprise
The gorgèd feaster; then, even by the side
Of his poor victim, sinks into repose.
— The Weazel, slender, sleek, and agile; keen
For blood; either inhabitant of caves,
And rocky fissures, or of sheltering woods,
According to their kinds—the Pine, and Beech,
And Sable Martens, costliest of the tribe.
— The Ratel, ravisher of honied combs,
Ash-grey, and black, and loose though tough of hide;
Him guides the Honey-cuckoo with his note,
To the sweet treasures that he loves so well,
In burrows dug by quadrupeds, laid up
For the small Bees, unconscious service. There

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The Indicator leads, itself too frail
To storm the hive, the Ratel; flying slow,
And halting in its flight; and evermore
Admonishing with warning voice, until
The spoil is neared, then, ceasing from its note,
Quietly perched upon a tree, awaits
Its share of plunder, rendered for reward.
Oft too, ere twilight eve, the Ratel sits,
Shading the rays of the declining sun,
With one paw, from his peering eyes, until
A flight of bees, returning to their homes,
Direct him where his pillage may be lodged.
Some say, by Ganges, and the Jumna, too,
He prowls at night for newly-buried corse,
And scratches up the unprotected grave.
—The Beaver, architect by Nature taught,
And skilful builder, fetching from afar
Materials for the structure of his house,
Cemented well; a rodent animal,
For with his teeth he strips, and separates
The bark, his food, and wherewithal he builds;
A populous villager; or hermit shorn
Of former instinct, if of means deprived—
Neither less wise, the Ants. In peace with them
The Ant-eaters, great and less, with sheathèd tongue,
Folding within their mouth;—protruded whence,
They from the Ant-holes draw their proper prey.
—The Loris, slowly paced, which creeps abroad
At night, for prey, from branch to branch, of sleep
The guiltless murtherer; and the Lemurs quick
But gentle, feeding but on fruits, and roots,
Living on trees, and basking in the sun,
A social band, with white aspect, or black,
Rufous, or many hued. The Rabbit kind,
The Agoutis, and the Pacas; with the small
Chinchillas delicate, silken of fur,

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Fine as the spider's web, a cleanly tribe—
The lively Jerboa, and the Manis scaled—
The alpine Marmot, provident to store,
For winter, moss, and hay, within the holes
Formed in the mountain-sides; and there they sleep,
The door well-guarded first, to shut out cold,
And raging storm, as well as prowling foe.
The gentle Cavies, though irrational;
Yet like thereto, how many of the race
That rule them, eat, and sleep, and propagate,
And do no more—The Dormouse of the wood,
Of hedge, and bush—The Mole, that makes its nest
Beneath the ground, of herbage and of moss,
Warm bed—The slender Fitche, that both the wood
And thicket haunts, of barn, and hen-roost foe—
The Kangaroo, on its hind legs sustained,
And moving fast, high bounding and afar,
Its fore too brief, and but as hands employed
To dig with, or to feed. Named from its voice,
The Gnou, gregarious brute, like to the horse
In body, mane and tail, ox-like of head
And horns, and for his eye, the bright Gazelle's
Not brighter. Fiery-eyed, red glaring, keen
For blood, the yellow Ferret pale; now quenched
Its wonted ever kindled appetite.
—The small Racoon, a bounding animal,
At home on plain, or tree; him ocean oft
O'erwhelms at flow of tide, found on the shore
In quest of shell-fish, by the oyster quick
His foot enclosed, and prisoned to the spot:
Now, with the rest, in happy freedom grouped,
Obedient to Elihu's voice divine.
—Attended thus, Ham, and Elihu rode,
Right through the gates of Enos—and within
The streets of that great city wend along.

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Wonderous array, but far more wonderous still
The unwondering apathy of gazing crowds.
—In knots of disputants, the Citizens
Were grouped, engaged on argument too great
To spare attention, though by greatest sight
The world might witness wooed. A race they were
Of meagre artizans, mechanic slaves,
Whose boast of old grew that the common weal
By them was built, and nourished; authours sole
Of riches they, producers of the corn,
The oil, the clothing, and conveniences,
The luxuries which stablish social life;
And right it was that who created thus,
They should distribute wealth. High glee was theirs,
When Tubalcain, with fair Naamah vain,
His sister, and his spouse, held o'er the realm
Dominion. Willing, to her various lusts
Stern Tubalcain the wed Naamah left,
And bent to state economy his mind—
Skilful or to commence, or to promote
Invention, manufacture, and supply.

Labour he urged, and diligence he loved,
And whoso would of him employment found,
And what they made he kept in public store,
And sold to who could purchase. Thus became
Great Tubalcain of human industry
Proprietor, and lord; and, for exchange,
Had with his superscription metal stamped
For current coin, whence lust of lucre grew,
Root of all evil. Soon he made decree,
That none should weave, or knit; or sew, or shape
Sandal, or raiment, save of stuff supplied
From out his storehouse, to be then returned,
And wages paid for labour, whence again
At a taxed price, and with a duty-mark,
'Twas issued to the buyer. Thus was he

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A princely merchant, a mechanic king;
Nor many wanting were, who saw, in such
Confusion of all orders blent in one,
A loved equality of man with man,
And knew not all were masters thus, or slaves:
Bound by no generous, but by sordid links
Of commerce, that the finer feelings blunts,
If gain alone be sought. Soon, like a blight,
Gold withered happiness; and thus it proved
Food of digestion hard to body, or soul,
Both in the city, and the lands about
Of Enos, and of Naid. Awhile, appeared
Prosperity to smile, and plain it was,
Both court, and courtiers—if so called might be
Either, that fitlier were from stithy named,
Mart, or exchange, and chapmen—flourished well.
Far countries, in their produce, dealt with them,
And took the clothing, with the corn, and oil,
At higher price, which might have been at home
Better consumed; hence, mid abundance, lacked
The natives, working on in wretchedness—
Now misery cried loud, and would be heard;
What then? its wants invention must supply;
And soon machines were reared, and engines built,
Of wonderous power, and structure intricate,
That might the needed labour substitute,
And infancy might tend. Now was no scant
Of produce, still the poor were very poor;
Raiment was wrought, but clothed not them; and food
Went to all markets, but it fed them not;
And, worse, ere long, constructions first designed
To aid in labour superseded soon,
And to their other ills, next indolence,
The fruitful mother of pernicious moods,
Was added; crime succeeded, murther last,
Personal, and judicial—horrid waste

189

Of human life, and human energy.

Meanwhile, the child was tasked from earliest morn
To latest eve, watching the processes
Of wheels, and chains ingenious, so to earn
A pittance for its parents; urged to toil
Excessive by the force of blows, and dying,
Even hour by hour, as standing at its work—
A constant martyrdom, but soon to end,
Since age mature, of man or womanhood,
Seldom attained, the grave quick closed on grief,
And shut the murthered infant safely up
From the oppressor, in the house of hope.
Meantime, for them whose hands could find no work,
Idle perforce, no means were found to give
Knowledge that might the spirit cultivate,
And rear a class that should, with moral power,
Win for instruction of the citizen
The means of life, reaping of temporal things
Guerdon for spiritual, imparted free;—
But rather by their rulers were they taught
To scorn religious ministry, and glow
With hate 'gainst Eden's patriarchy, and seek
In war provision, peace gave not for life.
—Hence, were the populace disputing now,
How to assail the Mount of Paradise,
And find an end, unreasoning, of their ills,
By seizing that Palladium of the Earth
For their possession: holding like a charm,
Whence plenty might, in some mysterious way,
Accrue to wisdom, and to folly both,
And vice might revel on the gifts of heaven.
And many a form had Hherem there assumed,
With Satan, and Azaziel, to inflame
The imbruted mind with passions fiercely wild.

On—on Ham and Elihu passed—on—on,
Even to the palace gates. The menials, there,

190

At them, and at their retinue, awhile
Gazed with brief admiration, and went in
To Tubalcain, Naamah, and their court,
To tell them of a miracle. Aloud
Then laughed the royal pair, incurious they
Of aught beyond the circle of their aims,
And unbelieving. So forth of the town,
Into the fields and forests, hasted on,
Ham, and Elihu, on their mission bent.
—Thence took they bird, and beast. There, at thy voice
Divine, Elihu, following, obeyed
The Ibex, long of horn and numerous,
According to his years; his burthened head,
Though brief, is bearded, wanderer of Alps,
And dweller on their summits: the small Roe,
The Roe, though small yet strong, and great in craft,
Baffling the hound, and cheating of his scent,
As skilled to fly as he is to pursue:—
The Tapir of the wilderness, lone brute,
In far seclusion, buried in the depth
Of forest solitudes, veiled not alone
From man's intrusion, but the fellowship
Of his own kind;—him doth the hunter woo
By imitative whistle, sharp, and shrill,
Like to his own, then twangs the poisoned shaft,
And the poor beast is hit; but better fares,
Obstructed on his passage to the stream
By race canine; there, standing, he resists
Their worrying, and them, seizing by the necks,
Whirls to afar, not free from loss of flesh.
Now social came the Tapirs, and with them
The Peccaries, a tusky swinish tribe,
Collared, or else white-lipped, a forest-race,
In pairs, and families discovered one,
The other banded in a numerous troop;
Fording with care the current broad, and swift,

191

And from the opposing bank still forthright on,
They hold their way destructive, scathing all
The planter's hopes; now guiltless, with the Boar,
Came they—or wild, or civilized, brave brute,
Though gluttonous; and the foul Hog, and Sow,
That to her vomit evermore returns,
Submissive now to law of purer strain.

But vain it were to paint the miracle
In verbal hues, and to express the train
Of creatures that there walked, or leaped, or flew.
The Birds, the glorious Birds, that made the air
As glorious in their flight, or decked the earth
With ornament of plumage numerous.
The spurless, but not crestless Curassow,
The galeated and the razor-billed,
The rufous and globose—the Peury, too,
The clamourous Guan, with the lady Crane,
The Crownèd, and the Crex, and Trumpeter,
The Heron, cleft of bill; the Bittern, raised;
The Spoonbill, and the Ibis; while the Stork,
Both white, and black, foremost with head, and neck,
Cleaved, large of wings, with legs reverted long,
Rapid the air, and matched the wild Curlews.

With these they left the region; journeying, till
They reached the junction of the rivers, where
Elihu smote the riven waters straight,
With his prophetic mantle. On each side,
They parted like a wall, and in the midst
Ham, and Elihu passed, with all their train,
By power miraculous guided. Such their guard,
By day, and anxious night, till their return
To Eden's land; then safely, in the Place
Of the First Man's Creation, sought they spot
For refuge; and there found for them, and theirs;
Ham, and Elihu; with the bird, and beast,
Their gathering, according to the Word

192

Of the Almighty, that into the Ark
Two of each living creature of all flesh,
Of every kind, there to preserve alive,
Both male, and female, clean, and the unclean,
Of fowl, and cattle, Noah should bring in,
And take to him of all food edible,
As food for him, and them. And such high charge,
Spite what since chanced, to Ham was trusted then:
And learn from this, although a Father's curse
Pursue the race of Ham, that there with them
The Angel of Compassion still abides,
With miracle from Nature to redeem,
Turning to Eden desart wilderness;
Hence, shew them mercy in your justest acts,
Then justest when most merciful they seem,
And greet the Brethren with a holy kiss.

END OF SIXTH BOOK.

193

III. Part the Third. SAMIASA.

195

The Lay of LILITH'S SON; Dreamer of Dreams, Seer of Visions, in the Morning Land.

To re-create the Past, and to create
Being, and Passion for its occupance,
Are mine. What poet but might quail beneath
The solemn task? What excellence of thought,
What strength of soul, it needs to wrestle well
With the Antient of such far-off days obscure.
Though wounded in the conflict . . though my brain
Be with the effort in the end collapsed,
Dilated, till enfeebled, then o'erthrown . .
Yet I will on, until it be complete.
What should I fear to lose for my theme's sake?
Yea, the great globe is valueless, and void.
My country or the world may guerdon me—
So let, or let them not; . . and to themselves
Be deathless shame, or honour on us both:
For Time discovers Truth; and, where 'tis due,
The eternal meed of Fame, though late, confers.

What hindereth, too, that in the world, beyond
The shadowy boundaries of maternal earth,
Our memories may survive, and residence

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Perpetual win; forewarning new-create
Intelligence, experienced guides, and guards
From evil snare to godlike virtue high,
Aiding the soul by gradual, sure ascent,
To the Supreme? Haply, the mighty noise,
Wherewith the visible heavens shall pass away,
May fail to silence Milton's trumpet-song:
Nor shall the wreck of elements dissolve
Even his of Rome; though, to the lyre attuned,
His strain be gentler, and the harmony
Of texture delicate, and like the light
Of the pale moon, a reflex from the orb
Of bolder genius, Melisegenes.
And, though the sun be shattered from his sphere,
Turned to a chaos dark, and void; that orb
Of most heroic glory shall remain,
Kindling new Maroes in the world to come,
Surpassing even himself in the degree
That spirit body excels. The expanded sky,
Wherein the angels have been wont to write
Their starry poesy for man to read,
Shall be upfolded like a shrivelled scroll;
Yet may the poesy of man endure,
And hallow the frail leaves of human wit.
—The firmament shall melt with fervent heat,
And the foundations of the earth dissolve
Into a molten sea, and all depart
Into the liquid flame: heaven, and the stars,
With sun, and moon, and all material things,
Tower, temple, palace, pyramid, and grove;
How gorgeous in their unessential shew
Soever they appear, like shadows, they
Depart. But the Eternal Book, wherein
Poets, historians, patriarchs, registered
The Word of the Omnipotent, shall dwell
In its own consecrated destiny

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Secure. His Word shall never pass away:
But as the Prophecy of Enoch came,
Thorough the Flood, transmitted to late time,
In this diurnal, mutable sojourn,
And in the text of Jude existent still;
So that the doom, and trial fiery
Shall bide, and come out thence, by proof divine,
The indubitable Word of the Most High.
—Some say, archangel Michael shall descend,
And, 'mid the fierce combustion, pluck it thence,
By hard assay approved, and glorified,
Victor sublime. In that eternal land
Of spirits undying, in the energy
Of being, shall all things exist entire;
Nor there in partial memory survive,
Or but in name, like Enoch's prophecy,
(In this uncertain transitory state,
Dim valley of the shadow of gaunt Death,
Sorrow, and wasting doubt,) till some bold hand
It rescue from the oblivious deep, and by
Pathetic commune with the living soul
Of the mysterious universe, revive
In his own spirit the revelation old.
Soul of fallen man, look forth; thine estridge thoughts
Have heavenward ta'en their flight, and built their nests,
Abiding nests on high. Thither reach mine,
And so absolve the adventurous task I dare,
Of young presumption, by success mature,
And give to hope the sanctity of faith.

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BOOK THE SEVENTH. The PREACHING OF NOAH

I. The Tomb of Adam

Meantime as one new-risen from the dead,
Unlike his former self, by friend and foe
Unrecognized, came Samiasa nigh
The City of his name—but from the wild
Not free'd, nor from his doom. Nor would he pass
Into the public ways, though sternly urged
By Palal, who there left him for awhile,
Alone within the Desert. There he lay
Three days, a passive brute; but on the fourth
He was a-hungered, and fierce appetite
With bestial rage stirred in him, and he scoured
The Wilderness for food. In fury thus,
A Lion crossed his path—on it he seized,
With more than giant might. Long time they strove
In mutual war, but the ferocious man
Was braver than the merely animal,
And him before the inferior creature quailed—
Even by the teeth asunder rent the jaws,
The noble Lion slain lay by his side;
Anon, stript of its skin, a royal robe
For him who slew it; and of flesh deprived,
Its victor's royal meal.

Now, Sabbath brake,
And Samiasa saw what desperate feat
He had performed, but not with triumph felt;
And earnestly resolved within his breast,
How to regain communion with his kind.
Not that he had not been beheld by man,

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But whoso saw him shrank from him in dread,
And he from them in shame, but proudly shewn.

And now rose Noah early, as was wont,
On Sabbath-morn, with Japhet, Shem, and Ham,
To duly visit Adam's sepulchre,
And warn the multitudes upon the plain
Assembled, not for worship but for sport;
And ready found Zateel, and Tamiel come,
To bear them company, and aid the cause
Of piety. No loiterers they, yet were
The Youth, and Scribe arrested in their speed,
To gaze on Japhet's growing handiwork—
The yet unfinished Statue of the Seed
Who should the Serpent bruise—unfinished yet,
Yet all but finished, moulded to that point
Of execution, where alike begins
The Artist's pleasure and the Admirer's both;
Almost adorable, yet something left,
To shew the labour human, not divine.

Brief space for converse, none for censure now;
Noah broceeded forth, and, on each hand,
The frendly train. With Tamiel was the Book
Of Enoch, and with Shem the yearling Lamb.
Along he vales they went; between the hills;
And into that mid vale, which opened wide
Upon the plain, and by the leafy way.
—Forthight into the plain, they now immerge,
Emerging to the people. There, behold,
As on a continent the enormous throng.
Well knew they him. “Ho, ho;—the Prophet comes—
The Ark-builder, and his Sons. Hence, ye profane.”
The scorn of multitudes was in the air,
And everyecho heard it loud, and long.
The noise of waters, when their demon howls
Round some predestined bark, less than that din

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Of multitudes, the universal din,
Which made heaven's vault to tremble, as with shout
Titanian. Then surceased heroic spot.

Passed, fearless, on the faithful Man of God.
Before him nameless awe prepared the way;
Awe, yet not holy, though of holiness,
Mere superstition's awe: for souls embrute
By sin perceive with gross predicament
Aught spiritual, or sacred: Conscience blends
Extremes; in better men the voice of God,
In evil, but the memory, whereon
Fancy wild shapes begetteth, as in dreams.
Such straights are theirs, who from all holy things
Alien the unwilling ear and sceptic eye:
They see not, hear not; yet must hear, and see,
That which the imaginative mind of man,
And the indefatigable faculties,
Create;—then whatsoever is not, is.
O'ersceptic ever is o'ercredulous.

Passed, fearless, on the faithful Man of God:
Followed, in pairs, Japhet with Shem, and Ham
With Tamiel. This was all the preacher's train;
Strong in himself, and with his virtues graced.
I' th' centre of the plain, the Sepulchre
Of the First Man, a pile of unhewn stone,
Stood eminent: the Columns of his Son,
Inscribed with old traditions true, beside;
By their ancestral founder meant to speak,
Ay, of the grave, and of the world beyond.

There Voices had been heard, and Visions seen
By holy men; thence issued Oracles
Of Death, Eternity, and Fate, and God.
—Now as a goal, the rivals in the race
Looked to them for the Crown, afar.

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Arrived,
Noah the Altar-Tomb demands; but Ham,
Proud of his Father's patriarchal sway,
Did with no gentle voice rebuke the crowd,
Did with no gentle hand oppose the press.

‘I preach of Peace, and Truth hath its own power;
No might of man it needs, his anger less;
Forbear, my son,’ said Noah. Calm he stood,
And quiet in his greatness; then surveyed
The populous scene.

Frequent, and full the tents;
Plenteous the boards, and manifold; with feast
Burthened, and overflowed with wine, and oil:
Copious were the libations . . Bacchus reigned,
And Mirth allied to Madness. Morning saw
The grape's blood, evening that of man, outpoured.
—Nor wonder: sanguine were his festivals.

For him Beast shed, in rampant sport, the blood
Of beast. Encaged were they on that wide field,
And kept apart awhile, awaiting war
With hunger stern. But now, they lift the doors
The Cells dividing; and, with rush, and bound,
Tiger, and Bear, Leopard, and Buffalo
Are huddled in the midst.

At once, his horns
The furious Bull plied on the sluggish Bear,
And tossed him to the roof. Then, on him sprang
The Tiger, and his dewlap tugged away;
But not himself unwounded, for his head
Was gashed, and ran with gore.

The Leopard slunk
From conflict—but not long. For now the stage
Was entered by Rhinoceros, and on
The spotted animal he came in wrath,
And roused him to the fight. Anon, in death
The lovely lay.

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Then with the many-horned
The single 'gan to strive: fight terrible
And horrid: but, with many instruments,
Choice meets confusion oft; while, but with one,
One simple aim drives straight to its effect.

Next, the large Elephants were armed against
Each other—on a sandy islet placed,
Making the middle of an ample lake.
Driven by their Riders, with a mighty shock
They intermingled, their probosces twined
With violent repulsion; till the Brute,
Wiser than man who him abuses so,
His adversary's strength confessed, and turned
Flying, not unpursued, nor unannoyed,
Attacked in rear. Nor further harm had come,
But that on them fierce Tigers were let loose;
And various deaths, with fury, rage, and blood,
Made glad the feasting heart of gazing man.

What wonder, then, at last the feasters bled?
Nay—not the blood of Beasts alone—but Man's,
His blood flowed with each wine-cup. Men were slain
For sport. There gladiator Giants strove;
Strength in each nerve sublimely agonized;
Dilated every muscle, and artery,
Into the majesty of human might;
Defiance in their attitudes, and loured
Courage upon their brows. How beautiful
The human form in extreme energy . .
Soul was in every lineament, and limb:
Fiercely they died. Their spirits went abroad,
Inflamed congenial souls, already inflamed
With banqueting; whence they in heat arose,
Flown with pride, insolence, or vanity,
With madness more than all, and fell in broil.

Away the prophet turned his sickened eye,

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And looked into the East; and, in the far
Horizon, sum of all the prospect, saw
The Mount of Paradise. The Cherubim
Still waved the excluding brand of angry flame
Above, around the place once fortunate,
Where bloomed the Tree of Lives, a fiery guard;
A living miracle, and constant sign;
A caution manifest, and visible;
The presence of God's vengeance, to warn man,
If aught might warn, of sin, and truth persuade:
Of more especial note, and greater power,
Than if the bourn of death had been repassed,
For a returning spirit to convince.
—Nor this alone:—but on the hill-side too,
Arose the appointed Ark, the Deluge-ship,
For which the axe had long the forest shorn;
Birds with its terrour scared from their retreat,
And beasts the violated woods expelled:
The labour of a century; and yet
So vast a wonder, though a work of time,
Of such endurance, who beheld it, deemed
That nothing less than miracle performed
Strange fabric so capacious, yet so strong.

And in the sight of all the people there,
Did Noah lift his hand toward Eden gate,
And bade men look upon the present God.
—Shem slew the yearling lamb, and straight disposed
The sacrifice upon that Altar-Tomb:
Then Noah bowed his face before the Lord.

II. The Sacrifice

Before the Lord, beside that Altar-Tomb,
The Sons of Noah, with the Scribe, erect,
Each in his mantle hid his countenance,
And worshipped in his heart. A rushing sound

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Aloft, as of wings rustling, stirred the air.
The Spirit touched the offering, and consumed;
Then to its native heaven the flame returned.
So potent, and so piercing was the flame;
The bones of Adam kindled in the grave,
And in the corse the pulse heaved with half life:
But chiefly on the humble heart's deep shrine
The flame descended; and the Preacher's heart
Felt the pervading presence; and he rose.

‘He hath not left us yet . . the Comforter . .
He heareth yet man's prayer, and answereth.
—How like is man unto this altar-tomb.
This fleshly pile is but a sepulchre,
Where the soul sleeps, ere the affectionate will
Bow down, and offer up the human heart,
The heart, and all its faculties to God—
A sacrifice devout. The vital spark,
Then, sends He forth in whom life's issues are,
And kindles man into a holy life,
Whose issues in good words, and works restored,
Human becomes divine—Man walks with God,
As Enoch once on earth, in Eden now.
—And walk ye thus, ye sons of God, and men?
Walk ye as man with man, even? On the soil
Ye trail your slime; and taint, and crush the flowers
That deck the bosom of your mother—Earth.
Ye soar not; ye aspire not: ye trace not
Your lineage from on high; and, strong in soul,
Claim fellowship with angels as your right;
But ask a brotherhood of worms, and call
The grovelling reptile, sister. Ye restrain
Within its fleshly nook the spirit of man,
Tame her ambition down to appetite,
Then quarrel for a sty. Therefore, from you
The insulted angels have gone back to heaven,

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To talk with Wisdom, and commune with God.
They hold no converse with corporeal sense:
Of other strain are they; and so is man.
—Behold, I speak a proverb . . dust to dust . .
Of dust ye are, to dust ye do return—
Your souls are ashes; not one ember left,
My breath may kindle. Oh, the breath of God
Is extinct in the life of man. Hear, heaven:
Earth, wonder. There Death bideth—Death-in-Life
Walks, a day spectre, in the sun's broad beams,
Till cold obstruction melt his fetters off,
And rank corruption in God's nostrils reek.
—Bow down the knee: lie prostrate in the dust:
Thou camest out thence; it clipt thee like a womb.
Remit thee to thy native quarry—man.
Thy spirit is gone forth. Bow down, and wait
Till God reanimate thy sluggard clay,
And make thee what thou wert . . a living soul.
—The Sculptour, sembling his own form extern,
Maketh a thing of beauty unto sight;
Yet though he carve a mind upon the brow,
It wants not only life's variety,
But life. The mighty Artist of the sky
Stamped his own image on the soul of man,
Himself a living spirit, bade him live.
Keep ye his image whole? keep ye it in
The beauty of holiness 'twas shadowed from?
No; ye defile it, mutilate, destroy.
Oh, right: oh, truth: oh, peace: oh, liberty.
—Hear me, O Enoch. Waft aside the flames,
That veil thy being from us; and descend,
In glory visible; and call aloud,
That man may hear, and be convinced, and live.
Yet why should man disturb thy holy rest
Thy Sabbath is eternal. Yet thou speakest.
Thou dwellest still with us. Thy Testament

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Survives. This Book endures;—rich legacy,
Memorial wake of thy departure hence;
Who wast not; for God took thee to himself.
—Believe, oh, man; and live. The Day—the Day
Cometh—the morning goeth forth: for pride
Hath budded; violence, and evil earth
Do fill. But Judgement cometh, and an End.
The End is come. It watcheth for thee. Lo:
The Day of trouble, and destruction; not
The founding of the hills, but their uprending,
Darkles the jealous heaven, from east to west.
Silence shall brood, at eve, o'er Nature's heart,
An incubus on a forgotten grave:
Repent ye—’

More the man of God had said;
But, then, advanced the Rephaim, giant-twins;
Strong, as the oak; and, as the cedar, tall;
Valiant, as eagles; headlong, as a flood.
Strange brood of discord.—Could essential heaven
Blend with embracement earthly, spawning forth,
As from the slime impregned with summer's sun,
Monsters forbid, whence mind idolatrous
Its gross imaginings might incarnate;
Abortive, and abominable births
Of spirit on sense begot; till spirit become
Degraded unto what it blends withal;
Which its capacious vision might have raised
Unto the High, and Holy One, who doth
Dwell in his own eternal energy,
Yet deign to shrine him in the contrite soul?
—Born in one hour, doubling the labour-pang;
With iron courage them their mother bore,
Stern daughter of the stern, seed of the strong:
With amazonian scorn, the bitterness,
Though as of death, yea, and of death, she 'sdained;
And, when her travail was o'erpast, had joy

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More than a mother's—her own dauntless joy,
A victor's or a stoic's over pain.

As she was wandering from the wanderer's land,
On quest of booty, in the robber's trade;
With rival anguish from her iron womb,
'Twas in a cavern wild, they rent their way,
Wherein she refuge sought with savage beasts
Unterrified; for with their nature hers
Held sympathy. Hyæna, there, was lodged,
With Elephant, and Hippopotamus,
And Unicorn; war each with other waged,
And of the conquered still the victor made
His eager meal; no fear yet touched that heart
Incapable of trembling. There she lay,
And the wise Elephant more feeling shewed,
Than she acknowledged. On her state forlorn
The meditative brute compassion took,
Admonished well by nature; shielding her,
And with her sharing his diurnal food,
Till with the giant-twins she travelled forth.

Worthy was she of Cain's intrepid line,
Her ancestor. Of mingled stock derived
Was their bad sire; the unseemly fruit of one
Of Seth's degenerate, and apostate sons
With a fair atheist of the murtherer's race;
Hence, rather in their veins lascivious blood
Than purer stream might revel; purer once,
Now worse pollute, I ween: entire in guilt,
Redemptionless, and lost in loss itself,
Without what natural grace to that might cleave,
Maugre its lapse from God's supernal grace,
Whence Nature's is: lost unto both; abandoned
Unto the powers of evil utterly.
—Fierce they advanced, and seemed as they might claim
Lineage, (if not the origin to be,)
Of whom the old poets fabled; the huge sons

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Of Ouranus and Tella, in whose womb
They grew to godhood, and brake prison thence,
Armed for rebellion 'gainst the Ancestral Power.

Urged by the fiend within them, and the hell;
Furious they came, and raised the loud long shout,
At once derision, and defiance: proud
Of strength, and bulk, and confident in bone.
From mere disdain they smote the man of God,
He should more force to reason yield than might,
And deem with words religious to subdue.

III. Zateel, and Samiasa

Noah was silent, not from wrath, but ruth;
With pity scorn, with patience spite repaid.
Before him leaped his Sons. Then tumult rose,
Loud clamour, and the cry of blood. Blood flowed.
More had been shed; but, on the mountain-skirts
Of that apparent continent, silence crept,
And awe increased.

'Twas the habitual hush
Wherewith mysterious horrour cowed their souls,
Whene'er that Presence on their wonder came,
Who entered now; with slow, and solemn step,
And uncompanioned in his greatness. On
He came. Wild his array: a lion's hide
Hung o'er his shoulders broad, and on his breast
Down flowed the shaggèd mane; the face-skin frowned,
Hollows for eyes, the maw without a tooth,
And terrible in its deficiencies.
Bare was his knee, and hairy all the leg,
And every limb enlarged, and clothed with hair.
—Look not upon his countenance: ye must;
But dare not look again, although ye would.
That gaze is savage, and each lineament;
Yet, in their madness, undefined command

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Of no barbarian grace is eloquent.
A memory lingered there of loftier days,
Haunting, with shadowy gleam, his brow's proud curve;
Till grew his aspect spectral, and his eye
Flashed fitfully, even as a paly ghost
Flitting athwart a place of sepulchres;
Or underneath a once triumphal arch,
A ruin now loved by the shades of eld.
—Profuse, his locks, like a wild horse's mane,
Free of the winds, compact of massy curls,
Shaded his ears with ringlets dusk as night,
And with his beard fantastic circlets blent,
Like a vine flourishing in a wilderness,
Hanging its tendrils loose on thorny brake,
And briary underwood—so bearded he.
Where his large forehead loured, his ample locks
Disparted; and upcoiled, like serpents, back
From eyebrows huge, that, like two promontories,
Horrid with crag, suspense, the flashing orbs
Encaved. Now, like a blasted oak, or tower
Magnificent, scathed by heaven's lightning shaft,
He stood. Atlas he seemed, groaning beneath
The universal weight, a world of woe,
A penal universe, and he condemned
To the aye-during burthen for his sins;
A penance, but magnanimously borne.

Of all that throng, but One might look on him;
And he in admiration, how intense,
Gazed, sword-supported; beautiful in youth;
The attraction of all eyes. Amazement strange
Guided fond vision to that monument,
More perfect in such quiet attitude
Than ever statue was; and recognized
The valourous Boy who rushed into the fray,
A timely aid to Noah, and his Sons,
Oppressed by numbers. Of the giant-twins,

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One had on Tamiel seized, and from his grasp
Essayed to wrench the Book. The youth, Zateel,
Did wound the robber hand; did save from death
The weaponless, and undefended scribe;
And from the impious, and profane destroyer,
Rescued the sacred tome. Then gradual stole
That hush of horrour toward him, and his ear
Soon caught his neighbour's whisper—‘'Tis the king
Of streams,.'tis Samiasa’—for among
The crowd was Palal; and by him the name
Was uttered to Zateel. Anon, declined
Sudden his sword; and fixed its point in earth.
In graceful admiration on its hilt
He leaned, and thus intently watched advance
The Monarch Maniac with emotion deep.
Deep in that pause his meditations were;
On the King's lips expectant still he gazed,
Breathless. He knew how eloquent they were.
Once, when they spake, were sages wont to blush,
And pause for answer. Nor less potent now.
And much he trembled, when these words he heard.

‘Well done, young man: preserve, Zateel, for aye,
The Scripture that aye-present doth preserve
The God of gods to memory. I forgot
Him once, who to remember him had cause.
The Spirit which deified me was from Him,
Whom I rejected, and straightway became
A God-abandoned man, unto himself
Abandoned, and that self-sufficient strength
Whence he presumed, but which on trial failed,
And ever must. Hearken, ye fond of strength,
Who have disturbed my oraisons—(ye might
Have worshipped with me.)—Mark yon hill's proud crest;
'Tis obvious to the mount of Paradise,
And to the glorious vision there displayed,
Glorious in terrour. There, it is my wont,

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'Scaped from the Desart and the Fiend, to come,
Even with the day-spring of the sabbath morn,
And look on Eden, and its fiery guard,
And watch for the uprising of the sun,
The kindling of the hills whence goeth he,
Fresh as a racer anxious for the crown—
How bright, how high. Of all created things
Yon ardour is most like a deity.
Shall dim, and puny man, then, call his soul
The standard of perfection, and contemn,
Vain of his own originality,
His Maker's image, and invent a new,
Better, or worse, he recks not? Only He
Who made him what he is, can make him more.
—Man's semblance is Death's shadow; for his soul
Is murtherous, abject, cruel, and corrupt.
Witness, ye heroes. Ye do well to boast
Of thews, and sinews; and in force of limb
Triumph, and in the courage of your hearts:
Impulse, though blind, hath joy, which ye obey,
And is derived divinely. 'Tis heaven's life
Abused, meant to beget new life, and deeds,
Wherein heaven-guided piety might trace
Symbol humane of Origin divine.
By you Death conquers; life, crushed in the germ,
Limps, issueless—foredone. The human form
Erect . . divine . . lies prostrate, lies defaced.
Approach it . . lo, the fragrance, and the flower
Have left the withered stalk, and barren stem.
Of its once comeliness no grace remains;
Its strength is weakness, and its glory shame.
There is no beauty, excellence, in death.
The eye . . term it the presence of the mind . .
Is all-extinguished. Things that it perceived,
Phantasm, or substance, shadowy qualities,
Visions that Fancy made her own, and built

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A gorgeous world thereof; her world, and this,
Into inanimate gloom they fade away.
This erst was her dominion . . her's, and man's.
Now narrow is his dwelling; dark, and lorn;
Within a populous, yet silent land:
He dwells alone within a quiet house,
Alone, yet crowded in his solitude.
No moon, nor sun may visit it. Within
A desolate, and dreary realm it lies;
The realm of winter. Silence, and the night
Only inhabit there. Heaven-moulded from
Returns to Chaos. Blood cries from the ground.
—Witness, ye rulers of the fettered earth:
Ye do well also. Triumph in your crowns,
Your sceptres; those of thorn, of iron these:
Ye conquer, then enslave. Man's attitude,
Lost unto freedom, and in soul abashed,
Vails its bold front, and crouches at your feet,
As ye were gods. Children of men, be warned.
Lo, ye, worse slavery, enchain yourselves;
Your passions labour at the tyrant's forge,
And mould the links of avarice, and lust.
—Witness, ye elements: and testify,
Ye worshippers of earth. To God alone
Do homage. Dost thou bow the coward knee
To power? is power divine? Why yield it, man?
One boasts the attribute, and many quail;
Straightway, a demigod is he; yet him
The thunder daunteth. Ye succumb to fear,
And make out of your fear a deity.
So, when the tempest doth pass by, ye see
A demon in its blackness, hear a fiend
In its loud roar; and cry them mercy. Ye
Have power, had ye knowledge, o'er the winds;
Nay, all the elements were slaves to you,
And would perform your bidding, were ye brave.

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Were but your virtue adequate to dare,
Ye might restore the never-changing spring
Of Paradise; and win companionship
With angels, as of old; and satisfy
The craving soul with everlasting truth:
And thus, indeed, become like unto God;
Knowing all things, and ruling all, by love.
—But now ye conquer, and are conquered: now,
Hark—the poor man, and feeble testifies
'Gainst your oppression; while God listeneth,
Yea, while Jehovah listeneth, to avenge.
For her right sceptre Equity hath lost,
(In whom God's Image is the most express,)
And unto gods, which are no gods, ye pay
What is not due, from wantonness of will:
But Him, the True, and Faithful, ye defraud
Of due obedience, gratitude, and love.
His sabbaths ye reject, his wrath despise.’

IV. Rumel

The Monarch ceased. Forth stept an Oratour,
Fluent, and pert; armed with proof rhetoric
'Gainst truth, and reason; with bland sophistry,
To lull the one to acquiescent pause,
Silence the other, contemptuous, or abashed,
And thus even for a while o'er both prevail.
But they have their own hour, their own good time,
Sure victors; and their conquests shall abide
Eternal in the heavens. God shall award
Their amaranthine wreath; himself divulge
Their deathless fame through infinite expanse.

The voice of Samiasa had aroused
The torpid awe his presence did impose:
Thus will the sunny breeze of spring awake
The icy stream, until it gradual gush,

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As if again the Spirit o'er its face
Moved, as of old, o'er darkness, when the void
Of nature did conceive with life, and form.
Part lifted up their eyes, and dared his look,
And hurried breathing became audible,
Sound half afraid of its own entity.
Then from the press forth stept the Oratour:
Curious in phrase, and nice of attitude;
His accents modulating, and his hand,
And features timing to the expressive turn,
The swelling cadence, and the solemn fall
Of his discourse elaborate; but to the ear
Easy, and flowing, like a river's lapse,
With not a pebble to obstruct its step,
But for the music, as it gently glides
Unto the naiad's cells, in the calm depths
Of the unfathomable ocean. Thus:

‘Submissive to the shadow of thy power,
As to the substance once, to thee, O king,
Grant that thy servant, Rumel, may reply.
Think not I wrestle with thee for the crown
Of eloquence; for who may strive with thee?
And what am I? . . thy sometime worshipper.
High on the throne of thine imperial state,
Too bright for earth, like a divinity,
Thou satest, exalted, . . One. The dazzled sight
Swam in thy presence; therein pride was not:
Erect humanity forgot itself,
Bated a cubit of its stature; yea,
In prostrate adoration kissed the dust.
A happy realm thy habitation was,
And in no earthly paradise thou dwelt.
Celestial fortunes thy companions were,
And they accompanied thy goings-forth,
And glory heralded thy comings-in;
And thou wert perfect in thy majesty,

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And in thy spirit thou wert excellent;
And thy dominion was o'er shore, and sea;
The limits of thine empire who could tell?
The heaven scarce seemed to circumscribe thy sway.
To thee the Founder of the pyramid,
The co-eternal rival of the sky,
The deep-based column of the firmament,
Enslaved his mighty art, and built for thee.
And nations did adore within its gate,
Hero, and sage, youth, beauty, childhood, eld;
And with the myriads who worshipped there,
Thy servant worshipped with a grateful heart,
And willing to thy service would return.
Thou didst look down from thy sublime repose,
And, from amid excessive glory, smile
Great approbation, and ennobling joy;
And thine acceptance was far more than wealth,
Thy grace than treasure. Honour in thy hand,
And in thy voice abounded length of days.
Then they found favour in thy sight whom now
Thine anger doth rebuke. Wherefore art wroth?
O thou, our king, and god. Wherein have we
So grievously offended, thou withdrawest
Into thy mystic nature's solitude,
And art not unto men for many days?
Then, reincarnate in this strange disguise,
Comest forth, afflicting fancy with wild fear,
Speaking to us a language all unknown;
Ah, how unlike the native dialect
Which made thy former days, and fortunate,
A full-orbed diapason of rich sounds.’

Deep then was Samiasa's agony.
He rent his hair in bitterness of soul,
And cast himself upon the unpitying earth,
In more than phrenesy; and there he sate,
Sublime in misery, and great in grief.

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‘A god indeed; look I not like a god,
A very god? This is my heaven. Behold
My cloudy throne; this bare ground is my sky:
These locks my glory, and this skin the robe
Of majesty divine. Hero, and sage,
Monarchs of earth; bow down, and worship here—
My hand grasps lightning. Hark—the thunder peals.
Earth's centre is my footstool. Thither plunge,
To do me homage; as becomes a god
Of state like mine, exalted thus, so high;
A deity so jealous, and so proud.—
Let gods themselves come to it, and adore.
There is no god but God.—No god but He
Who reigns in heaven. He is the God of Heaven,
And Earth. Jehovah, He is God alone.
And He shall break in pieces mighty men,
When he ariseth to shake terribly
The earth; . . then shall ye seek the rocky clefts,
And climb the ragged summits of the rocks,
For fear of him, and of his majesty.
All hands be faint, and each man's heart shall melt;
For He shall come upon ye suddenly,
In the roar of many waters, and the rushing
Of many floods. Earth shall be drunk therewith;
And reel, as if with wine. Jehovah, He
Is God—Jehovah, He is God alone.
He did create the heavens, and stretch them out;
He spread forth earth, provides what cometh thence.
'Tis He who giveth breath to man thereon,
And spirit unto them who walk therein.’

Great fear fell on that multitude: abashed,
And silent, they retired; and, one by one,
Sought each man out his dwelling; and, ere long,
On that immeasurable plain was left
None, but the King, and Noah, and his Sons.

‘Prophet, and prince, have pity on my sins;

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Pray to thy God for me:’ . . the Monarch cried.
‘If I should pray, would he be merciful?’—

‘Have we not daily instance?’ Noah said:
‘Whence, but from mercy, are the wicked spared?
And what am I, that in his sight I should
Find such abundant grace? Have faith, and live.’

What Christian knows not, in the hour, and power
Of darkness, with what cheering influence
The light of truth beams on his troubled soul,
From Holy Writ reflected, if aright
Read in the spirit, and thus understood?
Even the world's Saviour, in the agony
Of crucifixion sharp, such solace found;
And in the psalmist's words exclaimed aloud,
Unto the God who had forsaken him.—

Will it not soothe torn Samiasa's soul,
To hear the Scripture read that Enoch wrote?
So deems the king; and, straightway, down they sate,
And at his bidding, then, the Man of God
Right audibly the Oracle intoned,
The Bible of the World before the Flood.

'Twas by the Tomb of Adam that they sate,
Against Seth's pillars, which about the place
Were as a temple reared, and sacred made.
A grove of Pines, wherein they were retired—
The sea-green Pines, laden with yellow fruit,
And both in harmony with Earth, and Heaven.

Vans of the tempest; do your thunders sleep?
Spread ye abroad, like eagles’; cleave the rocks,
And break the mountains to your might opposed.
Heave up ye earthquakes; be ye heard, and felt;
Shake ye the solid ground, and the great sea,
As with the throes of childbirth.—Element
Of Fire; encircle, clip me in with flame:
Till I be like to you.—They have past by.

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Come Spirit of the Eternal, co-eterne;
And of the dædal universe divine,
The choral soul, the prime intelligence.
Come Dove celestial; who, with procreant wing,
Broodest o'er Hades ere that light became;
Pervadest Nature's constant travail still;
Impregnedst old prophets' hearts with wondrous seeds,
Whose autumn time will garner; . . yea, whose power
O'ershadowed her whom generations bless—
The Virgin-Mother of the Holy Thing,
Messiah, God incarnate—uncreate.
Thou, with the Father, from eternity;
And with the Son, adorable; descend,
Essence of essence, into my shut mind;
A still small voice, such as Elijah heard;
Make it thy temple, there light up thy shrine,
Thine altar be my heart, and there dwell thou;
That I may utter oracles aright,
Of old by Enoch written, scribe inspired.

END OF SEVENTH BOOK.

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BOOK THE EIGHTH. THE BOOK OF ENOCH

I. The Symbols

The Words of Enoch, which the Patriarch wrote,
Ere he to heaven ascended visibly,
In letters taught by God, in love to man.

Whoso would Wisdom know, must learn her birth.

Never is Silence. Love with the Beloved
Still communes, in the Spirit uncreate:
Desire immortal for the Eternal One,
In One Immortal; Substance Infinite,
In one Unchanging Form; fruition, too.
Love, hid in light, self-mirroured, looks on Life;
When in the eyes of him on whom he looks,
Grows Likeness of his glory, and his grace;
The Lovelike, and the Godlike: speaking, straight,
He names her, ‘Wisdom, the Beloved One;’
—Whence she responds, ‘O Truth, my spouse thou art:’—
Thus he replies, ‘The Beautiful art thou.’
She, silent, then, in modesty submiss,
Bows to sublime perfection; cheered, anon,
And shielded by the shadow of his power.
—Offspring to them are born, fair progeny
Of intuition, Angel called, or Man;
Exhaustless Plenitude, and boundless Love,
Whose everlasting Blessedness delights
In the eternal Lovelike; of himself
The undecaying Wisdom, indistinct,
Inseparate from his essence; and in her
Creates, anew, perpetual Beauty's self,

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Of her the Image, as herself of him,
Both in his Word summed up, the Word in them,
God all-in-all, and Man in his Idea,
The Lovelike object of creating Love.
One Being Man, of various characters,
Companion of the Angel, type to all
The hosts of heaven, well named the Sons of God,
As he to all the sons of men on earth;
Hence one called Adonai, Heaven's Lord,
First Adam, he, and second; one, Lucifer,
Star of its morning, regent of its dawn,
To whom is given of Paradise the charge.

Never is Silence. The Eternal Word
Bespeaks the Eternal Love for evermore.
‘As Thee I contemplate, so Man to me
Looks up, and by the Vision held, sees nought
Distinct, not even himself, and we but make
One age, one life, whereof each other flows.’
Hence are the Generations of the Heavens,
The Earths: such is the Principle unchanged,
Wherein subsists the changing Universe;
The Mystery wherein All lives, and moves,
And hath its being; One the Father—Love,
One Son, one Spirit, and the Wisdom one,
That springs from their communion, ever fair.
And thus revolve the Days in that One Day
Eternal, wherein He—the First, and Last—
Makes all the worlds, ere yet they roll in space,
And every plant, and herb, ere in the ground,
And Man, and sons of men, ere in the womb,
Ere space, seed, ground, or Man, or Woman is.
Such are the Words, and Works, and Days of God.

Increase, nor diminution suffering,
The sum of matter in the universe
Remains the same, each atom, force or power
Interdependent, needful to the whole;

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No time could ever have been wanting one,
Else had at once entire Creation lapsed;
Wherefore, Creation's act is simultane,
The Whole coeval with its sundry Parts;
Presuming an Idea, wherein the Whole
Preceded them; in whose perception Time
Has his beginning; in whose interchange
Stormy, or calm, in progress, or at rest,
Not absolute, Time hath his history.
The Whole, withouten Parts, is the Eternal;
The Parts, contained Creation. Know, the Point
That is without or depth, or length, or breadth,
Is God; the prior Whole of substance, God:
And the Idea which contains the whole,
The Principle, Beginning absolute,
Eternity. Yet further to explain
What thy inquiry would demand, learn this:
“Withoutness” is the Bound extern; as 'twere
The circles' sphere infolding its contents—
“Withness” is just the sum of its contents,
Short of the limit. To the Universe
Such bound, and limit is the Infinite;
Such Infinite is God. Express it thus:
—In his Eternity, the Eternal One
Produces simultane his Universe,
And Infinitely bounds it; Heavens, and Earths.
Or thus:—In his Beginning, the Divine
Quickens, initiates, and comprehends
All other Being. Ask you, what is that
Beginning? I reply—his self-beholding.
—Divine Intelligence, by an eterne
Self-contemplation, from his being throws
The Intelligible, as his act, his image—
An absolute whole—one Work, or wondrous World,
All works, and worlds including—one great Word,
Or Affirmation, all the languages,

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And modes of affirmation: whereupon
He looks for aye, whereto he ever lists.
Such act, the primal point in motion; thus
Its proper space, and sphere describing; grants
Enough to him who seeks such postulate,
Whereby to frame the Universe at will.

Whilst I was sitting lonely in my tent,
Chewing the cud of thoughts abstruse as these,
Thoughts of our Father, Adam, thronged my mind.
And, ah, the dearness of his memory
Is very tender; how intense the love
Wherewith on it we dwell. ‘Yet death,’ said I,
‘Will make the loving mute, like the beloved.
Their forms, indeed, in lasting marble dure,
Or live awhile in colour; but their words
Die mostly with articulated air.
How few survive in signs—that want the flow
Of rapid speech, the continuity
Of sequent eloquence, of which they give
The meaning scarce, expression not at all—
Figures of things, and creatures visible,
By the peruser self-interpreted.
And love, and duty may wax cold in most,
As they have soon in many; and the lips
Of witnesses reluctantly repeat
The things that once they knew: and, at the best,
They mingle minds, and feelings in the tale.
O that a record might be found, which, like
The stars, might shine unaltered; like a moon,
Reflect the shadow of each absent sun.’
—Then on the Altar built by Seth I looked;
And on the holy Symbols there engraved,
The Sun, and Moon, and girdle of the Stars;
On Eve, and Adam, on those mystic Trees
Twined with the Serpent, and that Form Divine,
Who, more than Angel in serenity,

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Spake to them all. Next, meditating deep,
Thus I rehearsed the meaning of the same,
My evening task, for better memory.

From Eden's wild, the Word of God brought Man,
Whom he had formed of dust, and into whom
Had breathed the breath of lives; and planted him,
Eastward of Eden, in a Paradise
Prepared for his reception. From the ground
Grew every tree, was pleasant to the sight,
And good for food:—also, the Tree of Lives,
Within the Garden's midst; and, near, the Tree
Of Knowledge, bearing fruit of good and ill.
From Eden, too, there went a River forth,
To water it. The new-made Man was placed,
To dress and keep his fair inheritance.
Of all the garden he might freely eat,
Save of the Tree of Knowledge—‘this the Law,
Which violated, thou shalt surely die.’
Man was alone; to cure his solitude,
Were brought to him the cattle of the field,
Beasts of the forest, and the birds of air;
And what he called them, that the name of each.
But this sufficed not. He was more alone,
They absent, than before. Then slept the Man;
And while he slumbered, from his opened side
The Word took substance; of it Woman formed;
And shewed her to him waking, saying then
To them—‘Your name is Adam.’ Naked both,
The Man and Wife, yet unashamed were they.
Visions had Adam in the creant sleep
That teemed with living Eve. ‘Methought,’ said he,
‘I was embraced, almost absorbed in God,
So strong divine attraction; when a shock
Repulsed me from his bosom, and I lay,
Confused with terrour, smitten on the earth;
Alone; and felt me Man. Nought else I felt,

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Nought else distinctly; for the earth itself
Seemed only part of me: nor felt apart;
For all seemed felt at once. Each power, each act,
Law, principle, idea, thought, and thing,
Were present in the selfsame consciousness,
As if to prove me being; these I named,
In marvel at their number, then as one
Resumed, and called them all myself. But, soon,
I yearned for Otherness; and, as I yearned,
An Image of Myself formed in my heart,
And took the shape of Eve, whom then I loved,
Ere, with these eyes, I saw. She when beheld,
Earth was not, for her Beauty proved a veil
On nature; only sense for her I had,
And all created else was unperceived.
At length, the veil withdrawn, a little space,
I looked up to the heavens, then to the hills,
And gazed upon the slope, the winding streams,
The valleys, forests, and the flowered grass;
Then, turned again to her, saw only her.
Then her would I bespeak, and she reply,
And when I next looked forth, I spake to them,
And winds, and torrents answered—sounds, not words.
Then questioned I; if they, like us, had mind?
Till on a day they were revealed in glory,
For all whereon we looked became as water,
Wherein we might behold ourselves reflected.
There stood Two like Ourselves, more radiant they;
Female, and male: Divine humanities;
The Eternal Word, the Wisdom Infinite.
Brief while, they stayed; for then the sunset came,
Twilight, and darkness; prayer, and sleep, and dreams.’

Now, was the Serpent of more subtle kind,
Than any living creature of the field—
And he found voice, and to the Woman spake,
Of that same Tree of Knowledge. She replied,

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‘We may not eat of it, or even touch,
Lest we should die.’ ‘Ye shall not surely die.’
The Serpent answered—‘but shall be as gods,
Knowing both good, and evil.’ Soon she saw,
How good for food, and pleasant to the eye
The Tree prohibited; desirable
To make the eater wise: she plucked, and ate;
And to her Husband with her gave of it.

Straight were their eyes enlightened, and they knew
That they were naked; sought themselves to clothe
With fig leaves sewed.

'Twas in the cool of day,
When walked the Word of God in Paradise—
They heard his voice, and 'mong the garden trees
Concealed them from his presence. ‘Where art thou?’
Thus spake the Voice—and Man responded thus.
‘I heard thy voice; being naked, was afraid,
And hid myself.’ ‘Who told thee,’ spake the Voice,
‘That thou wert naked—hast thou broke the Law
And eaten of the Tree?’ The Man replied,
‘The Woman gave to me, and I did eat.’
The Woman said—‘The Serpent me beguiled.’
Then to the Serpent thus—‘For this thou art
Otherwise doomed than any creature else;
To crawl upon thy womb, and dust to eat:
Between thee, and the Woman; and between
Thy seed, and hers; is henceforth Enmity.
For he shall bruise thy head, and thou his heel.’

Thus spake the Voice; next to the Woman said,
‘Thy travail, and conception multiply;
In sorrow shalt thou bring thy children forth;
Desire thy husband, and be swayed by him.’

Last to the Man. ‘Appointed is the ground,
Because of thee, in sorrow to be reaped—
For thorns, and thistles shall grow up therein,
Though of the herb permitted thee to eat.

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The sweating of thy brow shall earn thee bread,
Till to the ground, whence thou wert formed, restored—
For dust thou art, and shalt to dust return.’

His doom thus heard; the Man his Wife addressed,
‘Thy name be Eve; Mother of all art thou.’

Then Death was known. For He who spake to them
From the slain Lamb bereft the woolly skin,
And covered Adam, and his Wife withal—
Saying, ‘Behold, the Man has now become
As one of Us, of evil, and of good
Intelligent. Lest he his hand put forth,
And pluck the fruitage from the Tree of Lives,
And eat, and live for ever, fit he go
Forth from this paradise, to till the ground
Whence he was taken.’

So he drave him forth,
Eve following; and placed his Cherubim
East of the Garden, templed in the flame,
A fiery pillar, turning on itself,
Irradiant, guarding thus the Tree of Lives.

So meditating, lost in deepest thoughts,
My heart burned. Then forth issued I, to fall,
Adoring, in the presence of my God,
Before the Cherubim that guard the gate
Of Eden. There I came. How gloriously
The fiery pillar, self-involved, revealed
Its glory, from the glory inshrining it,
Its tabernacle. Ever as it rose
Sublimer, in pyramid majesty,
Back on itself in wrath divine it rolled,
Averting from the sinner penal death,
In act reflex, and terrours merciful.
So thick the terrours, I nought else discerned;
Yet thus I prayed to Him whose name is Love.
‘Creatour, thou hast made thy universe

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A pattern of thy power, a mirrour gross
Of things divine, invisible. And all
Thy works are words: and every word of man
Embodies, in created thing, the thought
Thus only understood. Even as himself
Was in thine image made, and only there
Finds image of himself, in what of thee
Inferiour image is. And thou hast set
Thy Cherubim, the representatives
Of majesty divine, thy witnesses;
And gloriously they testify of thee,
When from the bosom of the thunder-cloud
The lightning flashes, and the choral peals
Reverberate thy holiness, and shake
The mercy-seat whereon thou sitst enthroned.
And human thought than lightning swifter, words
Impetuous as the thunder, ill reports
Aught foreign from the spirit whence they came.
Thine is that spirit, and its skill is thine;
Thou taughtest language to our father: now
Teach wisdom to his sons; and, of the same,
Perpetual register for memory,
An adequate memorial for the mind,
Surer than speech, and ampler than what eye,
Albeit excursive, comprehends alone.’

Thus prayed I, and was silent. From the Cone,
The Living Spirit audibly pronounced
My name. I lifted up my eyes, and lo,
Michael before me stood; his glory veiled,
As man with man, in majesty subdued.
‘Thy prayer is heard,’ . . he said. ‘The Lord, who gives
All understanding, and intelligence,
Hath heard thy prayer, and answered it by me.
—This Tablet take, and deeply contemplate,
Which God shall teach thee rightly to peruse.’
'Tis of the Six Days' Work, and Seventh's rest.

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What there thou findst transcribe; and add thereto,
What thou hast learned of Providence, and God.’

With grateful heart, I took the precious gift;
Nor left me then the Angel, but, with kind,
And affable attention, me beside
Stood, while I read, and helped me to the sense;
And, after I had read, departed pleased.

II. The Tablet

This is the Record which the Tablet bore,
Of Wisdom to the Elohim listening,
Apt to reveal in song the mind of God.

First, the Beginning is; wherein is hid
In Unity of Being, all that can
Be manifested in diversity,
Involved, but not confused, though Chaos called;
Both Spirit's womb, and Nature's; Heavens, and Earths,
Or, all in each, the Heaven, the Earth, alone.
First, is Jehovah, the Elohim next;
Then Adonäi, image of the First:
Jehovah, One in All—the One in Three—
For in the Three abides the Universe,
And in the One the All projects the Twain.
Before the Worlds is Wisdom; with the Three
She sits; Bride, Sister, Daughter of the One,
Herself thus Three in One; and, one with Love,
(Receiving the fecundity divine,)
Teems with creations endless, brings them forth
In everlasting Order. Heaven, and Earth
Roll in her eyes, upon her bosom globe;
Twin orbs, that to her countenance are as eyes,
And to her bosom ever-swelling breasts,
From whose twin founts the milk of mercy flows;
Circles of being, though distinct, conjoined,
Spirit, and Nature, inseparable mates;

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Mother of all, yet Virgin though betrothed.
Hell is not yet; anon the Heaven, and Earth,
Within the mirrour of the universe,
Shew, to herself, herself; well-pleased, she looks,
And dwells in them, as her inhabit they;
In heaven as Wisdom known, Beauty on earth.

Nor place, nor state, alone; but Heaven, and Earth,
Intelligent, and loving, live to love,
For generation live, and procreant bliss—
Spirit with Nature plays in amorous sport;
And Being, from their chaste embraces, grows
In number; from their mother, Natures named;
The eldest, Nature, as by excellence,
Masculine nature; but by various names
His Brethren known; a perfect brotherhood,
A brotherhood of Seven; the youngest called
Eternity, in tongue celestial; Time
In dialect terrene. High Powers are all—
But them the Spirit celestial, in his care
And love mysterious, hides; and over them
A veil of darkness throws: is called the sphere
Of their concealment, Hell. But they in gloom,
Though each be solaced with a sister's love,
For freedom pine, and supplicate for light.
Them hears Terrestrial Nature; wild with woe,
Their cry she echoes, and the passionate moan
Doth pass 'tween Hell, and Earth, and Chaos fill.
‘Vain,’ Earth exclaims, ‘that I should children own,
Yet at my nipples they should never nest,
And my capacities of mother-love
Turn inward, so to madden. Love Divine—
Why are my chambers unarrayed, and void,
And Darkness on the Chaos where I lie;
A desolate vessel, floating an abyss?’

The youngest of her children then found voice—
‘Appeal not thou against the will of Heaven:

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Both wise, and just is he;—but know, thy strong
Desire is as a spell within my heart:
Free me;—when he descends, it shall prevail.’

Clad in the gloom of glory, Heaven, as wont,
Descended to embrace maternal Earth,
Hovering diffuse. On the material deep
Spirit paternal broods; whereat therefrom
A yearning harmony of sighs, and sounds
Arose; a charming music—sweet, as 'twere
By Wisdom's self even uttered; and, indeed,
Her mind it was Eternity informed,
And gave him all his power. Subdued by Love,
Heaven melted, and more tenderly embraced
Imploring Earth; more ardently impressed
Spirit the deep of Nature. What should be
New-born, was free to build, and occupy
The desolate spaces formless wheresoe'er.
Nor what is sworn by Heaven, by Spirit vowed,
Fulfilment may delay. Beauty at once,
Emerging from the deep, made Chaos glad,
And mighty Powers, Heaven's offspring, peopled Earth.

But Light is not; then Love, to be revealed,
Again speaks in thy heart, Eternity;
And gives to thee, and to thy Bride a Son,
Known by the glorious name of Lucifer.
By him is Light borne even into Hell,
And every Nature, fettered there, released,
With him, the eldest, masculine, who bore
Maternal appellation. Him they own
As most excelling; yet from gratitude,
Confess the youngest, who, by name of Time,
Governs both them, and all material powers.

But gratitude by greater benefit
May be outbid; and Light on Darkness grow
Unto the perfect noon.

Mysterious Time,

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As day the night, bright Lucifer usurps;
And the obscure Eternity, displaced
By the progressive Hours with radiant hair,
Retires to higher Heaven: So Wisdom wills;
So Love ordains.

The godship of the world
Thus Lucifer receives; and whom his light
Had franchised, they on him confer their gifts,
And hail him Prince of Air; the Lightning his,
And his the Thunder that succeeds the flash.

Thus Light was first revealed, unsphered, unorbed,
Shining upon the genesis of things,
A fluid mass, unshaped, unoccupied,
Informing it, and peopling Earth with Powers,
Ere yet the Ages in their cycles rolled.
—All is creating yet, created nought:
And Love creative acts eternally
On forces motionless, and nebulous,
Within the silent, dreamless mystery;
'Till Light appears, and Love, beholding, sees
That it is good, distinguishing the light
From darkness.—Loth, be sure, his reign to lose,
He wages conflict endless, and still pleads
His elder right. On him, and on his brood,
Light yet persistent wins, from less to more;
And with his triumph thus One Æra crowns.

So Wisdom wills; so Love. This War eterne
Is still of Love. Where Wisdom, Order is.
—Still Love ordains that, 'midst this sum of powers,
Order, made manifest, distinction make,
'Twixt power, and power; and whatso is above,
From whatso is beneath; forenaming it,
(As still the visible firmament we name,)
Spirit celestial, or the expanse of air,
Or, in the plural, the Disposing Heavens.
—For know, the Spiritual Heavens as many seem,

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Material Earths but one; yet, learn the truth,
That in the One is Many, and in the Many
One only, with the All preceding both;
Hence Love decrees, that Order, simply one,
Affirmed should be for Powers manifold,
Or rather Omniform as All in All;
Seven spirits waiting on the Throne of one,
Yet omnipresent through the Universe.
Darkness, meanwhile, with Light, in loving strife,
Contests supremacy; till victor Light,
New triumph won, a Second Æra crowns.

So Love, so Wisdom wills. Let Order rule
The subject living forces, and assign
To these a rare, and those a denser form,
Distinguishing the simple, and concrete;
And Love, contemplating their dual kinds,
One Fluid calls, one Solid; goodness sees
In each; and bids the womb of Matter teem
With Life, developed full, or in the germ;
Productive each of offspring, like itself,
Of solid, and of fluid each combined,
Proportional; organic. Ever Love
Looks on, and ever sees the work is good;
While on the shore of Darkness, like a flood
After long ebb, Light steals, and covering it,
New triumph won, the Third great Age completes.

So Love ordains, so Wisdom. Fit the Light
Should be constrained, and within spheres confined,
By All-disposing Order; in the Heavens
Displayed, gemmed on the bosom of the Air,
And sailing in the Spiritual Deep.
—Straight the Divine Intelligence impressed
Each passive force with motion. One and all,
Their centre seek; and, mingling in the chase,
Condense, and crystallize; and, circling round
The point of rest, with progress equable,

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Of solid, liquid, and ethereal, form
Both Sun, and Moon, and Planetary orbs;
Bearers of Light.

Then there was War in Heaven—
For Lucifer with Wisdom, conference high
Maintaining, had discoursed; and she, his parle
Repeating, of the Word Eternal gained
The passionate suit that it was Death to plead—
‘Grateful Vicissitude of Day, and Night,
Of Light, and Darkness; mutability
Wedding to Time as his terrestrial bride,
Whose law by marriage contract his became’—
—So sang the Hours, in hymeneal song,
Bridesmaidens they, erelong themselves to wed
The dark-browed Youths whose locks were raven black,
Children of Darkness; spite of their Old Sire,
Abhorring change, prohibiting revolt;
Darkness thrice-nameless, thrice-unknown; now named,
Now by the Stars invaded, and revealed,
Or wandering, or fixed. Then Knowledge rose,
Fair Wisdom's youngest brother, and would prate
Of Good, and Evil, in his frolic mood,
Which Darkness would not brook—and darker grew
With anger, frowning tempest.

Longer now,
The Battle might not wait; for Motion was,
And power, by power attracted, or repelled,
Shewed love, or hatred, in one sphere combined,
Or formed opposing worlds. The solar god
Poured, hot, and bright, his influence through the mass,
Erst cold, and dern, and modified at will
Material form; himself thus suffering loss,
Whereat was Darkness pleased, but soon repaired
By the pervading Lucifer, whose aid
Might omnipresent seem; such power was his,
Though short of that, the balance to preserve,

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Of qualities by constant interchange,
And revolution. Meet, howe'er, the god
Soon moderate his wrath; for its fierce heat,
Invading matter, else will all dissolve;
Diffused all form in space aëriform.
Some of resistive temper stubbornly
Maintain coherence; but, already, more,
Capacious of less heat, compactness lose;
A few of warmth impatient, melt at once.
Anon, his passion cooled; and all was safe,
Each form concrete held in its central place,
And new were still begotten—for the war,
Though furious, yet by Love was overruled.

Then there was born to Earth, and Heaven at once
The Angel Victory, who, with rapid flight,
Chased Darkness into refuge, where he reigns
Among the planets which no light has reached,
Two thirds of space. Thus the Fourth Age had end.—

Then Wisdom 'gan complain. ‘Lo, here is change
Of Night, and Day; and Signs, in the Expanse,
Are set for Seasons, and for Days, and Years.
And lo, my Brother Knowledge reads them all;
Ourself enthroned above.’ Then spake the Word.
‘Wouldst thou descend? Observe example first—
Life is in me; hence Light in Lucifer:
See, where he shines on high, the Morning-Star.
In him abiding, Light begetteth Life,
Which he would multiply in living shapes,
As Light in me begat Life Infinite,
And made thee Mother of all things that be.
—So let the waters teem with things of life,
The air with volant creatures. It is good.
Blessèd be ye. Increase, and multiply;
Fill ye the waters of the sea, make glad
The expanded air betwixt yon Heaven, and Earth.’

Thus while he spake, bright Lucifer unsphered

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His glory; and, his state forsook, became
The mystic instinct, and sagacity,
Of those who thus were blessed, the inhabitants
Of sea, and air; genius of winds, and streams;
His life their light, exalted in his fall;
Mutation constant, till the Fifth Age ends.

Which seeing, Wisdom sighed: ‘I yearn for Death.’
Answered the Eternal Word: ‘Have thy desire:
Thy death, by law of Love, makes needful mine;
But I consent to both, for love of thee.
—Let, therefore, Earth bring living creatures forth;
Cattle, and creeping things, and forest beasts,
According to their kinds. Lo, it is good.’

Thus earth was peopled. But there needed yet
A lord to rule this heritage of life,
The wild of savage natures, reptile forms.

Then spake the Word again. ‘Let Lucifer
Be mind to them, according to his prayer,
Which the Elohim grant. Befits that We,
Structure, sublimer far, intelligence;
More lofty front, and attitude erect.
For Love hath spoken, both in thee, and me.

‘Let us make Man, our Image, like Ourself,
Both male, and female; let them rule the tribes
Of Ocean, Air of earth, and Earth herself,
And the seed-bearing herb, and fruitful tree,
Possess for fruit.’

Then Wisdom, glad, exclaimed,
‘So my delights long promised shall arrive,
And with the Sons of Men shall I disport,
Within the habitable parts of Earth.’

Whereto the Word replied: ‘Wherefore myself
Must Man become, be born, and suffer Death;
And thou, the Universal Mother, yield
Homage, as Woman, to a mortal lord,
Travail with Time, and bring forth Truth with pain,

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To perish in an agony of fire,
Only regaining thus immortal life,
By me redeemed from sorrow, and the grave.
Tempted by Lucifer to this result,
Forewarned; by strong desire, and love compelled;
That thou, though wise before, shouldst learn to know,
And with experience fill the reason's void.’

The Sixth Age ended; there was Rest in Heaven.

Jehovah, the Elohim, one Jehovah:
O Word, O Wisdom, O Eternal Love;
O ninefold Mystery, uncreate, unnamed;
Darkness profound, impenetrable proved
By Light's excess, that blinds us as we gaze;
Most hides itself in that which most reveals;
And teaches Man, that God may not be known.
Both Good, and Evil are His ordonnance;
And Light, and Darkness; He created both.

When I had read, I bowed my pensive knee
To the great Parent of the Universe;
And ordered, then, a solemn Sacrifice,
In presence of the people. On the tomb
Of Adam, the devoted Lamb I slew,
And took his skin, and with his blood transcribed
A sacred Song; first sung by me, and them,
As, then and there, the Spirit had inspired
Me, erst by Wisdom made a Friend of God,
And Prophet, as she makes all holy souls,
Who welcome her, when she would enter in.

Before all Being, Love is God. Of Love,
Light-giving Love, the Father gives the Son
Life in himself to have, and propagate.
None shall the Father see, at any time,
But he to whom the Co-eternal Son

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Himself reveals, revealing so the Sire.
Such the decree. Paternal Throne of Love,
Unutterable, inaccessible,
Abides in Light that aye shall limit round
The universe, and nought shall comprehend
For ever, and for ever. None shall hear
His voice, the filial Word except, and he
To whom the Word his will supreme reveals,
Within whose bosom I consorted live.

Eternal Silence is not. Love bespeaks
‘The Son—I am:’ and the Word answers—‘Yea,
Father, thou art, and I in thee!’ To whom
The Eternal Father:—‘Lo, I swear; of thee
And for thee are the Heavens, and the Earths:
Both the Beginning, and the End art thou.’
Where to the Son—‘According to thy will,
I constitute the Ages.’ And, at once,
Beginning is, the Heavens, the Earths are made;
Nor void, nor formless, nor in darkness hid
To the Creatours, though, unuttered yet,
In the Beginning lives the Word with Love;
Profound, unfathomable abyss, anon
Inspired, and vocal, . . Love become the Word,
And the far Spirit circumscribing space,
That Wisdom may complete the Work of Power.

Behold; the Heavens outspread, expanse of Air
In motion, destined to dispose the place
Of worlds innumerable, radiant orbs.
Nor Light is not. The Spirit obeys the Voice
Eternal; and, in floods of ether, Time
Transpicuous, from the agitated deep
Electric, . . whirling as a wheel, by force
Of the strong wind, that, like an eagle's wings,
Flutters above its waters, as a nest
Where life is teeming, . . soars, empyreal youth,
And beautiful as young. Thereat the Light

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Comes forth to welcome him; he, at her breasts
Cradled, grows in her aspect lovely, till
She diadems with day-beams his smooth brows;
And ancient Darkness hides but half a world.
Thereat to hail him is the rush of Floods,
And Heaven itself descendeth to divide
Their rivalry. The Land and Main appear,
And own his domination. Then with dance,
And voice of melody, and lyres of gold,
The choral Stars rejoice, with Sun, and Moon;
The finny nations of the watery deep,
Winged people of the aëreal hemisphere,
The children of the forest, and the field,
Make earth, and air, and ocean, glad with life.
Shout loud with joy the sons of Love in heaven—
Soon silent, for the Elohim speaking thus:

‘Let us make Man in our own Image.’ So
In his own Image, Love createth Man.
—Thus are the Heavens created, and their Hosts;
The Earths with their Inhabitants are made,
Creating yet, creating evermore.

Six eves, and morns the work divine endures,
And the profound knows motion; storm, and calm
Meting the days, and making each an æra.

Perfect in its completions, Love beholds
His Universe, and all pronounces good;
Fit altar for his worship—temple fit
For Man to dwell in: and, by seeing Love,
In nature visible, conform his works
To his exemplar, . . perfect, and preserve
His breathèd soul's similitude divine.
Then Love into his solitude retires,
And hallows his repose; hence sanctifies
The Seventh Day to man, recurring sign
Of his perpetual peace . . memorial aye
Of his creation, and completing joy.

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III. Death and Obsequies of Adam

Hear now the Words that Wisdom spake to me.
‘Before his Works of Old, thus ere the earths,
And heavens, ere the hills, and skies, and floods,
In the Beginning of his Mystery,
I Wisdom dwell with him, and with his Word,
Whenas his Law gives Order to the Heavens,
And his Commandment binds the Waters in,
And his Decree establishes the Earths,
Rejoicing in the Fountain of all Love,
Who still becomes Intelligence, and Life,
In Angels, Man, and creatures still express.

Nor Earth to me is not, nor void of Man,
Its habitable parts unpopulous.
But with the Sons of Men I still delight,
Partaking my Divinity with them,
Even to self-utterance.’ Wisdom, while Man speaks,
Prompts the pleased mind, and Beauty charms the soul—
Whence Eden, with her smile irradiate, blooms
A Paradise of joy; the common earth
Blossoms into a Garden sanctified,
Whose streams are nectar, whereat Angels drink,
Ornate with Trees whose fruit is food for gods—
Charms all too much. In her Immortal Form,
Man seeks Eternal Substance; and desire,
Creative in subsistent Loveliness,
Fruition finds. So twain becomes of One,
And Male, and Female rule the World of Life,
The Image that of Love; of Wisdom this.

One Being Woman, communed with by Man,
High Knowledge gaining, and, therewith, desire
To contemplate the Beautiful that should
Reflect herself, the Beauty in all Forms—
Thereto by the Atoning Cherub led,
The radiant Lucifer, thence Satan called,

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Whose heart by his own brightness now seduced,
To make division in the works of God,
Would with his own ambition prompt the Eve,
So name the Woman, of all women type.

Fresh from the feast of Knowledge, and of Death,
With more than nectar, or with food divine,
Filled, elevate, sublimed, enrapt, inspired,
To full voluptuous joy; Eve aimed at Heaven,
Nor less than Wisdom's self, the Bride of God,
Felt in her own esteem—spiritual pride,
Wherewith the soul reels drunken in excess;
And in her beauty thus, serene, severe,
With loveliest invitation, dalliance soft,
Wooes to the banquet rare her yielding lord.
Spell-bound by her desire—her will made his—
His life within her lap dissolves away,
She dying in his arms; from which sweet death
Both rise again, she teeming with new life,
Conceived in sin, but born to be redeemed.

Hence Many of the Twain. Hence All the Forms,
In Men, and Women, of the Wise, and Fair—
Emblem of very man, not very man,
Emblem of woman, not true woman, each;
Such as their everlasting archetypes,
The Word, and Wisdom that with God abide.

Distinction first, then Separation comes,
But not Expulsion; till the Cherub dares
To lure the loving Will to outward act
Of Knowledge mixed for pure, both good, and ill.
Distant from Paradise, two Sexes then,
Of earthly generatours earthly heirs,
Sad exiles to a world that travails still,
By Labour win a Garden from the Wild,
And die—to know, what else can not be known.

No Image, hence, of Love is fallen Man,

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But Symbol mere of Wisdom, partial sign;
And Woman but of Beauty the mere type,
Who should have been of Wisdom Image fair.
Yet Hope survives, though Innocence depart,
And Faith, and Love shall triumph over Death.
The Soul consumes the Sin wherein it burns,
With glory crowning, and transfiguring
The house of Death into Life's elements,
Making it radiant ere invisible,
Hallowed, and hallowing. Transgression thus
Preludes Salvation, which of twain makes one,
In dissolution but renewal finds.

Befits, in truth, such mysteries be veiled—
For Shame would Nature's nakedness defend,
And Grace in pity clothes the shrinking soul.
Better than words the hallowed symbols suit,
Which our revered progenitor himself
Bade to be pictured on his altar-tomb.
Lo, the Elohim breathe into the man,
Created of the dust, the breath of lives,
Whence he of clay becomes a living soul.

I, Wisdom, give instruction unto Men,
For I am Understanding, and with me
Is Prudence, Wealth, and Power from everlasting;
The Word of God the Genitor of all,
Through Him in the Beginning filiate;
Father of Spirits, Love Ineffable,
The Saviour, the Redeemer, evermore.
—With the First-Born, the Man his Mother hailed
As Him the Hope of Ages yet to come,
I communed from his birth; but Labour made
My lessons hard, whereby would Cain deserve
What else I proffered freely. Wroth he grew,
Full of the rage to know, and wish to merit;
Yea, and in all that he would still deserve,
And still would know, the Fury recognised,

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That appetite of thirst, and hunger keen
Kept in his soul alive. Thus outwardly
Possessed, as still within; companions fierce,
Shapes of strange anger, Terrours without name,
Him from me wooed, and carried thorough realms
Of Death, and Hades; in whose murmurs wild
He learned the lore of War, and 'gan rejoice
In battle for the love of victory—
Debating, first, in words what, in the end,
Yields but to the arbitrament of blows,
Charged with the death of either combatant.
So Cain his brother slew, disputing first
The creed that both had heard from infancy;
Hence, 'twixt their rival altars, Abel fell.’

I write what ye do know. My words are truth,
Whereof, O fathers, witnesses are ye.
Adam, our Father, gave me in command
To gather, as the youngest of them all,
The patriarchs together, that they might
Be present at the death of the First Man,
To whom the Spirit had his end foretold.
Ye came, Seth, Enos, Cainan, Mahalaleel,
And Jared; and, with me, and with my son,
Methuselah, around the couch of age,
In grave solicitude, and silent awe,
His words attended, while he thus began.

‘Our God is good, Jehovah—God of gods—
Our dwelling-place before the mountains were,
Heaven's canopy was spread, or ocean flowed.
In his own likeness, God created Man,
And placed him in a happy Paradise,
And wedded him to Woman. On the law
Of God we meditated with delight;
To covet not, even knowledge, though divine.
His law was love, obedience loving him;

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Love strong in hope, and fortified by faith:
And doubt was not until was tempted Eve,
To effort vain, of knowledge without power.
Then was revealed the Love we dared suspect.
—Evening came on: On the refreshing breeze
Walked great Jehovah's Voice—the Merciful—
And question done, and judgement passed, resumed
Such condescension, that I hailed aloud
Eve, Mother of all Living; so decreed,
To manifest the perfect Man divine.
—‘Why doubtedst thou Our love, who gave thee life?
Why fearedst that They from thee should knowledge hide,
Who made thee in their image, nor in this
Dissimilar? We would that thou shouldst know
Thy strength, but he thy weakness who seduced.
Election made, necessity begins.
Go—win by labour what free grace had given:
Aim to be gods; and be such but in aim:
So lose the end in the endeavour, till
Toil be the whole, and nothing the reward.
Earth shall ask sweat enough, and nature veil
Herself to much enquiry . . oft to all.
Such is the curse. Yet shall salvation be
Wrought, though with trembling, out. A race shall rise,
The kings, and priests of men, who shall uphold
Faith, or for good, or evil, and attain
Knowledge, or power; and human fears, and hopes
Shall hang on mortal wills: and these shall mount
Exalted to celestial seats, and earth
Adore them—heroes, demigods, and gods:
Till One shall come, who from their hands shall wrest
Their sceptres, shall dethrone them from their skies.
Meantime must God, and Man be twain, till He
Shall reunite:—In sign whereof, observe
What now I do, and oft the rite perform.’
—Thus saying; straight he of earth an altar piled,

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And on it laid an holocaust, and slew
The anointed beasts, as I do now, and said,
‘Lo, Adam, this is Death.’ We saw—were thrilled—
‘Fear not, for this shall your last refuge be
From sorrow . . here behold the gate of Heaven.
And now the Fire of heaven that ye will need,
Thus willingly I render to your use—
The life that ye have shed, Heaven shall accept
And reunite unto its fount above—
And thus ye are atoned. In proof whereof,
Be clothed ye with these sacrificial skins,
Cover from shame, and armour for defence
'Gainst elemental nature, waked to strife
By your transgression. Thus by wisdom live—
And art and patience, faith and fortitude,
Obstruction shall subdue, or if not, death.’
—The while he spake, the flame descended there,
And quaffed the blood; and o'er our limbs he spread
The skins from off the holocaust; as now,
The flame descends upon our sacrifice,
And ‘I invest thee, Seth, with this same skin,
And consecrate thee Patriarch, and Priest.’

And while Seth knelt, as, prescient of his death,
Adam on him the hallowed raiment put,
He said: ‘This done, the Merciful pursued:
‘But now ye have become like us, to know
Both good, and ill, and much ambition shewn,
And less submission; ye may deem to thwart
The doom of death, and, plucking from the Tree
Of Lives, become immortal in your sin,
And earn eternal sorrow. Hence it needs
The way be barred, that Life be not outlived,
And Paradise become unparadised.
Therefore, without its walls, I do return
With you unto the Place whence thee I brought,

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O Adam; there to till the ground wherefrom
I took thee.’ So he drave us forth, and left,
East of the garden, there his Cherubim,
Whereon he rode in living majesty,
To frustrate all return, until the hour
When death sets free the soul, and that great time
When for the world atonement shall be made.
—My hour is come. Farewell. Restore to earth
Earth's perishable dust.’

So Adam died.
—Six days were past in sorrow. These elapsed,
The race of Adam at his obsequies
Assembled. Seth, the Patriarch, and the Priest,
Amidst the multitudes, where now I stand,
In venerable dignity, prepared
The sacrifice of burial. In cold earth
The body of our father he entombed;
Saying, ‘As thus the chamber of the grave
Within, his mortal frame reposes here,
Thus in the bowers of Paradise his soul,
In visionary slumber, findeth peace,
Till their re-union in the end of time.’

Tears then were shed; a loud lament arose
From thousands, and from thousands. ‘And is this
The hope of man? Are all his days of toil
Decreed to this reward? Hath Adam died,
Even like the holocaust we sacrificed?
Perishes man as perishes the worm,
And, mingling with the dust, is seen no more?’

Loud sobs were heard, and then the clamour ceased;
At length, a Stranger from the Land of Naid
Rose in the midst . . and, asking with his hand
Attention, thus began: ‘Such are the hopes
Of miserable man. Knew ye not Death
Before? I knew him, King of Terrours, ere
Your generation was; for I beheld
Young Abel die, whose blood cried from the ground.’

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Hereat was raised the question, like a shout—
‘Cain? art thou Cain?’ . . He answered, ‘I am Cain:’
And, taking off his iron crown, exclaimed—
‘Behold the sign upon my writhen brow,
Branded by God, devoted Fratricide,
First witness of man's death, first murtherer.
I rose against him in my wrath, for he,
Who shed blood of the firstlings of his flock,
Was pleasing to his Maker; while I—I—
Who offered of the produce of my toil,
Was hateful in his sight. I tilled the earth;
I fattened it with sweat, and watered it
With tears, . . for food, . . all to prolong this life,
This miserable life, whose end ye see.
He ate the food who earned not; but his days
Passed idly, contemplating with delight
The soil accursed, whose stubbornness would yield
Only to labour—painful, and severe.—
Alas, my lovely brother. I esteemed
Thy life but vanity . . and what is mine?
Vanity only more laborious, cursed.
A curse—a curse—a curse is on the earth,
And death within its bosom, night, and hell,
Populous hell, and night depopulate.’

Then from the ground rose Eve; where, weeping, she
Had sate, and ran to clasp her long-lost son—
Spurned rudely.—‘Cain,’ she cried, ‘my first-born son:
A happy mother I, when thou wert born:
When I to Adam said, that I had got
The man Jehovah.’—

‘I the first-born man—
Why by another are these rites performed?
Behold, a king am I. Lo, I am crowned.
The diadem conceals a branded brow—
Ye have no kings among you, . . look on me; . .
The blood I shed did consecrate me such;
Fearful my name, and sacred made my life.

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Thou art Sin's mother—Death was my red son,
Who, like an harvest man asweat with toil,
Perspires all gore, dissolved in bloody dews—
Anon, he makes huge havoc with the race,
Long-time preserved, of Adam, the Unborn,
Yet dead. And soon his father shall he slay,
And I will bid him hail, and be no more.’

Then spake the youngest of the fathers there,
Enoch: . . ‘Why are ye silent, sons of God?
Ye fathers of the family of men?
Man was by God created, and was found
Of him, by nature ignorant, and wild,
Spread on the ground whence he had taken him:
Then did he lead him by the hand into
A Paradise of pleasure, and contract
With him a gracious covenant, that he
Might soar by wisdom, on the wings of faith,
To blessèd life, to immortality,
From carnal lusts abstaining; and appoint
A righteous law to manifest his sin,
If he transgressed. Then did he drive him forth,
To win by labour what the soul, absorbed
In sensible indulgence, indolent,
Left unattempted in a state of ease.
And know ye not, prophetic Adam taught,
Death is not final, but transition mere
To an immortal state for weal, or woe.
And while we speak, his spirit hovers near,
And weeps for pity at this blasphemy.’

Then Cain laughed loud. ‘His spirit, even now
Ye said, had sped to Paradise—'tis here,
'Tis there—or any where; but where it is,
Ye know not, . . ay, or that it is.’ Then tears
Channelled his rugged cheeks. ‘How oft have I,
In the lone visions of the night, with loud
And earnest prayers, and groanings from the soul,

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Called upon Abel to appear to me,
And soothe my spirit with his presence once,
In sign of pardon, or that I had not
Extinguished all his being. He heard not
My supplication; had he heard, he would
Have come, . . for he was ever gentle. No—
There is no hope for man. But on the grave,
The gate of hell, sits, like a fiend, Despair.’

And saying thus, he vanished; and the rest
Departed sad, a mournful company.

Returning to the realm o'er which he ruled,
Cain, the man-slayer, the death-angel slew;
By touch ethereal slain, and not by man.

IV. Translation of Enoch

How swift the years fly past, yet not as flies
The traceless arrow through the closing air.
Body, and soul, they do impress on man
The signs that they have been; for what are they
But motions of his own activity,
Whose very thoughts imperishable are,
Inscribed by God within his Book of Doom?

Upon the race of Seth, the words of Cain
Sank deeply, with the death of the Unborn,
The first-created man. Dispute ensued,
High argument; nor might assurance high
Of angels, visiting the sons of men,
Celestial testimony, to convince
The sceptic mind suffice; who'll not believe,
No satisfaction, even in knowledge, finds.
Nay, even to demon oracles recourse
Was had—of whom Cain's race enquiry made,
And oft received forged answer. Conference,
And intercourse succeeded. Then the Sons
Of God the Daughters saw of men, how fair,

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How lovely, how adorned, how sweetly wise
And amiably accomplished, and they took
Them wives at their election. Pure alone
The children of the blood-devoted dead,
Abel, who all impurity abhorred,
And, in simplicity of faith, and deed,
Continued shepherds of the sacred flocks
For sacrifice appointed, whence the shame
Of man is covered, and his sin forgiven,
And man is reconciled unto his God.
Thus was the faith preserved—but not without
The martyr's peril; and thereon was one,
Enoch the Scribe, who looked with much concern.

Soon to the holy mountain he retired,
And fasted . . forty days; and, all that time,
Trances, and visions kept his soul alive,
Though weeping, and in sorrow. Him none saw,
His tears hid in the fountain of his heart.
But angels his companions were; by night,
Their sympathy was in the star-light shed,
By day in the thin clouds that veiled the sun,
Too garish for his grief; and He in heaven
Him saw in secret, and consoled with gleams,
Unspeakable, and therefore never told,
Of joys celestial. Abstinence hath charms,
Earnestly lovely . . such that ye would say,
The beautiful, and true were in her face,
So mingled that the fair were the unfading—
So gracefully severe, the enamoured heart
Might ne'er believe that it was changeable—
Nay, Faith of its eternity would dream.
Thus oft into the Eternal 'twould transport
Thought as he gazed, and in the ravished soul
Wake the prophetic faculty, whose pens
Climb heaven, entering that Other world to come,
Which yet now is, even here, and every where.

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Then came the Word of God to Enoch's soul,
And Michael, prince of human virtue, stood
Before him in his martial majesty,
Warriour of heaven, and said:

‘Offence abounds,
Man doubts the life within him, God-inbreathed,
And fear with hope hath vanished from the earth;
Twin-sisters they, wings of the soul; and force
Rules dominant, till murther bid him pause.
Therefore go thou, and take thy Book with thee,
Which thou hast written with sacrific blood,
And to the Mount of Paradise repair,
Where, at the orient gate, the Cherubim
Entrance forbid; there, where I gave thee once
The Tablet of Creation; summon there
The people; they shall hear the voice of God,
And thou shalt prophesy as he shall prompt,
Sufficient for the time. Yet they shall scorn,
At length, thy sayings; nay, the voice of God
Reject, albeit now the sons of men
Be on this side of the baptizing flood,
That o'er the world shall spread the pall of death,
Redeeming so the earth from violence.
For though no veil the glorious throne obscure,
And from the presence of his God divide
Man, or from spiritual intercourse
Debar, with angels, or with demons; yet
Fail even Hope's present objects to secure
Faith in the promises. Hence, is it writ
In heaven—the decree is written there—
Death shall between man, and his hopes stand dark,
And faith come by the ear—nought by the eye:
Until the grave the Place of Hope expand,
Where, till the time of consummation, rest
Her spirits disincarnate, prisoners,
Region of vision, but itself unseen.’

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And Enoch did appoint a solemn day,
And Eden was assembled there, before
The sacred hill, in presence of the Lord.
The mountain melted, and the Cherubim
Paled to the nothing of obscurity
Before Jehovah's shadow. Him the cloud
Hid, him the fire concealed, him round about
Thunder, and lightning girt; the mountain quaked
Beneath the footsteps of Omnipotence.
Unto the midst of heaven the mountain burned,
And fire, and darkness his pavilion were.
He rent the heavens, and came down; and man
Dissolved in fear before him, as in death.
The trumpet pealed between; and as it waxed
Louder, and longer, Enoch raised his voice
As on an eagle's wing, and, strong in faith,
Spake; and to him the Voice of God replied.
Thus summoned, Enoch entered up the mount
Into the darkness of excessive light,
And held mysterious commune for awhile.
Anon, returned to earth, his countenance
Dazzled the gaze of men, and awed them back;
Then he the Coming of the Lord proclaimed:

‘He cometh with ten thousands of his saints,
Judgement forthwith on all to execute,
And all that are ungodly to convince
Of their ungodly deeds, and their hard speech,
Which against him, Most Holy, they have dared.
Upon the living Tablets of your Hearts
His Laws are written; all have read them there;
And yet, as if unwritten, and unread,
Like beasts ye live whom God created men.
Hither, thou trembling Sinner. Stand thou forth,
And answer for thy sin. What God is thine?’

And he who thus was called upon replied;
—‘I bow the knee unto the Teraphim,

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And they have answered me, and made me rich
In herds, and wives, and numerous progeny.
Their glory is less terrible than Their's
That flash, and fulmine over Paradise.’
Then rolled the thunder louder, and the hill
More wrathfully cast out consuming flame,
And lightning smote the sinner to the earth.

Then came another, summoned to the bar.
‘What is that graven image in thy house?’

‘'Tis of my father, for he taught me much
Of knowledge, and my hand instructed so,
That, by its cunning, I can touch the harp,
And organ to such harmony as wraps
The soul in ecstacy. Divine his art,
And he adorable.’

Scarce had he said,
When rolled the thunder louder, and the hill
More wrathfully cast out consuming fire,
And lightning smote the sinner to the earth.

Then came another, summoned to the bar.
—‘Why callest thou upon the name of God?’

‘His name escaped my lips, for o'er my frame
Cold shudders crept, and so I uttered it,
As I am wont in terrour, or surprise.’

And then again the thunder louder rolled,
And wrathfully the hill blazed high in heaven,
And the just lightning smote the sinner dumb.

Another, summoned to his doom, advanced.
—‘Why, on this high and holy day, wherein
God rested from his work, that spade bearst thou?’

‘I was a-working in my field, when men
Told me of what was passing here of strange,
And wonderful; so from my work I came,
Who seldom, if at all, vacation know.’

Then rolled the thunder louder, and the hill
More wrathfully cast out consuming flame,

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And lightning smote the sinner to the earth.

Then came another, summoned to the bar.
—‘Why with such scorn lookst thou upon that old
Woman, and man—thy mother, and thy sire?’

‘For they are old and feeble, and in age
Ridiculous, mere objects of contempt.’

Then rolled the thunder louder, and the hill
More wrathfully cast out consuming flame,
And lightning smote the sinner into dust.

Another, summoned to his doom, advanced.
—‘Why with such scowling brow gloatst thou on him?’

‘He is my enemy—I slew his sire,
And him will slay; for they have done me wrong.’

Even while he spake, the thunder rolled aloud,
Fierce burned the mount, and him the lightning slew.

Another, summoned to his doom, advanced.
—‘What woman she with those lascivious eyes,
Who hangs upon thee fearful, while yon man
Creeps close behind you, with desponding look?’

‘He is her sometime husband—I am now.’

Loud rolled the thunder, fierce the mountain burned,
And the just lightning smote the sinner blind.

Then came another, summoned to the bar.
—‘Whence gottest thou that staff?’

‘It lay beside
An aged man asleep, a useless thing;
I took it thence to help me on my way.’

Even while he spake, the thunder rolled aloud,
Fierce burned the mount, and him the lightning smote.

Then came another, summoned to the bar.
—‘Why doth that man upon thee thus exclaim?’

‘He is my neighbour, whom, before the judge,
I charged with deeds which ne'er, he saith, he did.’

Loud rolled the thunder; fierce the mountain burned,
And the just lightning smote the sinner dumb.

Then came another, summoned to the bar.

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—‘Why lookest thou with such a stedfast gaze
Upon that ass whereon thy neighbour rides?’

‘I do affect it for its strength, and shape.’

Again the Mount of Paradise burned up,
Alive with the avenging Cherubim,
Into the midst of heaven, with thunderings,
And lightnings, and the noise of trumpet. Then
Spake Enoch, and the ungodly so convinced
Of their ungodly deeds; even while they feared,
And shrunk back from the radiance of his brow,
For their hard speeches them he thus reproved:

‘Ye murmurers against the ways of God,
O ye complainers for the doom of man;
Ye who prefer to feed upon the dust,
Like serpents, yet disdain the serpent's doom;
Who lose the sense of immortality,
No longer worthy even of transient life,
And therefore justly dread eternal death.
What proof ask ye? If ye have none in you,
None can be given—avails no miracle—
Nor such vouchsafed, but that the sensual man
May be without excuse. Yet, after death,
Know ye, is victory, or discomfiture—
Victory to him who's valiant to the end,
And overcometh. Wrath, and shame to him
Who fails with sin to war, and is subdued.
But that ye may have reason to believe,
I do ascend the sacred Mount of God,
And, without dying, enter Paradise.’

So saying, calmly, and in majesty,
He did ascend the cherub-guarded hill,
And passed the flaming sword. He walked with God,
And was not, for his God accepted him.

These are the words which Seth spake, in the day
When he received the Book that Enoch wrote,

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Unto Jehovah, who created him.

Thou art Jehovah: terrible art thou
In mercy. On thy horses thou didst ride,
Thy chariots of salvation bore thee on.
From midst the myriads of the hosts of heaven,
The Holy One with glory clad the sky,
And fire consumed the mountain where he trod.

Perfect in beauty, and in wisdom full,
Anointed Cherub: who, in Paradise,
Garden of God, his new-created Man
Didst cover with unshamèd innocence,
Within the Holy Mountain; till, profane,
Thou wert cast out from 'mong the Thrones of Light.
Thine heart was for thy beauty lifted up,
Thy wisdom was corrupted, verily,
By reason of thy brightness. Thou art now
Brought to the dust, O thou who hast defiled
Thy sanctuaries with iniquities.
Therefore will God bring forth, from thee amidst,
A fire that shall devour thee. Thou shalt be
A terrour, and shalt perish utterly.

Jehovah is in judgment terrible.
When him I heard, my bowels shook, . . my lips
Quivered, and rottenness was in my bones;
They trembled under me, and for the day
Of tribulation groaned my inmost soul.

O terrible in judgements; thou in wrath
Rememberest mercy. Wherefore waxst thou hot
'Gainst Man seduced? Ah—wherefore should the Foe
Say, that for mischief thou revealedst him?
Jehovah: thou art God, and thou wilt be
Gracious to whom thou wilt, to whom thou wilt
Be merciful. Jehovah, God of gods,
Gracious, and merciful—long-suffering—
Bounteous of truth, and goodness, laying up
Mercy for thousands, and forgiving all

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Iniquity, transgression, sin; and thou
Wilt not excuse the sinner, visiting
The sire's iniquity upon the child,
Unto the generation third, and fourth.

I ever in Jehovah will rejoice,
In God, my Saviour, ever will exult—
Jehovah, the Almighty, is my strength,
And I will trust in him for evermore.
For of his Bounty he created man.

And Enoch left a Widow, and her name
Was Edna, and she dwelt in Armon with
Seth's household. Calm was Edna in her grief,
If grief it were that, in the certitude
Of Enoch's immortality, rejoiced.
Nor was she lonely. With her Son was she,
Methuselah; and many Sons, and Daughters
Beside surrounded her, a numerous tribe—
Ay, and beneath her heart she bare a Babe
Unborn, and when her days of travail closed,
The Mother in her Infant's face beheld
The shadow of her smile. Then on her heart
She pressed the Child, and named her from herself—
She called her Edna. And the Daughter grew,
As like to her in nature as in name,
In every feature like, in stature like,
Gesture, and act, and attitude of grace.
And so her heart was cheered for Enoch gone,
By this the living Pledge he left behind,
His Testament to her, as was his Book
Unto the Race of Men . . . a Word, not dead
As that is unto many, but with life
Still breathing, glowing, beautiful and fair.
And Seth did build two Pillars by the tomb
Of Adam—by that altar-tomb he built them,

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And them inscribed with old tradition true.

Stern Cain spake to his Mother, while she wept;
‘Sin was of thy conception, Death of mine.’
For Cain had smitten Abel as they worshipped;
Since God accepted Abel's sacrifice,
And Cain's rejected. Firstlings of the flock
Meek Abel offered, first-fruits of the ground
Cain. For Cain said: ‘The Lord of life was Lord
Of earth—one God breathed spirit into man,
And brooded o'er the void of formless earth.
Sent he not cold, and heat, and stubborn soil
Of culture difficult, and pain of toil,
Sickness, and sorrow, and infirmity
Of flesh, whence evil, and remorse, and fear?’
—So to appease vindictive Deity,
He offered of his works, that he might heal
In them what needed labour, and caused grief.
But Abel's prayer was to the God of Love,
Who chastened thus the creature, that the soul
Might be made perfect, and the will renewed;
Which else would die of ire, by God consumed
In mercy, lest worse evil all destroy.
Willing, life offered he to him who gave,
Submitting to the Chastener, even to death,
So he might be redeemed, and manhood saved.
Such the discourse they held; but Cain was wroth,
And rose against his brother, smote, and slew.

Then spake to Cain Jehovah—‘Where is Abel,
Thy brother?’ And he answered, ‘I know not:
Am I my brother's keeper?’—Then God said:
‘What hast thou done? Voice of thy brother's blood
Cries from the ground to me. Accursed of earth:
Whose mouth has opened to receive his blood . .
Thy brother's blood from thy unrighteous hand;
Now when the ground thou tillest, it henceforth

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Shall not yield of her strength to thee; become
A fugitive, and wanderer in the earth.’
Then Cain Jehovah answered: ‘Punishment
Like this is mightier far than I can bear;
Exiled from face of human earth, and thine,
A fugitive, and wanderer, whoso
Shall find will slay me.’ But Jehovah said:
‘Vengeance seven-fold on him that slayeth Cain.’
And of his will in this straightway a sign
Miraculous appointed. From the wild
The savage Steed he called, and on its mane
Laid his almighty hand, and it was tamed;
Then on its shoulders placed the fugitive:
In fear he crouched upon the horse's neck;
But the Compassionate raised then his head,
And, touching thus his brow, left there a trace
Of wonderous power, the fingers of a God.
So, from the presence of the Cherubim,
Went forth sad Cain, and in the land of Naid
Dwelt, east of Eden; father of a race.

And Adam knew again his Wife, who bare
A Son, and called him Seth; for God to her
Another had appointed in the stead
Of Abel, whom Cain slew. And this is he
On whom the Book of Enoch was bestowed,
Who built these Pillars, and these Words inscribed.

END OF EIGHTH BOOK.

259

BOOK THE NINTH. THE PYRAMIS

I. The City

The Book of Enoch read, the Monarch's soul
Was solaced. ‘Let us hence,’ he cried: ‘I will
Once more look on the City which I built;
Yet not to pamper pride, but smite it down,
Heart-wounded with remorse. Thou shalt behold—
Thou shalt support me. I have not the strength
To go alone; the abiding fortitude,
To contemplate how vain was all my toil,
The labour of my hands, and of my soul.
Prophet of God: O thou shalt hear my voice;
My spirit shall repose on thine. Report
My words unto the people; they may be
Rich by my loss, and in my folly wise.’

‘Amen;’ said Noah: and they went along.

From Eden's Hill four Rivers are derived;
The consecrated Garden of the Lord
Their sacred Fountain boasts; each cedared aisle
It waters, myrtle porch, and verdant shrine,
In that primeval temple, holier far,
Richer, more beautiful than Solomon's.
Nor other temple did Jehovah own,
In these first ages of the world of man.

By the Fourth Stream, the vassal of his rule,
The Monarch shaped his melancholy course:
Whatever realm it wandered, homaged him;
How famous each, and all.—'Twas his renown
Which gave to them a soul, and bade them live;

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Who now scarce lives himself; whose nature is
Degraded to the perishable brute.
The King went on: they followed silently.
—Soon, at the city gates, they overtook
Zateel, and Tamiel entering; who, behind
The people, lingered in desire, and fear,
Wishing, yet dreading, to remain with them,
The Monarch, and the Favoured of the Lord.

The portalled arch magnific entered now,
Whose massy gates were made for giant throngs,
And on the enormous hinge were now thrown back;
Left by the panic-hurried multitude,
Unfolded, wide displayed; like a huge book,
A dead magician's volume vast of page:
—(With their companions, diversely disposed,
Shaming the brazen gates of Babylon
In their excess of number, and of size:)—
Behold, the pavement of the expanded street
They tread; a populous solitude, now thronged,
Now empty: for each man within his house
Harboured his fear, nor once reverted look,
Dreading again that Monarch's countenance,
And hearing his approaching step, in thought,
Following hard on each apprehensive heel.
Silence was conscious of his presence; yea,
She deepened as she felt it, and became
Thrice hushed—thrice lonely Solitude became.
Silence of Solitude seemed nurse; and stilled,
Even as a mother would a sleeping child,
Its recent slumber to profounder rest;
And, like a mother, on surrounding things,
Inanimate, or human, quietude,
As with a frown significant, imposed.
—On the broad pavement of the expanded way,
Were heard not their feet-echoes. Stealthily
They walked; and street, and square, and every high

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Locality of the metropolis,
Did visit, and each edifice sublime.
The traveller from Babylon, or Rome,
Had marvelled, in the palmiest days of each,
Had such a city for his survey been.
Arch, column, monument, and pontifice,
Palace, and garden, temple, and theatre,
Were there for him to question, and admire.

'Twas noon: and the hot sun shone on the stone;
And all the capitol, as molten glass,
Reflected its own glory on every hand.
Then to the Palace of his pride, but now
Of his humility, the Monarch led
The solemn way. Shrunk back on either side
The menials, thus surprised, with awe; and each
Interchanged with his fellow eager looks.
—The spiry staircase now ascended he;
Through lofty hall, by ample corridor,
And mile-long gallery, he went: then, roamed
The vacant presence chamber, rooms of state,
Titanic in dimension; as vied art
With nature, seeking to distend herself
To her god-made capacity; superb,
And sumptuous, and with ornament enriched,
With pillar, and with statue: swelling high,
In alabaster multiplicity,
To a wide ceiling, like a firmament,
Moving in constant revolution o'er,
Showering down perfumes, and sweet waters; as
By subtle magic. On a gorgeous couch
Reposed the Sorceress; in as gorgeous robes
She lay, magnificent in slumber. Still
She slept, with heat meridian sore oppressed,
And study of strange charm. Her indoor craft,
While all the people were gone forth the gates;
Regal in her seclusion, seldom seen,

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Wild invocations Amazarah spun,
The mother of the king. He saw her thus,
And blessed her, in the hope that God ere long
Would cause her to repent. He waked her not,
And so departed. On the Terrace he
Forth issued, and the pendant Gardens, built
Arch above arch, fair paradises: thence,
Dilated in wide circuit, saw, beneath,
The spacious City; saw with other eyes
Than once, and wept: then hastened from the view;
And, with precipitate return, regained
The threshold of the dome. Away—away,
Unto the Temple of the Pyramis.
Beyond the extreme of yon suspended Bridge,
Ascends the Pile stupendous. Now, the stream
Surmounted, they arrived at its broad base,
Where those earthquake-defying foundations delved
That bore the astounding fabric. Them about,
A Temple, like a wallèd square, inclosed
An ample area. At the foot, behold,
A Man of giant stature, and huge limb,
Recumbent, scaled with his ambitious eye
The punctual summit of the ascending spire,
Till it distinguished through the crystal tube,
With exquisite distinction, the nice point
That tapered into air, like air itself.
—Alas; his look was melancholy; bent
To earth, dejected; when returned from that
Sufficing, soul-dissatisfying theme.

He saw the Monarch now, and rose in haste,
But straight assumed his re-collected state,
And stood erect in proud equality,
Barkayal—the transcendent Architect.
Drawing his purple robe about his loins,
Displaying in his hand his gold-leaved book;
Instant he 'gan to sketch his vast conceits,

263

Creations which alone his mind might dare.
He was the Founder of the Pyramis.

Art vaunteth ever. Enter ye within
The enormous porch of that stupendous fane,
Co-eterne temple of the pyramis,
That had beginning, but no end shall have:
Such was the builder's hope, whose large heart heaved
For more than diuturnity, to him,
And his creations. In those days, man's life
Had that extent, and term. Existence mere
Of corruptible body, then, surpassed
That of ethereallest spirit now;
If her hereafter be but in the fame
Of deeds, or words, or silence—wisely timed;
For 'tis occasion maketh nobler act
Of noble thought, though act extern be none;
(Witness the seven days' silence during which
Lamech affliction bore; then cursed his birth,
As if to prove how hard what he had borne,
And, by impatience, illustrate how vast
The patience he displayed when he was dumb.)
—Let me not wrong the bubble, though they bruit,
It breaketh evermore, and mortal end
The most undying reputation hath.
Do we not ken the blind old Man of Greece,
No shadow, through the unsubstantial mist
Of thrice a thousand years? Yea, liveth not
Solomon in his wisdom even yet,
Only his follies dead? or, more remote,
The Shepherd who, upon no oaten stop,
Declared, yet with simplicity divine,
The sempiternal Origin, and Source
Of this green earth, and yon cerulean sky;
Do we not know the meek man, and the brave,
Lawgiver, warriour, prophet, priest, and king?
Of the Progenitours of human race,

264

We know the name, and where they dwelt, and how
Erect they stood in regal innocence,
Their free, and happy state, and fatal lapse.
Yea, Fame outdureth worlds. Waters may sweep
Over the countenance of the peopled globe;
And all that hath an heritage therein,
Choke Chaos up; yet she shall record have,
That of the hoar world shall the auburn teach,
Who were thereof the patriarchs, and the chief,
And their familiar history preserve:
This doth the theme of our momentous song
Attest. Nay; War shall be in Heaven, and Angels
Hurled headlong flaming from the ethereal sky
In ruin, and combustion, down to hell;
And Fame shall find a favourable Spirit,
Content celestial bowers to quit awhile,
On mission to advise astonished Man
Of great Messiah's work, and victory.

II. Adon, and Amazarah

Entered within the porch of that great fane,
The Seven lingered not: whom to repeat
By name, for aid of memory, were these;
The Man of God, with Japhet, Shem, and Ham,
The Scribe, and young Zateel, and, finally,
Majestic Samiasa. He sublime,
His right hand perpendicularly raised,
Stood in commanding attitude, whose will
Was felt, not spoken; while they entered, one
By one, beneath the massy, and lofty arch
Of those huge gates idolatrous, designed
For giant worshippers to underpass
In their erect audacity. Anon,
Crouching, their pride proved false, degraded straight
Their bodies to the ground; their nature not

265

More prostrate than before, which could not feel
In personal aim, and man's collective force,
The littleness of individual mind.
—Oh, paradox, ill understood; now learn,
How fatal if ill understood, ill known.
—What they adored, i' the centre of the porch,
On its vast pedestal, appeared to fill
The illimitable expanse of that broad dome,
With its immense proportions; and pervade,
As with a presence supernatural,
The circumambient space, with the wide curve
Of each elaborate lineament, and limb.
Tremendous Idol; miracle of art;
When, like the body, mind gigantic was;
And of its genius the creations such.

But they who enter now, degrade not thus
The temple of the soul. One only glance
(Of pity) on the monstrous image thrown,
They pass: but Samiasa hurries by,
With look averted; and, arrived within
The interiour of the temple—how he wept:
Yea, at the altar's foot he lay, and wept,
Even like a child; and wished the innocence
Might, with the weakness, of a child return.

‘Great Seth—sire of my sires—down on my soul
Thy spirit broods; descending like the dew
On Ardis, neighbour of the sky, whose brow
Is in thin air, as spirit pure, and where
None but pure spirits can live. Oh, I have heard
Adon, my father, speak of thee; and how
Erst he could breathe in the rare ether, with
The sons of God, thine offspring, himself one:
Then he would weep, and wish he might return.
Strange meat had made him gross, and flesh subdued.
Once, awed, and wearied with the upward way,

266

He gained the summit; by the Brethren hailed;
But found the air of fluid too refined,
And would have slept. They told him it was death,
And hurried him, dissolved with sleep, and dread,
Midway down Armon. There awhile he sate,
And threw his locks aback, and laved his eyes,
As from a trance recovering. Then he fled,
Through fear he fled.

‘Remorse consumed his heart,
As in a crater smouldering till it burst,
And the hot lava overflowed his lips.
Then he would curse his being, and his birth;
But chiefly that sad hour, when his charmed eye,
As with the beauty of an adder's skin,
Dazed, and inchanted; by the radiant pride
Of Amazarah smitten, and transfixed;
Slumbered upon her form majestical,
As in a dream. The very atmosphere
Wherein she moved was visionary; seemed
To float around her, in the wavy folds
Of an ethereal mantle, made of less
Than gossamer, and wrought within a woof
Fairer than that whereof the delicate beams
Of the pale moon are woven on the spray;
And of all hues, each interposed with light,
And shade, harmoniously mutable,
Wherein, as in a prism, were full displayed,
Voluptuous form, and motion exquisite.
Her then the beauty of youth adorned: age since
Hath taken somewhat of her loveliness,
But left her might, her majesty untouched,
All puissant, and imperial. On her mien
My filial eye would gaze, as on some strange
Sublimity, aye-wonderful, and wild,
Use levelled not, nor knowledge did abate.
When, in the novelty of her approach,

267

She blazed upon my father's spell-bound view,
O'ershadowing, how potential must have been
Her beauty, and her pride. Forgive him, God:
Thou whom the beauty of holiness delights;
Him pardon, that, with other beauty, he
Misused the faculties divine of love,
And admiration, whence the soul ascends,
From her terrestrial seat, to Heaven, and Thee.

‘The sun was on that day only less radiant
Than man's bright soul, when first breathed into Adam,
Pure emanation from great Deity.
They said, of his superiour glory then,
That much he owed to her, who boasted rule
O'er the curbed elements.

‘A festival
It was, and she the queen. The tuneful sons
Of Jubal, in full chorus, celebrate
How rose the primal city, proudly called
From the first son of the first fratricide,
City of Enos in the Land of Naid—
And built the wall of that partition up,
Which aliens brotherhood, and leaves to fear
No bond but self-defence, that consecrates
The deed of blood, baptizing it anew
Heroic War; instead of its own name,
Murther of brethren—parricide—and worse.
They wreathed a crown of laurels round her brows,
And danced about her till they madly reeled,
As with the fumes of wine. Then haughtily
She rose, and by her mystic skill she sware,
That him who dared her fearful beauty woo,
She would make monarch of a capitol
Than Enos nobler far, and to each soul
He should be as a god. Pride burned within
My father's heart, and to his lips it leapt.
O credulous—yet to resign the faith

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In the great God of Seth—the Only-True.

‘Fame had reached Ardis, eloquent of all
The beauty of Cain's daughters, and the arts,
And arms of that excelling progeny.
Now they their skiey communings forsook,
And fell to keen discourse on what they heard,
Comparing woman in the vale with her
Upon the mountain top.

‘Cain's daughter sang,
Was voluble, and graceful in the dance;
Men worshipped, and of her were giants born;
Air burned about her, and fierce passion raged
At her least eye-glance.

‘Like a thought devout,
Daughter of Ardis, wert thou in thy bower
Of delicacy shrined. Who listened there,
Had heard the Mother prattling to the Children
Tales of their Father, and low-breathèd numbers,
Like the sequestered stock-dove's brooding murmur,
Full of maternal tenderness—the burthen,
The gladness of that Sire's return at even,
When he should take the sweet Boy from her bosom,
Or on his Daughter's head let fall the tear,
The purest that can fall from human eye;
While, quiet in her bliss, she should await
The sweet embrace; and after, on his breast
Reclined, from his meek lips receive account
What knowledge, wisdom, truth, the Sons of God
Had won from large discourse on loftiest themes,
Or by the elders of the Brethren taught,
Or from Angelic ministry derived.
—Anon, the sun went down; their hearts first bowed
In worship pure, then folded each to each,
In calm repose; . . the stars watched over them.’

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III. Founding of the City

Here Samiasa paused—but all were still.
Soon his emotion flowed in speech again.

‘Bright was the bridal—gorgeous the array—
Pride stretched her stature to the firmament—
Tears fell from heaven, and the sun mourned in gloom.
But she, who erewhile vaunted power to bid
The Angel of the Sun attire himself
With radiance new, feigned now he veiled his beams,
That the surpassing glory of her pomp
Might be itself, alone:—while some pronounced
That his diminished head he hid in shame,
And the heavens wept to see themselves outdone.

‘And the Queen's word went forth. ‘Build ye the city;
Lay the foundations deep, and wide.’ What hosts
Obeyed the magical command. 'Twere long
To tell what tracts they passed, what hardships bore;
Sustained by faith in her unearthly claims,
The thousands journeyed forth, and, on the way,
Increased.

‘Dudael:—from his orient gate,
Went forth the sun, and did his task in heaven.
Seasons returned; and morn, and eve; and, on
The dusky forehead of the night, appeared
A single star, her only coronet:
Ere long the flowers of heaven all budded out,
Making of it a paradise indeed,
For the meek Moon to walk abroad in—meek,
And mighty in her vow of chastity,
By virtue of which she sways the myriad floods.
But thou unto the mighty, or the meek,
Madest answer none; nor moved by gentleness,
Nor wakened save by Nature's wrath. The stars
Have holiest service to perform; and day
Doth utter knowledge unto day, and night

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To night. The language of all worlds is their's;
Their voice throughout the universe is heard.
To thee they spake in vain: for thou wert deaf,
And a deep sleep had sealed thy vision up,
And silence brooded o'er thee—Antre vast,
And idle; unless, waking once an age,
Nature, outwearied with protracted rest,
Did start from dreamy slumber, and pronounce,
With the loud clarion of the full-voiced wind,
A marvel, and tremendous mystery,
An omen, and an oracle to man,
Fraught with most urgent meaning, and profound
As her own indefatigable soul,
Working in secret every where, and aye.

‘Man's heart hath heard it now; and thou must hear.
Awake, Dudael, and rejoice; for thou
No more art solitary, waste, and void;
Mother of many children thou, who wert
So desolate, and barren. Hearst thou not
Echo of axe . . the voice of industry . .
The song . . the laugh . . the shout . . the gush of springs
From the new-opened quarry, where the rose
Flourisheth as in Eden?

‘Now—behold,
The City of the Desart, and the Wild.
Deep its broad base descends, and far in air
Uplifted climb the walls. Massy the gates,
And manifold the streets. Nor lacked there sound,
And sight; concert of numbers, and parade,
To celebrate the finished work. Nor since
Hath bardic praise been wanting; to report
How, to the harmony of harp, it rose,
Exhaled from earth by charm of magic verse,
Creature of music, and the child of spells.

‘And, verily, the social state of man
Hath music in its soul, and is compact

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Of harmony. Good government, and law
Are a most holy diapason: where
Right blends with might, and strength its octave hath
In weakness, and all discords are deft aids,
By contrast, to enhance the dulcet strain;
As peace is most delightful after war,
And the sun's brightest beams the storm creates.
—Yet, in the state of innocence, I wot,
Man to himself had been sole government,
And all the law, under the Most High God;
The bitter means in the prevenient end
Absorbed, and melody been self-evolved,
In independence of its opposite;
And union, and obedience needed not
A marble zone for bond of brotherhood,
Nor fear a place of refuge; . . but the sky,
The boundless, the illimitable, alone
The sphere of duty, and of love prescribed:
No roof but heaven—Man's home the universe.

‘From Armon, and from Ardis, multitudes
Arrived; curious, or fond of change; or won
By manifold example, or report;
Or wearied with ancestral piety,
Worst of the wicked, an apostate race.
Grief smote my father's soul; and e'er his eye
To Ardis was exalted. Thereon now
Abideth not the good, and pleasant thing,
Brethren in unity together dwelling.
The dew descendeth yet upon the hill,
And yet the blessing is commanded there,
Even life for evermore; but none receive
The gift; no human spirit is refreshed:
And he who would the ethereal life imbibe,
The flesh with abstinence must chasten long,
And live on thought, and quicken with much faith.
Farewell, thrice holy hill: farewell; farewell.

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Thy pure delights, for earth's, I have exchanged;
For fear from force, and fraud; for cold contempt;
The pride of Amazarah, and her scorn.

‘Remorse had been sufficient to destroy
A spirit so susceptible, and high,
Convinced of errour; deeper still her scorn
Did in his soul the torturing iron drive,
And, with intense corrosion, ate away
The life from out his heart. My father's words,
His memory, his lost inheritance,
Sate brooding ever on my pregnant soul;
That thence I know not what excelling schemes
Of restoration, and return conceived,
And man's transcendent operance to achieve
Original perfection. Pride enlarged
My heart—there proud imaginations made
Their procreant place, and thence compelled the world,
With wingèd words, the seraphs of the soul,
Plumed for far flight, and summed for wonderous speed.

‘The Queen, who kenned the phrenzy in mine eye,
Inflamed my filial zeal. She blent her own
Wild lawless daring with the excited hopes,
The audacious fancies of my sleepless soul;
False notions from report, or from the lives
Of mere apostates gathered. Hence, abused,
My faith was folly, watering the lands
Of speculation; whence but weeds might grow,
And at the root of things lay barrenness,
Wanting the mist divine, that from the ground
In Eden rose, and cherished herb, and flower.

‘The heart begets its like, and as the soil
The deed, or word it genders; and itself
Reflects the imaged mind, which, from without
And from within create, here substance finds,
Thence shadowy form abstracts; consistence so
Assuming, such as its discourse, combined

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After the manner of their interchange.
And like its food my mind became, my heart
Was desolate as that whereon it gazed.
This place how desolate—magnificent
In desolation. Filial sorrow thus
Congealed to stone—its tears were petrified.
Art, like a winter in the wilderness,
(Known to Dudael,) froze them as they fell;
And raised this lofty mound, for the loud north
To sport with: like gaunt Death, when, with his mace,
(As Cain beheld in Hades,) the thronged soil
He smote o'er shuddering Chaos, and wrought on
A mole immense, bridging the way from hell.
This dome of desart-ice Art piled to him;
His palace where he dwells in cold, and gloom,
The King of Terrours; or his temple gate,
The God of Terrours—present though unseen.
Imperial in his lone sarcophagus,
Behold my father's sepulchre. And she,
Whose scorn had withered him in early age,
Lauded my filial piety; and proud
Barkayal triumphed in his cunning work,
That of a man could make a deity:
None but a god might sleep in such a dome,
An attribute of gods if slumber be.

‘I speak in scorn of my imaginings,
Not of his memory. Searcher of hearts:
Before thee mine I bare. Yet not to wrong
The wonderous builder, and his work though vain,
It did express a mystery; how within
The womb of earth life's hid foundations lay,
With death, and silence, and on high aspired
Past human vision, piercing into heaven,
Guiding faith upward to the eternal home,
The immortal soul's abiding place with God.

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‘But my changed heart to Nature now would turn
For solace rather: and within the deep
Capacious bosom of maternal earth,
Repose the dust it loved; in confidence
That she thereto would act a parent's part,
So that it should not perish, but be found
With a more radiant robe to swathe the soul,
The incorruptible, when Death shall die.
Meantime, let the grass whistle a shrill dirge
During the visitation of the gale;
The cypress droop above it, and all flowers
Make odourous the bed of righteous men;
And night, and morn, the dew fall on the sod,
Making it sweeter, and more beautiful.
These things are to the soul as to the eye:
Life mightier than Death, and claiming right
Even in his very sanctuary to dwell;
As though he were an alien, and throughout
The universe could claim no spot his own;
Joy strong in grief; hope strongest in despair;
Grave-blossoms both. Our sorrows oft excel
All joy in joy, as man were made for bliss,
And Earth would be an Eden, maugre all,
And, in despite of death and grief, would give
Glimpses of Paradise returning yet,
And happiness ere long to be restored.

‘The work of pride advanced. Column, and stone,
Rose frequent; and the garden bloomed aloft,
Aëreal; and the rebel wave was curbed,
O'erarched. The city, called from me by love
Paternal, felt my genius; and I sought
To testify unto my father's shade
My gratitude, and make my name, and his,
Deserving a memorial so sublime.
Praise filled my mother's voice, and flattery

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Sweetened its pauses. Then my heart came home,
That had erewhile so spread itself abroad,
And self-love built a palace to the king,
As unto one who had well merited.
Men toiled for me, and their hearts sweated blood,
The second curse—man's own. How worse than God's;
Who in his judgements yet is merciful,
And but the brow condemned.

‘Ere long, myself
Of higher strain than mortal man I deemed;
And all the people answered, that ‘two gods
Were only—He in Heaven, the Most High,
And on earth Samiasa—equal both.’
Above the circle of the sky had He
His dwelling; and were rolled the massy clouds
His temple gates before. Earth's deity
Claimed worship also, and a votive dome:
And in the senseless idol presence dwelt,
Ubiquitous, divine. Then bled to me
The sacrifice; and incense—would to heaven,
Rolling its fragrance thither, meant for man;
And hymns were chaunted. Hark’—

Even as he spake,
The priests within the holiest place were heard.

IV. The Sanctuary

That blasphemy once heard with vain delight,
Now Samiasa bore not. The descent
To passage still more inward, instant, he
Crept, like a serpent, prostrate: then he clomb
The ascending plane, supported by his hands
'Gainst each low wall; so slight the indented notch
Meant to sustain the advancing foot, a stair
Of perilous construction, whose short step

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Escaped the adventurous tread. Before him went
His voice, so anxious he. The cavities,
With replication multitudinous
Resounded, and awaked what hallowed bird
There cradled safe in local sanctity.
Arrived above, his lofty form obeyed
The humble entrance. Now that spacious court,
Entire of granite, him received. From wall
To wall extended, three enormous stones
Compose the roof with hieroglyphics graced;
And, in the centre of that ample floor,
Yon huge sarcophagus, of marble hewn
Out of the solid rock, concealed the god,
Whose heart is shrined in that surmounting vase
Of alabaster. There the king beholds
His father's visible heart; yet not the less,
Having first dashed the intruding tear aside,
And stifled in his soul the filial groan,
Fulfils his aim. About the gorgeous tomb,
The priests perform the rite, and raise aloft
The vesper hymn, that to the crowd without
May seem of oracle the voice, that hails
The present god, within that sacred hall,
(Chamber of Beauty termed, and Mystery,)
Audient of worship, and to praise attent.

Back from his eye they shrunk astonished—back
From his bold voice, and attitude they fell.

‘Peace—peace—the god commands on whom ye call;
Behold how abject. Pray to Him who chastens.
Him worship . . Him adore . . and not the chastened—
The Almighty, the Supreme, hath chastened me.’

‘And who is He?’ demanded the High Priest—
‘We know no god, nor gods, but thou, on earth,
And Adon, god in heaven, thy sire divine,
Prime founder of the City named from thee.

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Thou vainly in completion hadst rejoiced;
Hence, jealousy conceiving, where he sits
Enthroned on Armon o'er the Land of Streams,
Guardian, and god, the genius of the soil;
In the rapt hour of thy presumption, when
Thou, and thy people had forgotten him,
He made his being felt in voice from heaven,
And his first claim asserted in the doom
That cast thee to the desart. Thine august
And mighty mother, for assurance, this
Learned in the visions of prophetic night,
Wherein thy father's spirit visits her.
Nay—more: when hither she of him enquired,
In this his Sanctuary, where he sleeps
In most divine repose, she heard his voice,
And on the table of his heart beheld,
In sanguine characters incribed, the truth.’

‘Of Truth ye make a harlot,’ said the king:
‘Adulteries ye do commit with her,
Abominations—oh, Religion, Truth:
Mad are ye made with flesh, and drunk with wine.
The Uncreated, and Invisible;
The God of gods, the universal He,
By whom the pillars of the firmament
Were founded on the floods, and the firm earth
Was stablished in the immensurable space,
Uttered his potent voice, whose fiat called
The sun to instant birth, the moon, the stars,
And all the host of heaven, creatures of earth,
And man the lord of all; and I became
Emptied of man—more wretched than the brute—
A brute with reason cursed, and wisely mad.
—He, on his throne above the heaven of heavens,
From his religious state, looked down, and saw
His arrogant creature, and denuded him

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Of all that made him proud, and smote his soul
With worse abasement than his body bore.
—Forth to the people whom ye have bewitched
With sorceries, and disenchant their souls.
Forth—by the madness, and the misery, now
That rush back on my brain—my heart. (A while
Stay, my good angel: yet a little while
Ward off the desart-demon from my soul.)
By Earth, and Heaven, and Hell; I charge you:—Earth
Whose barren breast I graze upon, from whose
Felicities I am an alien; Heaven,
Beneath whose terrible doom I suffer; Hell,
That doth within me, like a cauldron, seethe,
And bubbles o'er my lips in this white foam—
Ha: the fierce phrenzy rushes on me. Make
From the volcanic overflow.—Forth—forth.
God he is God, and there is none beside.’

In terrour, and dismay, from him they fled,
Precipitate before him: awe, and fear
Urged them in safety down the perilous plane,
And madness guided—guarded him the while,
In his extreme pursuit. Returned within
The temple of the Idol, with a shout
That shook it to its base, he called aloud
To Noah:

—‘Man of the Most Holy God:
Oh Prophet of Jehovah: with the sword
Of his indignant Jealousy, destroy
The liars, the adulterers—even they
Who do abomination with man's soul.’

By power supernal smit, at the Idol's foot
They fell, and bit the ground in sympathy
With his affliction, as his doom had fallen
Also on them. O infinite despair—
He writhed his limbs in pain, and tossed his arms

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Above his head, and with his clenchèd hands
Smote his hot brow, and cried,

‘Almighty Lord:
Raise them again. I am the sinner—I—
The liar, the adulterer—lied the lie,
And did the deed, that thou abhorrèst most—
Behold even there the impious monument
Of wild, and weird rebellion—my bold pride,
And bad ambition. Satan: down to hell.’

So saying, on that monstrous idol he
Hung, in his maniac might; and tugged, and strained,
Till o'er its pedestal it shook, it fell,
With a tremendous crash, in hideous wreck:
The while, with yell, and shout, he trampled it,
And, with his pulverising foot, destroyed
Its fine proportions, its fair symmetry;
Pounding it limb by limb, and wrenching them
Apart with his strong hand—(such power he had
From heaven)—and thus exclaimed:

‘Down, Lucifer—
I who advanced do hurl thee from thy throne,
Consume thee in mine anger, immolate
Thee to the God of Jealousy, and Seth.’

The sun had set; the sabbath of his soul
Had gone; and stronger, and more strong, poured through
His heart, and brain, the influxes increased
Of fury, and savage impulse. Human pride,
Not by his fellow-man to be beheld
In his disgrace; the human front erect,
Sublimely looking toward the promised heaven,
Changed for the earth-bound aspect of the brute;
Stung him, as by the warriour's armèd heel
The battle steed. Out at the gates with haste
He rushed; and over the suspended bridge,
And through the silent city, . . as before

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A populous solitude, . . whose habitants
Fear, and the hour had prisoned in their homes;
For well they knew the time of his return,
Through their expanded streets, to the forlorn
Inhabitable desart, where he dwelt,
For his appointed season. And, as he
Passed in his lonely majesty along,
He lifted up his voice, and cried aloud,
‘God he is God, and there is none beside.’

END OF NINTH BOOK.

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IV. Part the Fourth. NOAH.

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The Lay of LILITH'S SON; Dreamer of Dreams, Seer of Visions, in the Morning Land.

Antient of Days:—led by thy Spirit, I heard
A voice within the Sepulchre: . . the voice
Of ages in the vaulted vestibule
Of the far Past; in whose profound obscure
The night-bird uttereth her peculiar song,
Of joy or grief uncertain, and to both
Strangely attuned. Deep, sacred mysteries
Possessed those nameless old mythologists;
And, in harmonious poem, they concealed
Falsehood, or truth sublime; or turned to shape,
In gorgeous allegoric weed arrayed.
The sensual fancy . . to external form
Idolatrous . . yet, testifying so
Man's eleutherean essence, still expressed
A consciousness of Spirit, and a faith
In Being elevate. Her better forms
Were transcripts exquisite of human thought,
And hence the human Spirit hallowed them;
The links they were that joined high heaven with earth;
The greses by which man clomb upward still,

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In vision spoken into presence, made
In the hid image of the poet's thought.

Oh, what a fall was theirs; from what height fallen;
Who maddened upon idols, in despite
Of better knowledge; having heard the voice
Of God of old, his attributes beheld.
Thus Israel in his latter days fell down:
Worse than the heathen he, who but adored
Man's virtue shadowed in the symbol so;
But he the wood, and stone, and fed his soul
On ashes, and on carrion. Hence his thigh
The indignant prophet smote, and raised his hand,
And cried aloud, ‘O earth; earth; earth. The Lord
Is the true God—He is the Living God.
Thou at His wrath shalt tremble; and the gods,
That have not made the heavens, and the earth,
Shall perish from the earth, and from beneath
The heavens. He, by His power who made the world,
And by His wisdom stretched the curtain out
Of the cerulean firmament on high,
Hath been from everlasting, and shall be,’

Children of Ardis; so fell ye, and lower,
Because from such height fallen, than they who looked
But with the fleshly eye on imagings
Of unembodied Reason; . . far beneath,
Who shaped them in ecstatic vision forth,
Or worshipped only as emblems. But than all
Fell deeper ye, beneath the lowest deep,
Who vainly in your own creations hoped;
Drunk with your own sweet fancies, as with wine.

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BOOK THE TENTH. METHUSELAH

I. Samiasa, and Barkayal

So witnessed Samiasa. But not now
The desart-doom opprest him, to the wild
Though he returned. Within the solitude,
He sate him calmly down: for he had heard
The Word of God, from Enoch's scripture read,
And testimony to his Maker borne.
Seemed the doomed season was accomplished now,
And a man's heart to him again was given;
Still human consciousness with him remained.
A miracle it was—by miracle
His reason seemed preserved for wisest ends.
Fallen on his knees, he wept his gratitude
To Him in heaven—he wept his penitence;
All night he wept, and all the morrow-morn,
And so was found of Palal. Nor was cold
The Sophist heart, when he remarked the change,
That had brought home, as earnest of its stay,
The mind of Samiasa, and sustained.
Much they rejoiced together. Palal, then,
Admonished thus the King,

‘Since it is so;
Meet is it thou appear as man with man,
And doff these garments of the wilderness,
And go forth to the City.’

And so it was:
For soon the Sophist fit provision made
For his restored Companion; soon his locks
Of their exuberance were well excised,

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And his wild beard in civil measure flowed.
His limbs he bathed, and smoothed his shaggy brows,
And by ablution on his form so wrought,
That none might recognize him, though beheld
But yesterday. And thus his mood was pleased,
That would in secret walk, a stranger there,
Where once he King had been.

And now he stood
Beside the Temple of the Pyramis;
A ruin shunned by superstition, since
That memorable eve, when he o'erthrew,
With might insane, the Idol once adored;
Thence desecrated deemed, and, as accursed,
By all deserted. All? No: One there was,
Still faithful to that work of wonderous art;
Barkayal. At the temple's foot again,
There Samiasa found him, now as then.
Again he scaled, with his ambitious eye,
The punctual summit of the ascending spire,
Till it distinguished through the crystal tube,
With exquisite distinction, the nice point
That tapered into air, like air itself.
And still his look was melancholy, bent
To earth, dejected; when returned from that
Sufficing, soul-dissatisfying theme.
Awhile on the transcendent architect
Gazed Samiasa; then to Palal cried:

—‘Behold my gorgeous temple. Seest thou not
The builder of the comprehensive fane,
For veneration multitudinous
Decreed? Proud of his handy-work is he,
And feels therein exalted, eternized:
I, to whose pride contributed his art,
Humbled alone, see, in its loftiness,
What casts me into shade, shame, and contempt;

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And, in its durability and strength,
Odious comparison, which makes me seem
But as an insect most ephemeral,
That buzzes in the noon around some oak,
And dies ere sunset, living, in good sooth,
A sunny life, but brief; and, with much stir,
Attracting little notice, and less fame.
—How to the fading point his eyesight strains:
Think ye, that there whereto it aches, 'tis fixed?
No—through the distance-abrogating lens;
By which the delicate diffusive touch,
Of vision exquisite, to the remote,
And punctual is applied; within the deep
Of air expatiateth he, and finds
Space for free speculation: and, be sure,
That ever and anon his fancy rears
Some magic structure on the baseless wind;
And, in the combinations of the clouds,
Orders of architecture new conceives,
And hopes, ere long, to raise the like on earth.
Hence, in imagination's mere excess,
All he hath done as nothing worth he scorns,
Measured with what he yet hath power to do;
Or might have done, but for dull circumstance,
That thralled the outgoings of the plastic soul.
And, of a truth, within the Spirit of Man
Abides an instinct for the infinite.
Whatever from without the mind imbibes
Of substance, or of quality sublime,
Or beautiful, capricious accident,
Or attribute immutable; howe'er
By fancy realized to intellect,
Or by imagination's power august
Made portion of the intellect: within
The Essence of our Being, in the Soul,
There is a standard, that all things sublime

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Compares with a sublimer archetype,
Than human faculty is sentient of,
In nature's grandest works, or art of man—
Sea, sky, or mountain—city, or pyramid;
And all things beauteous, with more beautiful,
Things bright, with brighter. Nay, the Sun himself
Is dim before her; for the Soul of man
Is of Jehovah most expressive Star,
Best Image of his glory. With herself
All things compareth she; and lo, all things
Are dwarfed in her supernal magnitude.
The mightiest is subdued, the loveliest shamed;
And, in the flood of her effulgence, she
Doth merge the glorious, and magnificent.
What then hath Earth to sate her appetite,
Or aught that's visible, even heaven itself?
She sighs for miracles, yet yearneth still,
And is herself the one great miracle.
Therefore is Man not what he is, mere clay,
Because he feels he is so, and compares
Himself with something nobler in himself;
Whence such sublime ability to feel,
After this wonderous fashion; and to endure
Patient the indignation, that would else
Consume this frail, and earthly tenement
To a white wreck of ashes; or smite down
This cunning architecture—(call it such)—
To ruin hoar, the Deity within
Departed long from the neglected shrine.’
Thus argued Samiasa: but knew not
That then Barkayal, from that apex point,
Was looking into heavenly depths, beyond
Unarmèd vision, at a Stranger Star,
Which, from its most remote appearance, he
At first perceived; and now, with horrour filled,

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Upon the Cometary Omen gazed,
With vision so intense as, from its orb's
Most inner centre, he, as from its heart,
Would drag its secret mystery forth to day.
Thus argued Samiasa—and pursued
‘Herein consists man's dignity; hereot
His reason is compact; and he combines
Two worlds within, and in himself includes
The Universe. Empowered hereby is he,
To climb to each remote intelligence;
And send his daring mind on errand strange,
Into the Heaven of heavens, before the throne
Of the Most High, asserting there the right
Of his immortal spirit to converse,
Its heritage, as Son of God—as Man.
Yet overween ye not—nor let the pride
Of man rebel: For God is jealous—God—
(Speaking as man must speak, whose slavish words
Have constant reference to sublunar things,
Whereto degraded man degrades his thought,
Even when its ravished speculations rise
To holiest objects, such as angels love,)—
Is jealous of his Unity, and Name.
—Ay, God is very jealous: and we may,
By that which deifies us, be destroyed;
By our own spirits may we be destroyed,
And they imbruted, falling short, even thus,
In their probation of the Perfect One;
With self-esteem well satisfied, well pleased,
With their own proper excellence content,
No further emulous of good, or great:
Building thereon presumption flatulent,
Until the wind escape, and all be found
Mere emptiness; not from the Spirit of God
Renewed, who, in the beginning, filled the void,

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Gloomy, and waste, with light, and life, and form.
—This was the sin of Lucifer—of Man;
The mortal sin, parent of Death, and Woe—
Whence Doubt was born. The soul that left hersource,
And would be as a god unto herself,
Fell backward on the body for support,
(But found it none,) . . and asked of it to bear
Her upward in her far imaginings.
Alas! even as the spider doth within
King's palaces, should she have kept the hold
That she had taken with her hands on heaven:
But she hath let her purchase go; and, now,
The ethereal dome is not within her reach:
And He, who raised her there before, again
Will not, who only can. Unless there be
Hope in the words which doomed the infernal snake;
And wherein I should verily believe,
But for the extreme iniquity of man,
Whence fear seems only just, and dread of doom.
—These are no mysteries to the sons of Seth.
Paradisaical aspirings they
Are conscious of: the high-wrought ecstasies
Of Fancy, which had borne the soul aloft
In Eden; now, within this sensual sty,
Disturb her feathers only, fluttering
Pollution on her wings, till clogged therewith,
Broken, and trammelled to the soil. Alas—
How heavily her breathings come, and go:
Poor bird—struggling with death, till, overcome,
On her an intermittent slumber seize;
And so she dies—a second death:—Or, if
Feeling the will to soar, and having power,
Leaves her nest like the Swallow, but returns
Anon, circling some pool, already tired
With her short flight, and longing for the time
When, on its sedgy banks she shall decline,

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And ease her passage to the torpid depth
Upon the pliant reed; so winter's frost
Shall nip her not:—Or, greatly daring, scorns
Eternal barriers; and, within the clouds,
She hangs presumptuous eyrie, and doth
Abominations there; unto herself
Making a brothel universe, which she
Deems co-extensive with eternity,
And space, and time, and reigns imperial in.’

II. Hherem, and Barkayal

While thus he spake, in Samiasa's heart,
Waked pride misdeeming, exultation vain,
That needed yet the scourge, erelong to fall
And teach still bitterer truth; and scant he knew
How to the flesh had spirit been subdued—
And soon the Sophist, in that Capitol,
Found demonstration of his sensuous creed,
In men, and in their ways. For not, like him,
(As late we witnessed in the Wilderness,)
Foul Hherem had in penitence retired,
But held on Earth his triumph, and in Hell.
—Boast of his high exploit (for such his vaunt),
O'er such supreme intelligence as shone
In that great Monarch, wisest fiends seduced,
The like success to win, to stoop to brute;
That they might soar, by bad ambition stung,
To realty o'er spiritual eminence.
For erst had they, in their rebellious guile,
The sons of Adam moved to be as gods,
But now sought to embrute, and so subdue
To their dominion; ay, and ever since,
His postdiluvian children, with gross art,
Have sunk to Nature sensual, and yet sink;
Whence, not from knowledge, but from ignorance

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Redemption hath been needed, and yet is.
—So went they forth, these devils damned, to damn
The world in second doom: and, first, debased
To infidelity the minds of Men,
Turning the very intellect against
The truth of their own soul; and sowing there,
Within its living soil, first doubt, then death—
And gathered-in quick harvest, by the power
Of Amazarah, and Azaradel.

Well Amazarah knew the sordid Fiend,
And long had known, long joined in mutual pact;
The sordid Fiend, with whom in hour of scorn
She mated: fitting league for her who was
Herself half human only, pride-begot
By demon on a daughter beautiful
Of fratricidal Cain; whence gifted she,
As hath been sung, with charm and magic spell.
Wicked as wise, and bad as beautiful,
The mother she became of progeny
Who called her son Azaradel their sire:
An impish brood, and nurtured cruelly,
To cruel ends; taught, in their innocence,
To pluck the eyes of captives bound supine,
Out from the living socket: and with glee,
With infant glee, such office they performed:
And with the yet-warm orbs she would compose
A Globe of Sorcery, wherein she saw . .
A visual mirrour . . into other worlds,
By Hherem aided in her hideous art.

And now his skill she sought. Dire jealousy
Had fired her soul to madness; since the false
Azaradel, in search of younger charms,
Had wandered: and, to win affection back,
She means to make new covenant with Hell.

But vengeance was at hand she knew not of:

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Though Hherem knew, for, in that wizard globe,
All he foresaw; in silence, there he looked,
Even in her presence, faithless; and beheld
How that the threatened Flood, when it came down,
Found out the sinner in his pride of crime.
In Enos, that bad city, Hherem saw,
Huge Idol; wonderous work; compared with those
Of the degenerate genius of our world,
As the Behemoth, or Leviathan,
Creatures of God's most plastic energy,
With Whale, and Lion, even though mighty these:
(But what to those, and their imperial might,
More than the Stag, and Dolphin to themselves;
Themselves in whom He now is pleased to shew
His power, proportionate to human thought's
Capacity, conception, or surmise?)
—Statue divine. Hard by, in a temple's tower
Was Edna, for the bridal of their god,
Great Mammon, kept. In guise of deity,
—(So Hherem in that magic mirrour traced
Event to come, but yet how nigh at hand)—
Approached Azaradel, with dance, and song
Accompanied, along the public way:
Heaven's window opened, then, right o'er their heads,
A sea with lightning sent, and thunderbolt.
From her high lattice, Edna saw, with praise
Of heavenward eye, the impious rite annulled:
Deluge descending took them all away.
Ignorant of what was in the womb of Time,
And unbelieving of prophetic Truth;
Within the palace-chamber deep-retired,
Mystic commune with Hherem, summoned there,
The royal Amazarah now maintains:
How to descend to Hades; place of Fear,
Not Hope. Soon they into the State unseen,

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Pass in the power of spells. At once, the gates
Of the Abyss display the horrid gorge,
Profound, and undefined; like winter's rack,
Unfolding from the vent. Down—down, descend
The guilty pair; undaunted with the way,
But trembling with impatient sympathy.
Dark—dark that central path, which low, and lower,
Guides to the prison of the lowest gulf.
No light: till grows the accustomed eye to love
That palpable obscure, and from itself
The ray creates, which the dead mass of things
Apparent makes to its instinctive sense;
And, by that radiance strange, they now discern
The Temple of the Fiends—a gorgeous dome,
Gorgeous with horrour, mockery of the Mount
Of Vision in the Heaven. The veil is drawn,
Expectant of her visit; and, behold,
The Demon-Cherubim, whose meeting wings
O'ershadow there the Ark of Blasphemy,
Enthroning Satan on its seat of Wrath;
Whence curses roll in thunder—earthquakes—storms,
The Sanctuary of Hell; and at the shrine,
In festal terrours stands a priestly fiend,
Two seething censers pouring from his hand
Religious maledictions to the King
Of unrepealed perdition. Silence now
Awaiting the response; no longer roars
Or blast, or billow. Straight is seized the hand
Of Amazarah; and upon the Ark
Hherem, with sudden rapture, it hath placed.
‘Swear!’—And she swore, an oath ineffable.
Then rush the winds to battle, and fan wide
The Tablets of mysterious Destiny,
Set in the bosom of the priestly fiend,
Urim, and Thummim. With the sound aroused,
Uplooking, she hath read the covenant

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Whereto her soul is bound. O, bloody terms:
And from her kneeling posture up she starts,
With one strong wrench of agony matern:
—And lo, before her Samiasa stands.
She shrieks, and on the palace-floor she falls,
Even at his feet she falls, and there she lies;
There prostrate at his feet, even where she fell,
Not dead, but speechless, Amazarah lies;
At her Son's feet, fallen speechless, but not dead,
The Queen lies prostrate on that palace-floor.

III. Japhetls Vision

And now came on the End, by Vision shewn
To Japhet, as it was to Noah once.
—The Prophet-Sculptour, on his handy-work
Bestowing his last pains, beheld it stand,
Before him in its glory: such as he
Had in his heart conceived—a perfect form.

Bow ye, and adore. The God abides in stone,
Incarnate thus. Divinely halcyon,
His pregnant brow is bathed in deity.
His attitude, how eloquent: one hand
Thus mildly raised, the other held aloft
Pointing to heaven. From his disparted lips
There seemed to gush a rill of soothing speech,
Yet awful; for a God's sublimity
Girt gentleness celestial,—girt with power.
There was a sorrow in his gracious mien,
And in his sorrow a regality,
As he were uttering that doom fulfilled,
Of desolation to Jerusalem,
Whose children, but she would not, he had gathered
Under his wing omnipotent.

‘Behold:
The sun is quelled—the moon is quenched—the stars
Die in the darkled ether, and from out

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Their golden cressets drop—the sky doth quake,
And all its powers do quail. From midst the gloom,
Appeareth, like a supernatural dawn
The symbol of his coming. Mourn, O Earth.
Pavilioned in the clouds, the Son of Man
Comes;—and his Angels, with a trumpet-sound,
That the four winds, to the four ends of air,
Bear on their rushing pennons vehement,
Gather from every part the Elect of God,
And Heaven, and Earth before him pass away.’

So spake the Prophet-Sculptour, and adored . .
Words uttered since by him to whom he knelt,
And then inspired. A trance came over him.

The Vision was from Heaven: the thunder pealed:
A voice angelical cried, ‘Come, and see.’
Rose Japhet, and beheld the prophecy.
—Lo, a White Horse of purest hue . . the stream
That overflowed the star-paved court of heaven,
And blanched the purple lily, as fables tell,
Less white . . less pure. Moved by the will divine,
He bore, in steps of music, glory-crowned,
A peaceful Conquerour; clothed with life, and light,
And, by the vision of beatitude,
His aspect kindled in serenity.
Armed with a bow, his arrows quivered all;
His presence vanquished, and his coming won
Afar. Before him Paradise—behind
He left no desolation. But not thus
The rider of the Sanguine Steed—a sword
Was in the hero's hand, and he destroyed.
The black-maned charger, fierce for fields of blood,
Champing his bit until the hot foam seethed,
Raised clouds of war beneath his fiery hoofs—
The mighty there were hid. The warriour's gaze,
His sunk and savage gaze, from underneath
The forehead-burying helm, glared greedily

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On the surrounding wreck. He gnashed his teeth,
And his unslaked mouth gaped, athirst for gore.—
What Son of Night succeeds? That Sable Steed.
He comes involved in darkness palpable—
Fit witness of such scene. His Rider who?
Whence that dim speck in each suspicious eye,
Scanning the shaken balance in his hand,
Whose slant beam made him pause? Hoar sceptic, he.
Death followed him; mysterious Death: his pall
That robe funereal, darkening where it flew—
Well suited its dim skirts to that slant beam.
In fury on they came, that Sable Steed,
And the Pale Horse; Death's own; one centaur they,
Wrought of cold ice, parching the air with cold:
From their dire nostrils went consuming plague.
Hell rode on lurid clouds. Now, Death's right hand
Upraised the living serpent, that coiled up
His eager arm; and from both hands aloft
Were launched brands of blue lightning all abroad.
All leaden was his foot, and spectre neck,
And his unnatural head was strangely crowned.
And, like a whirlwind, came that icy steed,
In his unreinèd wrath; and his grey mane
Tossed in abrupt disorder, like dark waves
Sieging a steep rock in a night of storms.
And the dark features of that ghastly king
Gleamed with a hideous smile: his eyeballs rolled
Baleful in triumph, and his ominous mouth
Threatened extermination—and he looked
Into the distance—for destruction there,
While havoc revelled round. Over the wife,
His beautiful wife, the princely husband hangs,
Scarce pale with recent death, her offspring yet
In her embrace—that last kiss took one with her,
From her relaxèd grasp the sweet boy fell;
The daughter deems her mother in a swoon,

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And strives with filial care to stay her fall,
In vain. Gaunt Famine there, an old man, knelt,
Digging the uncharitable earth for roots,
With his lank fingers; and his daughter couched,
The livid Pestilence, on a mat beside,
Shivering. Still neighboured Death that Sable Steed,
And he who sate thereon, Errour's sharp judge,
Minute in estimate, in decision stern,
Weighing, in his unsteady balance, deeds
And men: one scale with woe surcharged, and one
With virtue insufficient: passionless:
Doubt hard by Death, with squint diagonal,
Gloating on misery, and afraid of joy,
So oft deluded, truth it even suspects.

Beast raged, and strove with man: and men were slain.
The horse, and rider to the lion yield;
And Strength's undaunted countenance was weak,
And Fortitude. Youth's lance was broke, and he
Tossed in the wind. The firmament was rent,
And the skies warred 'gainst man: the thunder smote
The lover; and in terrour woman fled,
With gaze reverted, as in love, or awe.
The eagle with the heron in the clouds
Held contest wild; and o'er her slaughtered mate
The galless dove, a widow, drooped in grief.

He looked again . . and lo, beneath the foot
Of him that gentle Conquerour, crushed, and slain,
The old Serpent lay, head-bruised: and far above
Soared saints, and martyrs to beatitude,
For whom he conquered. Thus the Vision closed.

The reader who is acquainted with West's picture of “Death on the Pale Horse” will perceive that the above description is derived from a study of the painting.

Whoso had seen the Prophet-Sculptour then,
In this his trancèd dream, had not perceived

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Aspect perturbed, or changed with strange event,
Albeit thus passing strange, and fraught with doom.
A whirlwind had outsnatched his spirit, and rapt
Above the Olympian hill: yet what he saw,
And heard into his marrow searched, like fire.
Like the still whispering wind at eventide,
To him prediction came not, as it comes
Oft to the dying saint, to soothe his soul,
And softly speak of heaven. The flood was up;
Tempest abroad. Anon, a gradual calm,
A gentle breeze, a quiet finishing;
And peace companioned his returning soul.

Now through each vein the electric fluid glowed,
And he awoke, inspired. Long time he mused:
‘A mighty thing hath been to me revealed—
How shall the stone express it?’ And his hand
Dashed o'er the marble with a spirit's power,
His artist-hand. The head of that Pale Horse
Snorts fire; each nostril to each eye constrained
In nigh-disrupting rage, dilated—tort.
A perfect labour, which, had it survived,
Genius would question like an oracle;
Yet, weak resemblance of its archetype,
The genius that created it despised.
—‘It is in vain,’ said Japhet; ‘human art
Strives not with skill celestial—Art, farewell.
The hand forgets its cunning. Human sight
May not behold it—but my spirit burns—
'Twas not revealed for silence—I will forth.
This weapon of ethereal tempering,
Which thus God's Spirit hath in mine inclosed,
As in a sheath, or plunged as in a bath,
To sharpen in my soul; my father, thou
Shalt pluck out thence, and prove its double edge.’

Forthwith he sought his sire; his brethren, too,
Moved by paternal mandate, also came.

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Then Japhet told his vision. As he spake
His frame dilated, and his port assumed
Strange grandeur, and impulsive energy
Of concentrated import and deep awe.
Noah his son embraced.

‘A Prophet thou;
And to thy Sire, and Brethren sent from God.’
—Shem worshipt: but tears fell from Ham's sad eyes,
He knew not why; he could not chuse but weep.

IV. Mount of Paradise

And Samiasa stood within the Vale
Of Abel; and, within a little space,
Zateel confronted him.

Then said the King:
‘Knowest thou me not?’

Hereat on him Zateel
Gazed earnestly:

‘Thy features, like a dream,
Tell of the past, but in delusive wise,
Recalling the irrecoverable.’

Again,
The King spake to him thus:—

‘Hear me, Zateel:
My heart, even as the desart where I dwelt,
Was once athirst. The fountain now unsealed,
Its waters overflow. Thy heart is not
Adust with age, nor passionless; but there
Full fancy flourishes, and lifts its head,
Even as my fortune once, a goodly tree,
Until God's Angel cut it down.’

Whereat,
Zateel, convinced, at once exclaimed,

‘My lord—
My king—my father—brother—lover—friend.’

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‘No raptures now, my son,’ said Samiasa;
‘Well may it be for thee, and curb thy mind
From the presumption, which high faculty
Builds up, until it madden, if I tell
A tale to thee: a tale, while these sad lips
Stamp truth on what thou hearest.’

Tears Zateel
Wept; but, the gush of feeling finding way,
He answered, ‘King—say on—’

‘'Tis of my Mother.
To whom was more of beauty, more of wisdom,
Given than to Amazarah—or to me?
Zateel; I sought her in the palace-chamber,
To tell her of God's dealings with her son,
And wean her from her wickedness. I found
The sleeping Sorceress as of old. I stood,
And gazed, entranced, upon the majesty
Of her repose. I will not tell thee—then—
What storm of thoughts made me to shudder soon;
But rather how, recovering from such mood,
I did essay to wake the guilty Queen;
And how in vain, with voice and hand, I strove
To rouse her from her somnolency deep.
A Power was on her I might not remove.
Her body was as dead, and well I kenned
Her spirit absent thence;—but 'twas not dead—
I looked on it for hours; till at the last
She spake, still sleeping. Ask me not the words,
What direful oath it was she ratified
With the Infernal powers. How lived I yet,
After I heard them; till, restored to sense,
She gazed upon, and knew me, and fell down?
I could no more, but from the chamber rushed,
Determined the dread purpose to forestall.’

‘What purpose?’
‘Ask me not, I say; nor speak

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Of what hath been disclosed. An awe is on me;
Be it on thee, and on thine utterance.’

Aright, and to the west of Armon, they
Stood; by the waters of Dunbadan there,
Which make right beautiful, and musical,
The Vale of Abel's Sacrifice, and Death:
Then on its banks they sate, and talked awhile;
Till Palal was approaching, by Zateel
Known, as by Samiasa, but till now
Shunned, for the doctrine which he spake abroad.
Now Palal joined the twain; and thus, in haste,
Bespake the King:

‘They come, with all their hosts,
Monarchs, and people; ardent, and grown bold,
To compass their design. Now, will they prove
The might of the Invisible.’

At this,
Rose Samiasa, and Zateel; and clomb
A lofty hill o'erlooking the far plain,
That like a continent spread out immense,
Bordering the Land of Streams. The invading hosts
They saw, in number like far-off seen trees,
Of forest, or of wild; whose lofty tops,
Beheld at distance, are so closely massed,
They seem a sea with waves, as in the wind
They bow before the heavens; communion they
Of saints, nor of the Spirit's fellowship
Unvisited; whose voice in gale, and breeze
Reverent they hear, and worship. But not such,
Nor piously engaged, those numbers, there,
That fill the champaign broad: armies of men
Rebellious, unadoring, and profane;
War-chariot, and War-Steed; and Elephant
To conflict trained, and bearing on his back
Turrets of warriours: animals besides,

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Which the restorèd world has not yet tamed
To human use, were in the throng. The huge,
And strong Rhinoceros, with solid horn
Outgrowing on the maxillary bone,
Proof-armed—by tiger dreaded, lest it rip
His bowels—bore its lord upon its back
Into the battle throng; though turning oft
War to confusion, hurling friend on foe;
Camel, and Dromedary, and wild Mule;
All these came on: bent to assail the Mount
Of Paradise, and Eden lost regain.
Fools, not to know, that of the soul herself
The real Eden is, and she may make
Such of the barest, rudest spot on earth,
If piety, or charity be there.
Urged by the fiends in human limbs arrayed,
By Hherem, Satan, and Azaziel, came
The mailèd crowds, in military pomp;
Proud of such pomp; vain show, though gorgeous; weak,
Though seeming strong in multitudes; thence weak,
And because weak in multitude arrayed.
—Aggressors, through the Vale of Armon they
Move in defile; and on the pleasant banks
Of its baptizing stream, right arrogant,
Their chivalry dispose, in order meet.
Whoso had seen them then, might deem fair troop
Of prowest men, and steeds so swift, and strong;
With other creatures, savage, fierce, and wild:
With ensigns, and with pioneers expert,
To push obstruction back of hill, or wood;
Or raise opposing mountain, where was vale;
Or bridge o'er lake, and chasm, and river broad;
Were potent greatest emprize to achieve.
Ignorant of fate, as yonder battle Steed,
Who eager snorts, and, with snake subtlety,
Winds his glad way through numbers, and performs,

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With supple spring obedient, what his lord,
Throned on his back, designs. O ignorant!—
While to the heaven thou vaultest, in soaring hope;
Or down the hill, with headlong energy,
Precipitatest like a rolling rock;
Then rising, dost as rapidly ascend,
Like a red meteor voyaging on high;
Or skimmest, with birdlike smoothness, level vale,
Tossing thy bright mane, like a torrent's foam,
Moving like air in air, but in thy course
Outstripping the swift whirlwind; or, with rein
Relaxed, glidest onward like a star, or checked,
Turnest like a comet; solid earth, meantime,
Shrinks from thy furious heel. O ignorant,
Brave Steed, art thou, thyself the while but decked,
A sacrifice; for Death's enormous strength
Ere long, with more than sinewy arm, to grasp.
Thee, when the giant seize, shall not avail
Might, or of bone, or limb, . . or effort fierce:
Fixed to the earth, within the monster's gripe,
That heavy head, so graceful now and light,
And that extended neck.

Ah, it is done—
On to that Mountain, Sodi, and his Steed,
Press confident; and to the Ark of God,
That Deluge Ship, arrive. Who there await
His formidable coming? Noah, Shem,
And Japhet, with most old Methuselah.
Patient they wait. Then on the holy thing
The glowing Knight puts his extended hand:
Fire flashes up; stones from a distance flung,
As from a sling, before the guarded hill,
Smote Steed, and Rider both. There lie they now,
O'erthrown; one dead, one dying. From within
Fire, as he writhes, at that Steed's nostrils smokes;
And the blood bubbles, both to ear, and eye,

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Through the swoln veins; till, with the agony
Upspringing, his mad hoof deep dints the sod,
With a quick spasm, as of a lightning's stroke,
And then he falls for ever. O soon quenched,
Or vanished, all that vigour fiery,
And terrible, which him so late inspired.

Not sooner yet than cooled the valourous heat,
And insolent, in those invading hosts.
For lo, the Cherubim, apparent all;
In glory blazing high, and wide, and far;
Stood like a pillar of fire; or like a hill,
Or forest burning; but with shapes, and faces
Outlooking from the flames, as from a furnace,
Unharmèd forms, human if not divine,
At least angelic, graced with numerous wings.
And still the flames advanced; still forward came;
Till, in a robe of light, they did invest
The sainted form of old Methuselah.
So venerably old, that age in him
Was verily sublime; and in the soul
That gazed upon his form, even to tears,
Kindled emotion elevate, profound.
—Yet could yon Knight, now fallen, endure his frown,
And rudely push him by, to smite that Ark,
Divinely ordered; Sodi, rebel youth,
Though valiant, yet apostate. Of the tribe
Of old Methuselah, a youngest son,
Of consecrated race, seduced wert thou
Into the ranks of the profane; and mixed
(But one of many) in their ways of life,
And in their modes of thought; and scorn conceived
Of patriarchal rule, and holy rede.
Chief laughedst thou at the awe in which were held
That self-same Ark, those very Cherubim;
Illusion all, as thou right well mightst know,
Who hadst been in the secret, and wert taught

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How such were fabricated, and adored,
For government, so that the few, or one,
Might lord it o'er the rest—the myriad minds,
Equal, and independent as their own.
Hence hardiest thou, and foremost in assault;
Filial impiety, but soon avenged;
And crowned with glory bright the insulted Sire,
With glory crowned, in sight of all mankind.

And soon Earth shook beneath those multitudes;
Horribly shook: and in the human heart
Was equal fear; flesh universal quaked,
Lest all the region gape, and swallow all:
But otherwise 'twas fated; One alone
Was doomed. Riven as with a thunderbolt,
The mountain yawned; and deep into his grave
Sank, diademed with light, Methuselah;
Thus buried, that no insult desecrate
A Patriarch's obsequies again, as mocked
With contumely Lamech's sacred bier.

Thus sank Methuselah, by earthquake gulfed,
Received to Hades. But, from out his grave,
A column high, and broad, of water wroth
Upspouted through a chasm, that might not close,
Forced by the impetuous element apart.
On high it towered a Fountain, and came down
A River, circling in the lofty air,
And flowing nether earth, a beauteous thing,
Yet terrible:—that arch of grace, and power,
In fluid motion, living in the light;
In agony, and action manifest
To ear, and eye—a spirit passionate,
Or spirits, in that stormy atmosphere,
Ascending, and descending—raging, wild.

Hereat all stood in stupid gaze. Meanwhile,
The Watchers of the Door of Paradise
Moved rapidly apart; and made a way

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For entry, or for egress, to and fro
The holy garden. Soon, between them, stood
The sainted form of Enoch, still in youth;
And still his voice was heard as ere he went:

‘He cometh, with ten thousands of his saints,
Judgement forthwith on all to execute;
And all that are ungodly to convince
Of their ungodly deeds, and their hard speech,
Which against him, Most Holy, they have dared.’

He said; and held aloft, in view of all,
The Tables of the Laws of the Most High;
Each letter made distinct with flames of fire,
And flashing outwards into trails of light.
In at the eye it entered, to the brain
It penetrated deep, and smote with pangs
Guilt where it found. With speed, and awe, away
Fled the invaders, ruinous retreat.

END OF TENTH BOOK.

308

BOOK THE ELEVENTH. DUDAEL

I. Noah Rejected

Then, prostrate in Jehovah's presence, spake
Noah, and said:—

‘O Lord, my God: now, hear,
And answer; for the press of thoughts, and things,
And men perplexes, now, thy servant sore.
Hast thou determined to destroy, indeed,
Earth, with her offspring? Should I then assume
Patriarch authority, paternal rule,
Over the people? And wherefore? seeing now,
In name, and not in substance, of long time,
And powerless, the station hath been held;
An ordinance obsolete, that hath lost its hold
On popular opinion, and repute?
Or, if I take on me the robe of power,
Oh, wilt thou pardon, thou Almighty God,
And rescue the doomed world, redeem, and save?
Rescue, redeem, and save, Omnipotent:
In mercy save, even for thy servant's sake,
If once I favour found, and still retain.’

Then spake Jehovah. ‘Thou hast favour found;
Nor mayst thou rightful Ordinance resign.
If they accept thee, well; if not, retire,
And make thee ready; for the Judgement sits.’

Such was God's answer unto Noah's prayer.
So he arose; and, on the morrow, called
The people to the Sacrifice. But not
For worship, but debate, they came: the wise,
And ignorant; the cunning, and unapt;

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Claiming alike free speech; philosophists,
And oratours; Palal, and Rumel: For
These twain had forces joined; and in the minds
Of men had made them empire; and, with power,
The democratic temper could persuade,
Combine, and wield its elements at will:
And Hherem who, with secret influence,
Directed all to slavery, while they
Of Freedom talked, and Rights unreasoning,
That owned no Duty, or to God, or man:
And wild Azaziel who, in nature's wrath,
Saw Liberty—the licence to destroy,
Which pleased him best; and Satan, who would rear,
On ruins of creation, a high throne,
That o'er against the visionary Mount
Might tower, audacious, opposite to God's.

Now, on the Altar-tomb had Noah placed
The sacred Book, to Seth by Enoch given;
And, kneeling, would have prayed; but Palal then
Began the wordy war.

‘Pardon,’ said he,
‘Intrusion out of course; but time has changed
Old channels, and the spirit of the age,
Would it be heard, must violate, where needs,
Old forms, and institutions, and make new,
That Law grow not save of the will of all,
Hold of existing circumstance, and fit
Accumulated knowledge widely spread.
Men know their rights, and to assert them now—
To will, and think, and speak as of themselves,
And to appoint what rules they will obey,
If any, and how. Well was it in old times,
The sire should teach the son, and children learn
From their forefathers, and believe: but now,
Change has accrued; and sons are who might lord

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O'er parents, if in wisdom be the right,
More capable to teach than they to learn.
Then, why should they be subject, and succumb
To authority inferiour, knowledge less?
Herein deem not, I Noah's wisdom doubt,
Knowing his worth, and eloquence; but this
I well may question, when he credit claims
For inspiration, whereof know I nought,
Nor may. For whence is knowledge? From the sense.
What we perceive by eye, and ear, taste, touch,
And smell, become ideas, and compose
Reason, and understanding; nor are they
Of other objects sentient. What is deemed
Of infinite, and eternal is made up
Of times, and spaces added without end;
And so some notion formed, how vague at best.
But Noah would of other knowledge vaunt,
Caught from some other state, or world, or age,
Discerned but by the Spirit, and on faith,
The credit of his word, to be believed—
Or haply of power miraculous, whereof
Was told me yesterday, and partly felt
And seen, though but in part, because afar
I stood, and saw, and felt imperfectly,
At distance. Earthquake—Gulph—and Fire!
Why, what's in these that Nature tells not of?
These rumblings of the earth are ordinary;
And, without wrath, may swallow whom they please:
Why not Methuselah?—And for the flame,
'Twas the volcanic blaze that ever tends
On Earthquake, and announces, and succeeds,
Cherubic guardians deemed of Eden lost.
Vain terrours; which the light of science, seen
In the horizon only, soon will chase—
Like shades before the sun at morning-rise.
Thus futile these pretensions; others may

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Be proved, perchance, as fond. Behoves it, then,
His claims be tested; and to all be given
Free opportunity merit to sift,
And chuse the wisest, and the best to rule.’

He ended, and was followed with applause
Unanimous.—Straight, from amidst the throng,
Rose, unexpected, Samiasa then;
And awe imposed, and silence.

‘Friends;’ he cried:
‘Patient I've heard, like patience shew to me.
'Tis said, no inner vision hath the soul,
But all its knowledge is derived from earth;
Yet 'tis confessed there is a power within,
Which from the finite argues infinite—
What is that power? O surely not of earth,
For earthly things fail it to satisfy,
And cannot shew the Object that it wants.
Is then that Object nothing? Nay, the soul
Perceives of it impression, with that eye,
Which, being spiritual, spiritually beholds;
As with a fleshly orb it apprehends
Material forms, intelligently seen.
And this Idea, or creative Word,
Reports of Law; of which the shadows be,
By symbols, shewn in nature, and the rule
Of government. But its high fountain is
Thy bosom, God! whose Being is the Law
Unto thy working; authour to itself;
Beginning all things for a worthy end,
And operation limiting thereby,
In measure, number, weight, according to
The counsel of thy Will; that Wisdom old,
More antient than the hills, co-mate with thee,
Eternal: Order, hence, appoints to all
His creatures, and creation, duties fit:
Celestial, natural; human, or divine;

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Fatal, or voluntary. Nature thus,
To Law obedient, Being to produce,
Generates forms, to be the souls of things.
Thus Angels love, adore, and imitate
The purity, the glory, and the beauty
Of him who placed their armies, and their hosts
In order, and degree, the ministers
Of virtue unto men. Thus men themselves,
Aiming at goodness, covet to be like
God in continuance, and creation both;
And seek to propagate, and to their works
Give constancy, and excellence like his;
And rise, by reason, to the knowledge pure
Of things, not sensible; and, by the power
Of will, the spirit of the mind,—of heaven.
Knowledge, and Will; whence Choice. Of these discoursed
Palal even now, and argued Noah false:
His premises proved false, prove Noah true.
Chuse ye the good, avoid the evil now;
And to the Laws by Reason given to Man,
For social rule, and peaceful fellowship,
And to old ordinance, old authority,
Bow as of right, that Order be not broke;
Knowing that intellect may not usurp
On moral power, and either damage 'scape.’

Thus ended he; and thought profound held mute
The assembly—soon by Rumel called to hear.
—‘Freemen;’ exclaimed the Oratour: ‘men free
By Nature; wherefore should ye to old saws
Yield, whom new prospects to new fields invite
Of great endeavour? At whose voice? At his,
Who by inheritance possessed a throne,
And was a king, and straight must ape the god,
And rather than in city, dwelt in wild?
Now, from his sway released, in the same line
Resides authority: how graced with virtue,

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Both in Azaradel, and Amazarah;
With what allegiance unto antient law,
Or modern, well appears to all, and each:
Yet little need be cared for, if it brought
Oppression not on subjects, scourging oft
The sins of other men, and taxing them
For maintenance of their own. The hour is come,
When Earth must throw off rule: and lawless Man
Be as at first; self-governed, or quite free;
Each waging his own right, or his own wrong
Avenging; following his own desires;
Self-arbiter of evil, and of good.’

At this was uproar, scarce by Noah stilled,
Who hardly audience found, though speaking there
The words of the Most High.

‘That man is free,
Who is not held in bondage of his lusts,
No servant to corruption; only he.
And all must be such slaves whom law rules not,
For those of Nature are, law of the Mind:
Hence parents check their children, and forbid
Indulgence, ruinous to health, or heart;
Thus God, the Father of the Universe,
Gave Law to Adam; and, above the flesh,
Enthroned in state the spirit; nor repealed,
Nor a jot bated its validity,
For his transgression. Adam to his Sons
Such government extended; how to live
In fellowship, though violated oft,
Yet ne'er annulled. And so, from race to race,
Each father was a king to his own house;
And, o'er the numerous households, one was set,
In right of Adam's rule, hereditary
Dominion to exhibit, and enforce.
Yet Life was before Law: the Maker, hence,

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For Adam made provision, ere he tasked
Obedience. And when Cain sought Naid afar,
Natural impediment, and penury
Were first assuaged, and many arts discerned,
Though but mechanical, ere he might rear
A city, and a state. Valour, and wit,
With conjoint effort, then relation fixed
Of Right, and Duty; but had to contend
With envy, strife, contention, violence—
Used both for good, and evil. Heed ye now.
The days are evil, justice is dethroned;
Fathers are scorned, and order set at nought,
Private, or social: all it doth behove
To take away all mutual grievances,
All injuries, and wrongs; and to appoint
Public agreement, social government—
Whereto yield ye submissive; and to whom
Ye grant authority, may peace, and bliss,
And to the rest, by them be still procured.—
Peace to the righteous: to the oppressor, woe.
Nor has the bounteous Maker left ye void
Of supernatural aid; but in his law,
The Testament of Enoch, taught to Man
The way of duty, and the gate of bliss.’

Thus Noah. But loud clamour rose, and scorn,
And laughter, and opprobrium, and the cries
Of insolent rejection; tumult soon,
And strife, and bloodshed. Veiled within a cloud,
God rescued from the outrageous multitude
His Prophet; and rage died, its victim gone.
—Died with the Rephaim, those giant twins,
Who sometime smote, by Adam's sepulchre,
Noah while preaching . . whereof hath been told.
And now, again, the demon Brethren sought
To smite him as he spake: but either deemed

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It honour to strike first; and, for the fame,
One with the other strove, until escaped
Their victim.—Then, upon his Brother each
His anger turned; wrath deadly—murtherous—
Wrestling in contest, gladiatorial strife:
Emulous of victory, seeking it as balm
To disappointment; neither wishing yet
To live thereafter, fired by frenzy so,
As if such loss bore no surviving, or,
After such gain, life worthless were, and stale.
High skill they shewed in combat; to assault
Or to defend, both equal; both unmatched
By any else; right artists in their kind,
Of all acknowledged, theme of saw, and song.
Long time, was either by the other held
At bay: their weapons clashed, but to protect,
And not to wound; until at length—at length—
Dagger of each was close at heart of each,
Mutually crossed; then, each in other's face
Looked, and laughed loud—and, as they laughed, they plunged
The poniards in; laughed, as they plunged them in—
And, laughing, drew them out; and, as they fell
Backward, laughed dying: laughing, so they died
In ecstasy, both victors, both death-crowned.
—Thus died the Born of Spirit, and of Flesh;
Apostate Spirit; (not apostate, guilt
Had then been none;) and thus on earth were they
Demons as giants, evil energies
In strength incarnate; errours masculine
Enshrined in clouds, yet not of Glory named,
But Hades—dark, oppressive, and corrupt,
Louring o'er earth, in battailous array,
Contending, bursting, falling but to bruise.

Thus died they, and more terrible the laugh,
That, from the hell-mouth of their gushing heart,

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In that death-transport brake, than were the fiends
To mock a mourner from some cave's deep rift—
Soft-hearted mourner for a doomèd world,
With exultation of the coming wreck;
Greedy of ruin, angels of mischance:
More terrible, and more oracular.

II. The Angels

That eve, in pensive contemplation, stood
The Angel of Repentance, Phanuel;
And, through the tear-drop in his quiet eye,
Watched westering Earth, with Uriel, in the Sun:
Beside him Archangelic Michael towered.

In the sun-world they stood, an orb of fire,
To heavenly seraphs only genial place;
To frames less ardent mortal element.
Burning both day, and night; a flashing mount
Was Uriel's throne: and, round about it set,
Seven other hills—compiled of fiery stones,
Brilliant, and beautiful, and living flames—
Supported on their slopes, and on their brows,
Unwithering trees, with odorous fruitage hung,
In clusters, breathing fragrance where he sate.
Hence, Uriel swayed the multitude of Stars;
Appointing them, in measure, and in weight,
Light; as they came, attracted; and, repelled,
Went thence to do his bidding. The Moon, too,
Waxing, or waning, was his servitress,
Handmaid of Uriel. Glorious was the throne;
And, at its footstool, flowed a river pure;
River of light, and life; billows of life,
And waves of light, which spake even as they flowed:
Tongues of quick fire, and cloven in the midst,
Singing immortal anthems, hymns divine;
Voices of music, harmonies of heaven:

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Angels, the guardians of the fount of fire,
Innumerable. Glorious were the Three,
Watchers of Heaven, clad in celestial white,
Of countenance transparent—clear aspect,
That as of crystal shewed the mind within,
Not hid deceptive: holy they, and true,
Bright Uriel, Michael strong, and Phanuel meek.
And, at the back of Uriel's throne, were hung
A bow of fire, and arrows fiery
Within their quiver, and a sword of fire,
Lightning, and radiance, splendours without end.

Now, the great Mother, active for her sons,
Came to the palace of the Lord of Day:
The rosy Hours about her coming throng.
They, from her dusky chariot, loose awhile
Her wearied steeds; and, out of golden urns,
Refresh them with the living streams of light.
Mournful in her maternal majesty,
Straight she descended from her lofty seat:
And, like the queen of sorrow, proud, and pale,
Entered the gorgeous dwelling of the Sun;
Whose glory dazed her elevated brow,
To treble wanness, and intenser grief.
The radiant angel, affable as bright,
His yellow tressèd head in homage veiled,
And gave her welcome from his shining state.
But, from her blanchèd forehead, she undid
Her oaken coronet, and cast it down
Upon the heavenly pavement, chrysolite;
The solemn foldings of her regal robe
Unclasped; and, on the footsteps of his throne,
Sank down, in woe, and agony extreme.

‘Me miserable:’ with a heavy groan,
Began the mighty Mother, mighty now
Only in sorrow. ‘Miserable me;
Whose children have been murtherers from the womb.

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Far other hope was mine, whom angel harps,
Emerging from the waste of Chaos old,
Hailed, on my natal, and my nuptial day,
Sister, and bride of the perpetual heaven.
How gladly, with diurnal industry,
I journeyed toward thy orient Capitol,
To alternate warmth, radiance, and delight,
To either hemisphere of my round orb,
Together with the sweet vicissitude
Of grateful shadow, and refreshing sleep;
And still, with indefatigable love,
Controled the seasons to the weal of Man.
I nourished him with milk from out my breasts;
Naked, I clothèd him; to him I gave
Country, and home, and heritage, and tomb:
But he, ingrate, my brow defiled with blood;
With armèd heel he smote my matron face,
With bloody hand he stabbed my pregnant womb;
And violence and lust possess the lands,
With palaces, and temples unto gods,
That are no gods, sore-burthened, and distrest.
My heart is broken, sick, and sorrowful.
Ay me, I fear that the Long-suffering yet
Will rise in wrath; and, in one common wreck,
Me, for my children's sins, with them confound.’

To whom thus Uriel: ‘O majestic queen,
O melancholy mother, beautiful
In sorrow, and sublime in misery:
Thou well hast done the work thou hadst to do.
This, as the Eye of the all-seeing God,
I witness; this broad heaven doth avouch.
Thee, hence, he circles still, as in the day
Of your espousals, with intense embrace.
And he hath heard thee groan, hath heard thy cry,
From midst the floods, whereon thy throne is set;
And soon the Avenger over thee shall pass,

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And thou shalt be avengèd; thou, and Heaven,
On your lewd daughters, and intemperate sons.’

Whereto the Mother: ‘Let me be overwhelmed,
Within the abrupt abyss; so but the doom
My children may escape.’

‘It may not be,’
Interposed Michael. ‘I, in my place in heaven,
Have testified to their iniquities.
The dreamers that defile the flesh, despise
Dominion, and speak ill of dignities,
Of things they know not, and beyond their sense,
Themselves corrupting in the things they know;
Spots in the festivals of charity,
Feasting in fearlessness, and thanklessness;
Clouds without water, borne about of winds;
Trees, whose fruit withereth, without fruit, twice dead,
Uprooted; raging billows of the sea,
Out-foaming their own shame; and wandering stars,
To whom the blackness of deep darkness is
Reserved for ever: mockers walking still
After their own ungodly lusts, and who
Divide themselves, the moieties of men,
Sensual, of spirit emptied utterly.
And every Star that watcheth in the sky,
Hath, to his jealous God, his record borne
Of adoration strange; and, from her sphere,
The Moon hath also lifted up her voice,
And the bright Sun, abashed, doth veil his beams.’

Hereat, the heart of Earth sobbed forth aloud:
Then Phanuel sought with these to solace her.

‘Sorrowful mother of a sinful race,
Whose hearts I fain would turn to holiness;
Hear what my anxious care has learned for thee.
In Heaven there have been goings to and fro;
And, from among the Myrtle-trees, the Angel
Called to the Riders on the blood-red Horses,

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Who are ye? and they answered: We are they
Whom he hath sent to travel, up and down,
Thorough the earth. Well, asked the questioner:
Is earth at peace? As yet, the Courier said,
She sitteth still . . she is at rest as yet.’

Then thus the Mother. ‘'Tis the deepest calm,
Heralds the wildest tempest evermore.’

‘Trust in the Father; he is merciful.’
Thus Uriel comforted her misery.

So she departed; having, from his fount
Of light her horn replenished: her aspect
Glowed in his glory, radiant as the eve;
And the tall turrets of her diadem,
Fused by his eye, shone like a molten sea.

Who then had gazed into the billowy west,
Had deemed that Uriel on his orb declined.—
How beautiful his glory: how intense
The beauty: how poetical in dew:
How bright the crown of beams around his brows,
Imparadising, with their burning hues,
The clouds voluminous; that, in their joy,
Change to a myriad tints ineffable,
Gorgeously circling his refulgent throne,
And it, in undulating majesty,
Pageant to ocean, a glad company.

III. Phanuel, and Samiasa

And Michael soared into the Heaven of heaven:
But Phanuel sought the earth; such charge he had,
For Samiasa doomed to deepest grave
Of stern humility, that he might rise
To more salvation, cleansed of fatal pride.
Deep in Dudael, voluntary now,
Had he retired to brood upon the state
Of the rebellious world, and on the sin

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Unspeakable, yet in mysterious sleep
By Amazarah uttered. And he cast,
How he the horrid purpose, she had sworn
To the infernal Powers, might best impede.

Wrath in his soul was kindled: ‘Rule hath gone,’
Said he, ‘from man; dominion is no more.
All Ordinance hath vanished from all lands,
Because my sceptre ceased to sway the earth,
That I, her victor, had commanded once.
I will resume authority, and make
Due compensation for whatever wrong
Was then by me committed; will restore
The worship of the One, the Only-True;
And win obedience to the ancient ways.’

Then Phanuel stood before him—clad in light,
More pure than of the Sun—a frowning god.

‘Thou?’ said the Angel: ‘thou hast even prepared
The heavens, and set thy compass on the deep;
Their clouds established, and her fountains filled;
Secured the earth's foundations, and thereof
The measures hast appointed. Thereon thou
Hast stretched the line, and laid its corner stone.
Ocean flows in the hollow of thy hand,
And the proud isles thou liftest easily.
For is not Samiasa more than dust,
And his right arm can save him?’

Inly groaned
The fallen King. ‘Then verily am I
A Shadow on the earth, and better 'tis
That I should die than live.’

‘All men are such,’
Replied the Angel; ‘all such doom awaits;
And who art thou that thou shouldst save the earth,
And at the Judgements of thy God repine?’

Then Samiasa murmured:
‘Better 'twere,

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No pardon were vouchsafed unto my sins,
If no atonement may be wrought by me.
'Tis well that I be wroth, even unto death.’

Hereat wept Phanuel. With his flowing tears,
The heart of Samiasa melted too;
And his majestic mien all tenderness
Became; and, like a child, he listened now
The gracious Angel's words.

‘Thou knowest not
The heart of man; what wickedness is there;
And deemest of the race, and, in thy kind,
Even of thyself, more highly than should be.
Hence rightly thou hast said, atonement ought
By thee be rendered; but thou errest still.
Thou canst do nothing—but thou mayst endure.
Hence needs it thou be taught, what is in man,
What rank corruption; and, by knowing this,
Humility know too. I grieve for thee
To think of thine extreme, and more should grieve
But that the end is motive to the means.
Care not for thy great Mother's Oath infern;
Impediment awaits it from above.
And loth am I to say that chief by her,
In what thou now art ignorant, will come
To thee the penal cleansing of thy soul,
So that no pride rise in thy heart again.’

Silent the monarch heard admonishment;
And, with a troubled brow, the Genius kind
Bade him farewell awhile.

Soon o'er his mind
The gathering darkness Samiasa felt;
And passively submitted, while on him
Came the once dreaded Change. The demon spell
Was in his soul again; and prostrate he,
A creature prone, sank down into the sands.

Phanuel meantime sought Hherem; and him found

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Within that Cainite Capitol, even in
The Temple of great Mammon, brooding ill—
Glad by his mean Azaradel withdrawn
From Amazarah—with his absence pleased—
As fitting opportunity to put
That Oath in act, he had himself imposed
On the lost Queen in Hades. Glad his heart,
Her rival progeny should be to Hell
In sacrifice presented; and, at once,
Her jealousy, and his, in blood assuaged.

But otherwise 'twas ordered—for on him
Now Phanuel with celestial vigour seized,
And bare into Dudael. For the rest,
The Angel knew, that midst of her attempt
On wicked Amazarah flood would fall,
And stop her further crime. Need therefore none,
For Samiasa's aid: nor had availed,
Even if wanting, for mistaken he
In the doomed Objects of the unnatural pact,
As yet aware not of his Mother's guilt,
Nor of the Offspring of the Incestuous Queen;
But deemed her Victim-Children were none else
Than his bad Brother, and unwelcome Self.

And Phanuel brought the Fiend, where lay the King
Upon Dudael's sands; and there imposed
On Hherem his old doom; that he might teach
To Samiasa, 'twas of privilege,
Freely bestowed by God, he had been Man.

Such office was the demon's, self abased,
Man's nature to the bestial to subdue,
And, by unutterable sympathy,
Partake humiliation so profound;
A penal task. Albeit he had forgone
His own prerogatives, and was content
To bow his functions to the creeping thing,
That feeds on carrion, and on carcases:

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From such abasement as the monarch's soul
Was doomed to, yet, repugnant, he recoiled,
Astonished, and abhorrent. But the Power
Impelled him from above; and he fell down,
And ate the dust: so deep his misery,
He might not even in anguish gnash his teeth;
Much less give sorrow words. And so his soul
Consumed in silence; punishment most meet,
For him, degraded willingly. How keen,
Shrunk from his pride, and lapsed from such estate,
Were the affliction, and the agony
That seared the monarch's heart. How hot the fire
In which his will was tried, and purified.
—But patient he endured, and murmured not.

Dudael round them in a circle spread,
And them enclasped within his mighty arms,
Who recked not of his doings. The Simoom,
That parches the red air with arid heat,
And poisons nature with his sulphurous breath,
Swept over them unheeded—though the blast
Did, like the wrath of the tornado, whirl,
Did, like the water-spout of ocean, whelm,
The pensive pilgrim, lonely amid the wild,
Or merchant, and his numerous company;
A thousand corses withered by the storm,
Putrid, and swoln, and scorching on the sands.
—Surged to the clouds, they darkle, like a wood,
Within the heavy sky, the violet sun;
And, flecked by his bright rays, seem shafts of fire,
Pillars of flame, and columns all a-blaze,
Or moving fortress armed with demon bands.
Three days the tempest glowed, the vision glared:
Them, prostrate, the hot gale might visit not;
Nor the dread pageant awe. The Sarsar sped
His ice bolts through the wide waste wilderness;
And, from his black surchargèd cloud aloft,

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Made desolation yet more desolate
With cold: whereto the cold within the land
Of Hades, or the frozen tracts of Hell,
Were comparable only; so intense,
Extreme, and bitter: and it smote all things,
And in the heart of all things mortal burned;
Tree, bole, and branches, with the writhen bolt
Of winter blasted, leafless, barkless, sapless,
Bare, and of life devoid. And herb, and weed
Withered; and, in their headlong torrent, floods
Congealed, and stiffened to a stony sheet.
The wild steed stood aghast, whom rein had ne'er
Checked; now, by more than human vigour curbed.
And, in the human veins, the vigourous blood
Was shackled; and the rivers of the heart
Were as a sealèd fountain; and the veins,
Parched, became brittle, like to glass, and brake;
Or hardened into marble. Over them
The ice-wind wrought its work: but, on the ground,
They clasped the bosom of maternal earth,
Unconscious; and the spirit's misery
Had made the flesh insensible to change.

IV. Satan, and Azaziel

Who walked upon the whirlwind that o'erwhelmed?
Who sped the unerring arrows that destroyed?
Satan rode on the whirlwind that o'erwhelmed;
Azaziel sped the arrows that destroyed.
They came in their pavilions, tended thus
With their selected ministers: their tramp
Rang as of armies on a rocky pass,
Reverberate by the surrounding cliffs;
Their voices, as the roar of cataracts,
Hurled from a thousand hills enskied in heaven,
Resounded, and astounded, with the noise

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And repercussion, all that neighbourhood
Of nature's desolation, and of man's.

Descending from his secret place of storms,
Issued to sight the Majesty of Hell.
His foot clanged resonant on the trembling ground,
And his dilating presence royally
Spread o'er the wilds, and stretched into the clouds.
Gloomed o'er his brow the infernal diadem,
Like a black crag projected o'er a cliff,
White as the surge, the barrier of the main;
And, like a blasted orb once over-bright,
His eye, a ruin, burned; and on his cheek,
Immortal Beauty hideously shone:
A wreck as of a noble Ship long tost,
Stanced, where it rived, amid the calmèd sea,
Sublime though desolate, and beautiful
Though loveless; for her sails the winds about
Woo idly, and play round her keel the waves,
Recoiling, as in wonder, evermore.
Of her the mariner shall fable, how,
When withered by the seasons utterly,
She yet at night walks o'er the waters wide,
With all her bravery flaunting to the stars,
Weft of the wave, the Spectre of a ship,
And on her deck the Spirits of the crew;
While haunted ocean, in the shadowy gleams
Of the pale moon, looks ghostly, and aghast.
—Nor seemed less dreamy now the desart drear,
Than that old forest of the after-world,
Wherein the goblin guard, with impious pomp,
Held festival, whence awed fled all, save one:
He, through the fiery city high as heaven,
Passed bravely, unhurt; anon, by pity stayed, . .
For lo, each tree possessing sense, and speech,
The wounded rind forth gushed with human blood;
But, from the pleasant isle redeemed at length,

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Unmoved by sound, or sight, or amorous wile
Of her, love-lorn, whose palace had been erst
His o'er-sweet prison, thence the Appointed chased
Phantasm, and shape, and unessential flame.

But now no mortal virtue might dissolve
The terrours here: not visionary these;
But real, and substantial as the being
Of the immortal spirit, in the mind
Of unobscurable humanity.
Yet less to them they hover round about,
Than is a dream, forgotten ere the dawn,
To him whose quiet conscience sleeps serene.

Then Satan, with a mighty voice, which shook
The wilderness, to Hherem cried aloud:
‘Sleeper, what dreamst, in sleep profound as death,
Albeit not death—for spirit cannot die?
Of universal scorn, that, from the courts
Of hell, thee followed with disdainful hiss,
O'er Chaos, on thy way abrupt, and wild,
Precipitate, confounded, and debased;
From the dimensions of spiritual life
Dwarfed wilfully, the demon of the brute?
The brute hath sense, and oft, half reasoning,
Is of much understanding capable;
The worm owns feeling, and the insect worlds,
That are as of the dust with which they blend,
And seem but as its atoms most minute,
Have motion, life, are sensible to pain
And pleasure animal, though lowest kind,
And least degree. But thou art less than these:
A grain of sand is as a god to thee.
And thou to be the god unto the man
Who late was as a god unto mankind?
Astonishment invests me like a robe
Of poison, shrivels my angelic veins,
Consumes my blood, and licks it up like fire.

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Awake, thou sleeper of the sleep of death,
All but annihilation. Wilt not wake?
Then slumber on eternally—sleep on;
Inanimate of bestial, as befits.’

Thus, half in ire, and half in bitter scorn,
The Archfiend raged; and felt, in sooth, his blood,
Lapped in his veins as with a fiery tongue,
Celestial ichor with infernal flame.
For him within the consubstantial hell
Burned; and, perchance, to desperate act had wrought,
Pain unendurable to mitigate,
But that Azaziel, the destroying One,
Swept by, borne in his icy chariot; whence
Alighted now, he rested on his scythe
Magnificent, wherewith he moweth down
Whole armies, front to front, in radiant rank
Opposed . . proud, brave, and ardent; prodigal
Of active energy, and breathing life,
Seeking for fame in gore-accursèd deeds,
In death, and dust for immortality.

Of old, on plains celestial, he was bred
To sports heroic, and in valourous play
Had joyaunce, and delight. He loved to list
The trump of battle braze the ardent air,
And gird him with divinest panoply,
On mountain, or in mead. And, in the vale
Of slumber, he had visions of bright fame,
And glory without end; and held it eath,
To soar above the Heavens infinite,
Or into central Hades, and beneath
The unfathomable to descend, so he
Might lead bright Honour captive, or redeem
From durance far remote, obscure, and old.
And, haunted by the shadow of such dreams,
He ranged heaven's champain, a chivalric youth,

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In quest ambitious of great enterprise,
To tourney with his equals, and prevailed.
They wrestled in the strife of sacred love,
And where their weapons wounded there they healed,
For sin was not, and pain no spirit knew,
Till Lucifer aspired, ere long o'erthrown.
Exiled from heaven, he made wild work in hell,
And desolation marked his whereabout,
And aught of Order his transmuting spear
To chaos turned, to dissolution waste.
His front was scarred with thunder; and, above,
His battered helmet loured with lurid gleam,
As in the pregnant bosom of a cloud
Broods lightning, ripe for birth. His bloodshot eye
Gleamed mockery; his features were enlarged,
As if a rock could smile that had no heart,
With unangelic fulgour; and his words
Smote keenly cold the spirit they discoursed.

‘Prince of dark Powers, proud Autocrat of Air;
O let there not be told, within the realms
Of ether, or the gates of the abyss,
Of strange amazement thus disparaging
The majesty of unadoring hell.
Say, why is not thy bosom mailed as mine,
Thy soul as stern, thy heart as pitiless?
Think on the day when thy bold voice declared
The race of angels free. Did I not go
To that great battle, as a festival,
For which I was athirst? Drunk with delight,
I swept destroying on. This lance erewhile
That quickened where it vanquished, now dissolved
Each substance to its elements, approved
How mutable, and chased from form to form.
Annihilate I could not, though I would,
But I might change, and dissipate, and scathe.
Earth feels my tread, and quakes. Fear, and Decay,

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Famine, and Death, Storm, War, and Pestilence,
Confess my presence, as of him they serve,
Obey my mastery, worship me as god,
And do my bidding whatsoe'er I will.
Change daunts not me, nor ruin makes afraid.’

To whom thus Satan, gradually awaked,
Sadly replied. ‘Change I can contemplate,
O Angel, unamazed; such change as thou
Canst pleased behold, or gloriously produce.
Can Spirit be less privileged than that,
Which, in despite of efforts such as thine,
Subsists, in every change, and is in all,
By its own properties, identified?
Here lost I seem in wonder, like a man
Gazing upon a corse amazedly,—
He sees the attributes of body there,
But all the appertenance of spirit gone;
Yet, by the strange exception unconvinced,
That what has been can ever cease to be.
Of what once reasoned—willed—what here remains?
Insensible, inert, inanimate,
Of what had motion, and was sensitive,
Perplexes reason; wisdom fails me here.
Can He, who claims Creatour to have been,
Deprive the rational of faculty?
Why not of being? and annihilate
Essence spiritual, as it seems he can,
That by which only it may be discerned?
This, Angel, is a work thou canst not do,
Nor canst reverse. Thou canst not waken him.’

‘Let Him who lulled him to so sound a sleep,
Do that:’ replied the War-Fiend truculent;
‘If that He did the work, or can undo.
I rather argue for His impotence,
Than His omnipotence, which not consists
With liberty. Yon spirit had his will,

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Which him disposing to the lowest life,
He gravitated even unto this;
The Tyrant him restrained not, if he could.
All things are free, as in the reälties
Of Spirit, so in Nature; who, to change
So prone, so free, is ever born anew,
And propagated, and for ever teems
Herself with births; torn with perpetual throes,
Big with mischance, and procreant of caprice.
What power restrains the Avalanche? He sweeps
Terribly from the hills; and, with his foot,
Slays, and entombs, a snowy monument.
The Glacier, on his unobstructed way,
Goeth precipitate, an icy scythe,
And moweth more than armies in his march.
Who lets the Earthquake, when she minds to heave
Cities from their foundations? On the shore,
The Whirlwind, and Tornado have their will;
And, on the sea, the Tempests do their work;
And poor Humanity endures the wreck.
The Waves sport freely in the eye of Heaven;
Who checks the Winds? they blow even as they list.
For Liberty is the sole law that moves
The indefatigable Universe.
Lo, we are free; and may be what we will:
We will be gods, and shall be; nay, we are;
Or if not yet, and we have much to win,
'Tis but because 'tis easier far to fall
Than to ascend, as once we proved too well.
We are conquered, but our wills remain as free;
And Patience, well opposed, may outwear Power.
Meantime, we hurl defiance at His throne,
And thrive on hate.—My charmèd spear could once
Revive what seemed as dead: that spell has now
Departed, nor would I desire it back;
It went even with my wish, and at my will.

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But it may operate mutation yet,
Or in that corse, or spirit like a corse,
And re-establish in thy heart contempt
Of Power defied, and, not Almighty, scorned.’

He, thus blaspheming, smote them with his lance,
That straight returned effectless to his hand,
Whereat enraged, he but the more blasphemed.
But Satan from that unapparent thing,
(As hard for mind angelic to conceive,
As matter void of form, unqualified,
For human intellect, however wise,)
Averted his sad eye, and thus his mate
Admonished. ‘Fury of infirmity
Reports; Leader of Hosts, and Lord of War.
Beseems it us, whether He be, or not
Omnipotent, and may annihilate
Substance with attribute, yet to retain
Consistency, Eternity's sole law;
And change not in our hate, though he destroy.
And I have practised with the minds of power,
Whence strife shall grow, that shall repair defeat,
Lately experienced from the sacred hill,
Of Paradise, and, with more sure result,
Make earth our own, and give thy hands to do
What fits them most, and best thy heart affects.’

END OF ELEVENTH BOOK.

333

BOOK THE TWELFTH. THE JUDGEMENT

I. Azaradel

Communing thus, much truth and falsehood mixed
In their discourse, they heard the hunter's voice,
The hunter's voice within the wilderness—
A solitary shout, a lone halloo,
Well answered by the twain, who recognized
Azaradel, the brother of the king,
Usurper of his vacant throne, and worse,
The couch paternal, an incestuous man.
Arrived where now they stood, the audacious heir
Of premature perdition, mate of fiends,
Paused, . . not in wonder, but as having found
Who to his cry responded. Fair of form
As Belial, and attempering arrogance
With much lascivious grace; his presence bore
No stern rebuke, but pleasing dignity
Sate throned in comely pride: yet, couched beneath
That princely semblance, slunk a cruel heart.
An iron crown was girt around his brows,
And with his liquid, and voluptuous mien,
Made contrast strange; a merry eye was his,
A mellow cheek, a nostril dissolute,
A melting lip, yet curled as in contempt
Sportively. Like a morning iris arched
O'er the deep music of a cataract,
The imperial purple glowed about his limbs.
Lofty of stature, and of port erect;
A giant, or a demigod, he stood:
Like a fair hill, fit for an angel's choice,

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When he from some commanding eminence,
Would tell his heavenly errand—now a throne
Whence demons uttered the decrees of hell.

In pride of heart, and strength of sorcery;
Despite the Simoom's, and the Sarsar's rage;
He dared, through the wild desart, to pursue
Behemoth. With a courtly train, he went
Forth from the Cainite palace; and aroused
Earth's biggest born from his enormous lair.
Chief of the ways of God, compact of might
And hugeness . . sinewy, strong, and valourous,
The stormy perils daunted even him;
But man, the fiercer savage urged him out,
And braved the sulphurous whirlwind, and the cold:
Not long;—part, smitten prostrate by the blast,
Lay on the sands unburied, and the rest
Were frozen into monumental ice.
But him his spells, and mother's magic skill,
And the protection of the fiends, preserved;
Although astounded, and well nigh destroyed,
In the convulsion of the elements.
Subsided then, each dissipated sense
Restored;—his shout for help was recognized
Even by the twain whom he encountered now.

O'er whom they hovered soon he understood,
And his bad heart dilated. ‘What, thus low?
Thus with the dust confounded, thou, whose soul
Aspired beyond the visible confine,
Ethereal—after whom were cities named—
And to whose folly men bowed down the knee
In greater folly? Adon, yet they say,
Our father, did resent thy growing pride,
And smote thee thus: howbeit, I maintain,
'Twas from affection to his younger son;
Though he despise both thee, and him alike.’

Thus he, in pleasant vein. To whom replied

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Azaziel. ‘Sweeter than an infant's prayer,
The scorner's depthless voice and hollow gloze.
What reckst thou of things hallowed? fleshly-wise,
Thou lovest to enjoy substantial bliss,
No shadowy dream, like what fair Armon's sons
Would fain withal their souls imparadise.
Scorn they these carnal joys? Once more we'll prove,
Their sense refined not free from pain, like his,
—(It pleases thee, I see it in thine eye,)—
On whom no temporal, or eternal thing
Hath power of change, immaculate in death.’

Then did Azaradel rejoice, and say—
‘'Tis bravely thought, 'twere braver far to do.
My soul upon the present I expend:
For fools who mortify the fleshly mind,
Be that reversional eternity.
And hath it Samiasa come to this?
Less than the dust thou scornedst? less than he
Thou tauntedst with his altogether clay?’

But now with graver brow whereon sate pride,
Its proper throne, Satan the levity
Of their slight parle rebuked.

‘Such style of speech
Suits not the politic, and wary mind.
This present pleasure that thou prizest so,
Thou of our grace enjoyest; as even now
Thy safety in the storm of hot, and cold.
But lo, no tyrants, we no service ask
Unpleasing; such only as gives rein to mirth
Or ere the doing. We have filled thy sense
Topfull of joyaunce, nor from thee withheld
High Amazarah, proudly beautiful—
O how thou lovedst her as sons seld love
The mother of their manhood: How she loves
Thee as seld mothers love the sons they bore.
I mark thy swimming eye, thy purpled cheek

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I see—I feel thy beating heart. 'Tis great
To conquer nature, to be freed from law.’

Then thus Azaradel . . ‘High Lord of Hell,
I've worshipt at thy feet, thy slave for this.
How love the lawless impulse did resist,
Whereto it yielded yet . . the strife . . the strife,
Which it o'ercame, yet never reconciled,
Endless excitement evermore renewed.
But now another boon’—

More had he said,
While the incestuous man voluptuous sighed,
And at infernal feet lascivious sank,
O'ercome with fancy. But his speech had done
What to Azaziel's spear so late had proved
Impracticable. Horrour of the crime,
Wherewith the very dust was animate,
Thrilled Samiasa, and a miracle
Performed, even by a power of wickedness
Subtler than magic. Swifter than at touch
Of spell-rod, or a charming verse; the King
Arose, and o'er his prostrate brother stood
Terribly eminent. Was never yet
His visage marred as now; a thunderstroke
Had not so much disfigured that sublime
Forehead, whereon of old sate thought enthroned,
And yet in ruin there was visible;
Though shaded o'er with horrour dark as Hell:
Not totally obscured . . and thus he spake,
While with new fear the incestuous bit the ground.

‘What, she, whose beauty was so terrible,
Whose courage wooed her merited reward
Of ample realm, and huge metropolis;
Ay, for surpassing bravery, merited
Power, and all adoration, like a god?
What, she, whose speech was like a spell of power,
And spake a country, and a capitol,

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Into immortal life, . . whose lip was scorn,
Whose eye was lightning, and the index of
A spirit like the lightning, but more quick
To dare, and execute? She, who could call
Ghosts from the grave, and spirits from the sky,
As with the thunder's voice? She, to succumb
From all this greatness, condescend to mix
With that which owed her duty . . gratitude
For life bestowed, and nourished, and preserved,
Out of her substance? Adon; O my sire;
If that thou be'st a god, make it appear.
Vengeance on the unfilial. None but he?
Oh, I did check the deep contempt I felt,
Because he was my brother, for the stuff
Whereof he was compact. He, Adon's son?
Child of a fiend, thou progeny of Hell,
I'll tread upon thee as, with iron foot,
Death treads on the cold forehead of the fallen.
He is no son of thine—wherefore restrain
My fury?—Adon; he is no son of thine.
—No, no. I shall grow proud to have performed
A deed so great, and merit deeper doom.
'Tis for the righteous hand, and humble heart,
To recompense His vengeance, who repays.
I bow me to thy will, oh, God of gods.’

So saying, his strength did fail him, and he sank
Into the sands, and like to them became;
Deepest abasement, and pride's mortal wound.

When from amaze recovered, after long
And deadly silence, Satan thus pursued
His wily purpose—

‘Rise, and heed not, King,
The maniac words now hushed; unless thou wouldst
Be like their utterer, a corse—save when
We touch him into mimic life for sport—

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Awake. Arise.’

So by their help he rose.
‘This was no work of yours.’

‘No; for we make
No such wind-instruments, vessels, else void,
Of inspiration. We make Souls indeed,
That have both will, and purpose of their own,
And take some credit for the work they do;
Obstinate Spirits, to resist, and dare,
Like thee, whom in their pleasure we protect.
Thou seest His power, and ours thou knowst—on us
Thy joys depend. Prepare to yield them now;
Or league with us.’

‘Ye are my gods:—and now,
Give hear unto my boon. Maternal charms
Of Amazarah, most majestical
Of women, wisest, and most amorous,
Please me no more. In Mammon's temple lies
Edna, awaiting visit of the God,
Shrined in my person, not with love, but hate—
Now prosper my attempt, when I descend,
Mid deep of night, in all my deity,
On the expectant virgin.’

‘This we know.—
Now learn from us, that all thine ample realm
Is in revolt, and will confess no right
Hereditary, honour, or command,
Nor regal power; and they have risen wild
'Gainst Amazarah, and her Sorceries,
And him who would be Monarch. Hear us now.
Who would subvert Authority, though bad,
Best serves our aims—'twas for that end we warred
Against the Eternal. With the people, league
'Gainst Amazarah; so thou best mayst curb
Her jealousy of Edna, and secure
Thy new-made joys in peace.’

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‘Ye counsel well.’
‘Then we are thine . . thy refuge, and thy rock.’

So grimly pleased, Azaziel smiled.
‘Behold
A pattern of our power.’

Therewith he shrilled
A subtle sound that pierced the wilderness,
Not long unanswered. Hark, a silver neigh
Articulates the desart of the air,
And thrills the quaking echoes with sweet sounds.
All wanton as a mare in merry May,
A Steed milk-coloured, sudden at his feet,
Kneels in soft duty, beautiful of shape,
And fiery keen of eye, albeit suppressed.

‘Mount,’ said the Demon to the demonised,
‘For she will bear thee well, the desart-born,
Thorough the desart, whose wild perils else
Thou yet wouldst scape not.’

At the word, he sprang
Upon that strange steed's back, and swift away—
Afar—until the extreme Dudael's bounds
He reached; dismounting thence, he sped his way
Now safe, and she into the wild returned.

And Man hath lost his Sabbath-warning now;
For when the Angel of Repentance came
Upon the next, he found the King abased,
Past wakening, now more than ever lapsed
In last humility—extreme, intense,
Not to be broken, a deep slumber, as
Of death, but deadlier. Then the Seraph wept
Angelic tears, and said;—

‘From midst the heavens
I called; when in thy pride, thou walkedst forth
Among the multitudes, a human god:
Called from amidst the heavens audibly.

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Alas; how art thou fallen, Lucifer:
Son of the Morning, how thou fallen art.
Yet, surely God speaks through me. Thou hast now
Of thine abasement found the deepest deep;
More hope, then, bitter suffering shall have end,
And such repentance perfect be anon,
And thou arise more glorious from thy shame,
And as thy fall thine exaltation be.
—But not on earth, On thee the Flood shall fall,
But thou shalt know it not; and all thy frame
Be buried in the Deluge-soil, but thou
Shalt feel it not, and herein shalt be blest—
O Samiasa; wisest Man of men.’

So spake the pitying Seraph, bathed in floods
Of sorrow; sorrow that excels all joy,
In joy. Who feel not, never can be blest;
But the susceptible, albeit to pain.
In love, and pity so watched Phanuel there,
And guarded him the livelong Sabbath through;
And there till Deluge fell, and while it stormed,
Lay Samiasa in that death of death;
The quick soul buried in a sepulchre
Of torpid dust, which mutability
Changed not, supported by supernal Power
Divine. The Seasons did their work—Day, Night
Past o'er,—the Simoom's, and the Sarsar's rage
Altern destroyed, unheeded yet by him,
The spirit's grief absorbing fleshly pain.

II. The Ark

Nor was the Flood delayed. Defended still
From popular tumult in a cloudy shrine,
Noah abode, and ready made the Ark,
He, and his Sons.

At length, from Adam's Vale,

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Elihu came—‘Thus saith the Eternal’—(thus
Elihu spake)—‘thus saith to Noah now,
Even by me. Come thou, and all thy house
Into the Ark, for righteous thee have I
Before me in this generation seen.
Of every clean beast take thou unto thee
By sevens, male, and female; and of beasts
That are not clean by two, these likewise male,
And female; to keep seed alive upon
The face of all the earth. For yet seven days,
And it I'll cause to rain upon the earth:
Days forty, and nights forty, shall it rain;
And every living substance I have made
Will I destroy from off the face of earth.’

He said; and Noah followed then his steps
Into the Vale of Adam, where yet Ham
Abode, with the creation animal.

Anon, forth of that wilderness they came,
With the inferiour creatures, toward the Ark:
The fierce, and gentle, and the wild, and tame,
With the carnivorous, and those that feed
On herbs, and grasses, both of birds, and beasts,
Insects, and reptiles. First, the Quadrupeds
Came in procession: all that nurture well
Their offspring at the breast, resembling thus,
In structure, and in organs, humankind.
The furred, and maned preceded. Lords of all,
The Lion yellow-maned, majestic brute,
Noble of gesture, regal in his gait,
Came, with the queenly Lioness, ahead
Of the innumerable throng, in pairs—
Conscious of great occasion, proudly shewn.
The lynx-like Caracal, but without spots,
More fierce, and savage both of mien, and mind;
Carnivorous, but weak, and following slow
The Lion, on the fragments ever he

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Of his right-royal banquet safely preys:
The Panther and the Jaguar, beautiful
And mighty: the ferocious Ocelot:
The Race Feline, sagacious—fiercest, wildest
Of all the fierce, and wild—passed, with their prey
At peace, in tenderest fellowship, and love.
—Nor was the Mouse, mean creature, yet full oft
Graced with no little elegance of shape,
And stripèd colour, absent; noxious though
To housewife, and to husbandman provoked—
The cautious Mouse, freebooter mild, yet loathed,
Though not unamiable; such the force
Of honest prejudice, no beauty atones
For depredation; none the robber loves.
The Rats too, black or brown, both bold, and fierce,
The granary, barn, and storehouse to assail,
Unnatural, that on each other prey,
Cains of the inferior creatures; and next came
The fox-like Jackalls, hunting in their pack,
Full crying for the chase, a howl so loud,
The forest nobles rouse them at the noise,
And waken at the signal, apt to seize
The timid creatures flying from the yell.

Then came the Race Canine: the Wolf-Dog first;
An intellectual race, docile, and true;
And that Hare-Indian named, a slender sort,
But graceful, and, with light foot, capable
To run unsinking o'er the crusted snow,
In chase of Moose, or Reindeer; with the friend
Of northern hunters, bold, and patient still.
In every nation is the Dog the friend
Of Man, and numberless of breeds as he;
The Bull-Dog, and the Mastiff, and the kind
Who faithful watch their absent masters' wives
Left in their mountain-home, to strangers fierce,
Inimical. The generous graceful Horse—

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The Ass, poetic brute, and dignified
With great associations, patient, still,
And humble; free of spirit yet, and dull
Then only when enslaved; and tractable
In servitude, then only obstinate
When man's a tyrant, cruel, and severe:
The stripèd Zebra, wild, and beautiful,
With skin most glossy smooth, with white, and brown,
Varied the male, with black the female streaked:
The Musk-Deer, and the Fallow, and that One
Since found in Ind, the Axis, on the banks
Of Ganges numerous: tender-eyed Gazelle,
Elastic Deer, light-bounding on the hills:
All these, and more, came trooping of the race
Clothed with soft hair, in meet abundance given,
According to the clime, separate in most,
In some united into prickly spines;
—Witness the snake-fed Urchin, that even here
Into a pointed circle self-involved,
Is girt with spinous armour for defence;
And the quill-armed uneasy Porcupine,
Hystrix, and the Arboreal, loving spring,
With the fasciculated, fretful all;
Raising its spires irate, and stamping earth,
In its defensive armour swelling big;—
But flattened on the Manis into sharp
And pointed scales, and to a shelly coat
Upon the Armadillo, strong of claw.

Nor are the bearded, and the whiskered tribe
Here wanting, bristly race. The Ape, and Goat—
The bearded Goat came with the beardless Sheep,
Unhorned, and horned, clad or with wool or hair,
A various race, and gentle; with the Lamb,
Sacred for worship, innocent as love,
Or hope in infancy, and without spot,
Meek creature, blameless martyr, man to save—

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The Buffalo, and Bison, larger Ox,
Of forehead broad, and high, with withers huge,
Shaggy with hair, a black and woolly mane,
Short-horned, brief-tailed, short-legged and muscular—
The Wild Ox, and the Zebu, and the Yak,
The Musk Ox, race cornute, and ruminant,
Dew-lapped, robust, yet elegant of form—
The Aurochs, and the Arni. Mild the Cow,
Domestic, useful, yielding of her milk
For human needs. Man's burthens bears full oft
The serviceable Ox, and for man's food
Treads out the corn; ungrateful he who seeks
The brute to muzzle, to such labour tasked.
—Callous of breast, and knee, the timid Hares
Come leaping; and the Camels, desart-born,
And in the desart faithful friends of man:
As long he travels o'er the unbounded waste,
His water-cruise, and scrip half spent, and gone;
His burthen-bearers through the lonely wilds;
—O grief; though by the pang of thirst constrained,
To slay the loved companion of such toils,
For the refreshing stream by nature kept
In wallet at the stomach provident.—
And Llamas ruminant, yet with the hoof
Unparted, like the Camel, and, like him,
Provided against thirst with water-pouch,
Also unhorned, long necked, and small of head,
Mobile of upper lip, and straightly backed;
A rampant race, for precipices formed
To scale, and to descend, wild, bright of eye.
The Otter, found by river, and by lake;
A skilful fisher, for the finny spoil
Avid, and fierce, and nourished by such food;
Or by the sea, a bright, and beauteous thing,
Of polished black, or silvery white of hue:
Parental love its passion, pining oft

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To death for loss of offspring, on the spot
Whence it was taken dying. Small the tribe
With it came on. But larger followed now:
The tuskèd Hippopotamus, uncouth
And heavy—slow on land, but, in the flood,
Bold, active, skilful to attack, and sink
Boats on the river, perilous to man;
But not the Deluge might his race survive,
Save in the pair that enter now the Ark:
The Sea-Horse, living both on sea, and land,
On icy island, and in ocean cave;
And Seal, inhabitant of caves, and coasts
By the sea side—a roamer of the deep;
Yet them had Deluge utterly destroyed,
If not protected thus from its dread swoop.

In fellowship, and friendship with their Prey,
Walked the Devourers the smooth plain along,
And up the sacred hill, into the Ark,
Appointed for their rescue by high Heaven.

Then followed the Oviparous broods, egg-sprung—
Solicitude parental needed not:
Of life tenacious—cold, and stern, and harsh,
Of blood, and face and voice, yet mild of deed,
And disposition; dwellers by the sea,
Or in it, rivers, and their banks—the marsh—
The pool—the lovers of the wet, and moist;
The Tortoise, Lizard, and the Crocodile.
Nor fierce, nor cruel, see the Crocodile,
With mouth beyond his ears, enormous gasp,
Dreadful with lipless teeth, with fiery eyes,
Like to the burnished eyelids of the morn,
As if in rage lit up, beneath a brow
Wrinkled in frowns for ever, terrible;
Proud of his scales which close him as a seal,
So near together, air scarce intervenes;
Sporting along the deep, beneath him boil

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The waves like to a cauldron, and the sea
Froths as with unguents, while his glowing path
Makes hoary the great waters, wrought with foam.
Yet need it was that from the Deluge storm
He should be rescued, though devoid of fear,
Created to look down exalted things,
And hold high rule—a monarch over all
Children of Pride, who misesteem of God.
A sympathetic race, by hunger wrought
Only to fury; now he glides, in peace,
To refuge from such storm as even he
Might not escape. With him the Lizard race
Came on, both emerald, and of golden hue;
The changeable Chamelion—nor declined
To join the train the pleasing Basilisk,
Or Little King, whose agitated crest,
And crown erect, speak satisfaction, while,
With motion light, he glances, and reflects
Light various coloured from his polished scales.

The Serpent tribe succeed. Nor feet, nor wings,
To them belong; yet nimble as a shaft
Shot from a hunter's bow, they move along
Upon the summits of the highest trees,
And round their trunks, and branches as they come,
Twisting, and then untwisting flexibly,
In rapid sportiveness: of every size
And thickness, but all scaled; yet in the head
A vulnerable race: elastic, strong,
And brilliant both of frame, and hue. Here are
The Serpent of the Sea; the Viper, green,
And yellow; with the Boa, and the Snake;
The Insects, and the Worms. The wingèd Flies,
Gaudy of hues, and varied in their forms,
Swarm in the sunlight, and, as of themselves,
Do make a radiant atmosphere of flowers,
In noiseless motion, the soul's images;

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Ants, Bees, and Beetles, Spiders, Wasps, and Gnats,
Not mean, though small, in will as free as gods:
Some luminous with light of life, brief tribe,
In the shut Ark lit up their faery lamps,
Stars of its night, and made it like a heaven,
Beautiful Insects, living but to shine.

The Sloths were there, tree-climbers. Those not saved,
Were glad at first to hear the tempest storm,
And quickened with new life. The winds might blow,
The strong trees bow; the branches did but wave,
And meet to form a pathway for their march:
Till the wild rain subdued them, and o'ertopped
The forests, and the mountains. Saved in vain
The Megatherium, and the Mastodon—
And huger tribes, yet by the Flood o'erthrown;
Hence found in barren tracts, in sand, and ice.
The traveller to the Frozen Ocean bent,
Shall pass o'er mountains high, through valleys deep,
Guided by tiny brooks, and arid plains,
Where not a shrub appears; last to the gulf
Shall come, and in the crystal mass detect
Carcase of Walrus—and soon after trace
The giant Mammoth through the melting ice;
Till, at the length, the plane of its support,
Inclining, let it fall, by its own weight,
Upon a bank of sand—for ages lost,
Discovered only then, perhaps there laid
Embedded since the Deluge which I sing.

Then came the Birds that fly, perch, walk, or swim:
For each hath on the globe its proper site.
Highest in air the Birds of Prey upsoar,
On trees the Insessorial station hold,
Midway 'twixt air, and earth; on earth itself
The Gallinaceous tribes nest, feed, and walk,
Their wings for flight unsuited; fens among

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And marshes, haunt the Waders; and on brook
And lake and river float the Swimmer race:
All these are here; for even the ocean brood
Flood would destroy, and shipwreck of a world.
All these, according to their several kinds,
Their classes, orders, and their families.

The Condor, and the Vulture Californ,
Both large of bulk; one caruncled of beak,
And void of comb, but both with ruff of down,
Female, and male, about the neck ornate.
Dwellers in air upon the peak of snow;
Nor from such height descending save brought down
By hunger; when with beak, and talons they
Subdue their victim, next to banquet fall,
Till gorged, their wings avail not for the flight,
Then on them comes the hunter, and with ease,
Surprising with the lasso, them secures.

The Caracarra, darkly beautiful,
And dignified of walk; inhabitant
Of tree, and bush, and preying upon all;
Also the Vulturine, of attitude
Erect, like eagles, in their prime of pride.
—The gorgeous Harpy, short of wing, robust
Of leg, and strong of beak, and talons curved,
To prey on larger kinds, a crested bird,
Imperial but ferocious, sternly wild,
Boldly destructive, fearing not or man,
Or beast; but rare, else with tremendous power
'Twould rule alone—even as it loves to live,
Far in the solitary depth, and gloom
Of thickest forests, perched on tree aloft,
In voiceless, and in motionless repose—
Sans rival, or sans subject, species sole.

The Owl—the snowy Owl—nocturnal bird,
Untufted, small of ear, and large of eye;
Hairy of leg even to the very claw;

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Of plumage soft, close, thick; meet armour warm
For arctic region, burying even the beak
Within the feathery disks: the Eagle-Owl,
Plumèd of head, with beak, and back, and leg,
Covered with plumage, sable-fawn of hue;
Singular bird, and lover of the dark,
By day in dusk, and solitary place
Retires he, waiting twilight, silent perched,
In all the unconscious gravity of sleep,
The type of Wisdom. Him thus sadly set
The smaller birds attack, in hate, or sport,
With wanton insult: teazed, but not awaked,
About his dusk retreat the dreaming Owl
Shuffles from spot to spot, or standing fixed,
His plumage ruffles, changes attitude,
Grotesque display: meanwhile his opening eyes,
And shutting, mirth provoke; yet then his beak,
Hissing, or clattering, would premonish well
Of wrath reserved for sunset, when, with eye
And ear capacious to detect slight sound
Of rustling leaf, or herbage, he wings forth
On the poor bird retiring to its nest,
Or tiny creature to its burrow bound.
Stern, and terrific, in the wilderness,
His sudden shout by moonlight, to the lone
Traveller benighted there, from slumber roused,
Startled with screams, suppressed, and suffocate.
Of humbler grade the Barn-Owl, friend of man,
Defence of cornfield, and of granary
From rodent swarms: but now in mutual peace
With their small prey. And these, even with the Fowl
The farmer would protect, come on in groups
Associate, nor unaccompanied
With household feelings to the poet dear.

The Linnet, and the Finch; and chief, that One
Gorgeous of lengthened tail, and bright of hue:

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The Starling, Hornbill, and the Humming-Bird:
The Blackbird, and the Crows, with bill prolonged;
The Toucan, broad as well—a feathered sylph;
The Cockatoos, with rose crest falling back,
Or sulphur upward curved, of plumage white;
And the Macaws, all hues: the Parrot tribe
Magnificent, Bird-Monkies, but with voice
Human sometimes, in mockery of speech:
The Meleagris beautifully wild,
Increasing in its splendour with its years—
Strutting it came, obstreperous in pomp,
Of self-importance full. The gorgeous Fowl,
Whose plumage in a tropic sun presents
An orb of many colours, and his crest
A jewellery tiara, blue, and green,
Crowning the gracefullest of crownèd heads:
The Bird of Gold, with long and archèd tail,
Varied with scarlet, white, and dusky brown,
A princely bird: the Silver Pheasant, too,
A hardier race, though elegant of form,
And hue, and attitude; also the kind
With ring-encircled neck. With them came on
The Crested Partridge, the Raloul, and Grous,
With Tinamous, and Francolins, and Quails,
A graceful brood, and various. There too were
The Plaintive Turtles, of Love's Queen loved Birds—
Aye-coupled, ever-wooing, ever-wed;
Heard in the season of that pleasant time,
When the birds sing, and flowers appear on earth,
And puts the fig-tree forth her verdant figs,
And with the tender grape the vines are fragrant,
The winter past, the rain all gone, and over:
The Pigeon, bearer of the word of man,
Epistolary, through the air afar,
And specially renowned for all who love
The story of the Deluge, as 'twas sung

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By Musah, the great poet, skilled in lore
Of Mitzraim, leader thence of Israel
Through Sea, and Cloud unto the promised land.
Thrice Noah sent the Pigeon from the Ark
He enters now; the second time she found
Rest for her sole; but to the Patriarch brought
The branch of olive back—then Noah knew
The waters were abated from the earth;
Hence seven days after, when he let her free,
No more returned, she made the air her home.

The scarlet Ibis, mythologic bird,
And sacred, with its slender long-arched bill
And scalèd legs, and plumage brilliant, walked,
Inviting worship by its stateliness:
The Anser, whose migrations shall invade
The silent desolation of the pole,
Countries unknown, by icy barriers shut
From human vision; with the queenly Swan,
Pure white, and sable both, and tame, and wild;
And Cereopsis, and the humbler Duck,
Yet beautiful full oft, with hues of green,
And violet, and brown, with ornament
Of crescent, and of undulating lines,
Embellished on the neck, and breasts, and cheeks.

Birds of all climes—both of the East, and West—
Of England, native land. Birds of the air
I breathe; sweet are ye, and I raise, like you,
Both morn, and even, hallelujahs high,
That ye found rescue once, and were restored
To hymn the Highest, in the ear of man,
Singing your guileless loves, from death redeemed.
Dear birds of England, of her woods, and groves,
Her fields, and running rivers, hills, and vales,
Streamlets, and brooks. The Blackbird, largest kind,
Of all thy Birds of Song, my native land;
Whose notes are out before the leaves, and woo

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His partner to embraces, ere the frost
Has melted from the fields, and boast his young
Even in the March-wind's eye. The Song-thrush next,
No summer bird alone, he winter charms:
The Missel-Bird, the Red-wing, and that One
Who builds on heaths: the Starling, hardy tribe;
The docile Bullfinch; both of human words
Articulant: the Goldfinch, gay of hue;
The lavish Chaffinch, and the Greenfinch strong:
The Linnet sweet, and curious in his lay;
The Twite, a sojourner, all mirth, and glee;
The Sky-Lark, who builds deepest, highest soars,
And sings as he upward flies; the Wood-Lark, too,
The rival of the Nightingale; and thou,
O Nightingale, wert there, whom, as a type
Of my sage theme, these epic numbers oft
Have honourably mentioned. Thou wert, too,
Saved in the Ark, and, with the Wood-Lark, triedst
Thy skill; while Noah listened, and his Sons,
And Chavah, and her Daughters, to the strife.
Also were there sweet birds of humbler type:
The Titlark, finely feathered, and the free
Redbreast, familiar, shrill of melody;
The Redpole, winter race, and emigrant;
The small Redstart, and shy; the common Wren,
A tiny minstrel, high, and bold of song;
The Yellow-Hammer, and the Reed-Sparrow;
And he who haunts the hedges: and the Bird
That comes in barley-seed-time, and departs
In Spring—brief visitant unto the land
I love; even like this song of mine, which now
The present for the past must quit again,
And England leave for Eden.

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Thus into
The Ark were entered Bird and Beast; nor lacked
The Phœnix, bird of ages; nor, I ween
That wondrous Hippogriff, whom antient fame
Spake near the sources of the ocean born,
Straight leaving earth for heaven, or dwelling on
The mount, he smote with his impatient foot,
That raised the Hippocrene; thereafter he,
Bellerophon cast off, soared to the skies,
By Jove among the constellations placed.
Well ween I the poetic animal
Stayed not behind, but in the mystic Ark,
Bare heavenly Fancies on his wingèd back,
Divinely moving to the sound of song;
A sacred courser, taught there, and preserved
For such, among the future race of men,
As with ambitious soul would visit heaven,
And bring therefrom celestial airs to earth,
For human voices to repeat enrapt.
And while the heart of man was thus poured forth,
Spirit divine upon the Cherubim
Descended glorious, and his mind became
The chariot of its God. And so was sung,
Not uninspired, the harmony which kept
The kinds now reconciled in bands of love,
Link joined on link, throughout the wonderous chain
Of regular gradation, shading oft
Resemblance into difference, multitudes,
And tribes of animals, diverse of shape,
But beauteous all to the instructed eye;
Nor was forgotten that prophetic time,
When Eden's peace shall reign once more on earth,
And the meek Lamb with the fierce Wolf repose,
The Lion, and the Leopard, and the Kid;
—But still the dust shall be the Serpent's meat.

Straight from the wilderness, whence hand Divine

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Led Man to Eden, and along the Vale
Of Armon, and across the common plain,
Even to the Mount of Paradise, defiled
The Living Circle, infinite degrees—
From the most perfect of all animals,
The articulated, sensible of nerve,
Strong, persevering, swift, and diligent,
Docile, long-living, various in pursuit,
Sagacious for set ends, to such as are
But as self-moving plants, whose lowest groups
Pass to the vegetable kinds, immersed
In mass insentient. Hence, into itself
The living circle upward aye returns:
White-blooded race compact of scattered parts,
Threaded with nerves together, gifted but
To taste—to touch—to see; and the clothed tribes
That, having no distinction in the sense,
Breathe yet, and concentrate a nervous mass,
And circulate the blood; the groups affine
Of vertebrated life, that bodily
Connects the inferiour Animal with Man.

Such was the long array: a throng so huge,
That, passing from yon Antre to the Ark,
Where they were safely stalled, from morn to eve,
From earliest morn to latest eve, seven days
They took in their progression. Such the time
Was granted, that the wicked might be warned,
Even on the eve of Judgement, if they would.
—And now the inferiour creatures all have passed
Into the place of refuge. But proud man
Seeks none in his repentance, doomed to die.

And thus within the Ark was furnished all;
Not only ranged the race of animals,
According to their kinds, but Enoch's Book
Had Shem deposited, rightly preserved
For the instruction of the World restored;

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And Japhet of his art the workmanship
Contributed, for ornament, those forms
Prophetic, by his God-directed hand
Sculptured.—Sage Brouma, of the mystic line
Of Magog, who Japetan energy
Inherited, and over Asia
Carried successful arms, and over Ind
Diffused the arts; of doctrine authour he
Braminical, and Scythian creeds, and rites
Of wise mythology o'er Egypt spread,
Phœnicia, Greece, and Asian continent;
That group symbolic, too, which shewed the Roman,
Brave son of Japhet's race, victorious o'er
The servile seed of Canaan, realm of slaves;
Their petty princes, from the earliest time,
The tributary vassals of the land
And monarchy of old Assyria,
From Asshur sprung, the second son of Shem.
In later ages, fled the Canaanite
From Joshua's conquering arms; the remnant left,
Expelled by David, were in Africa
Found of the she-wolf's foundlings, vanquished soon,
And to their sway subdued. There, too, was he,
Great Alexander, Victor of the East,
Who made encroachment on the lines of Shem—
By Aristotle taught, the sage on whom
Thy mantle, Plato, fell, but worn reversed.
Yet peaceful meaning had the oracle,
No less than warlike, by its prophecy
Of Japhet's dwelling in the tents of Shem.
This Portugal, this England, Holland, France
May witness; Japhet's race, part settled now
In Ind, and bringing there to realms once dark
The light of Truth. And Commerce vouches, too,
The passage by the Cape to orient climes,
And by thy straits, Magellan. Crowning all

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The figure of Messiah, central form,
Gave meaning to the statues, and the Ark
Made radiant with the glory of his brow.
But all were beautiful, and when released
From that their place of refuge, and beheld
By the new world, with admiration smote
Hearts, who their purpose understood but ill,
And bent to worship blind religious zeal,
That soon to mere idolatry declined.
—So in abuse corrupt the best of things,
Their origin forgotten; and, abased,
Conduce to foreign ends, and evil aims.

The Hedge-Sparrow.

The Aberdivine, called in Sussex the Barley Bird.

III. Noah's Vision

Thus Noah's work was done. Wearied with toil,
At the down-going of the seventh eve,
Deep sleep fell upon Noah, as he lay
Within a tent, preserving duteous watch
About the appointed Ark. Even as grew
The Prophet's frame insentient, all the more
His inner sight was opened, and his soul
Had vision of high heaven. 'Twas noon of night;
The Sun was absent, but the Moon shone out
And ay the world of Stars. From orb to orb,
Was singing heard in answering echo-hymns.
One to another, in his hearing, called
The Watchers, to make ready; for the Thrones
Were planted, and their witness in the court
Was summoned, to be rendered when the Judge,
Antient of Days, should sit. Straightway the floor
Divided in the midst, and Noah's eye
Pierced upward; or his liberated soul
Soared thither. Up he soared, and soared until
He saw celestial palace opened wide,
Both walled, and paved with crystal stones, on ground

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Of crystal, and the roof flashed sparkling down;
And, in a sky of water, floated there
Seraphic ardours, and about the walls
Burned flame, and blazed its portal all with fire:
Alternate heat of fire, and cold of ice
Amazed with fear who entered. On, and on,
Trembling with terrour, the winged Patriarch sped,
And to more spacious habitation still
Arrived; with tongues of fire surrounded; each
Vocal, like storms so loud, with words of zeal,
In praise, and prayer: a glorious place, and vast,
Majestic, and magnificent, and bright,
Excelling all report of magnitude
And splendour: fiery floor, and wall, and roof;
Lightning, and star-light interpenetrant,
With ceiling, and with pavement all ablaze.
—He dazzled looked, and saw a great white Throne,
And Him who sat thereon; Antient of Days,
In garment white as snow, and of his head
The hair was purest white. So was his Throne,
The fiery flame white in its purity;
A living throne by Cherubim up-borne,
Wheeling self-moved in orbs of burning fire:
And from before him issued fiery streams,
And from beneath the effulgent Throne of Life,
Rivers of flame impetuous gushed, and foamed,
And from too near approach warned off, and kept,
With voice of hymn, and anthem, song, and psalm,
The thousand thousands ministering to him.
Yea, myriads of myriads stood there,
In the full presence of his Majesty,
With veils upon their faces, for the light
More mighty than the sun, more white than snow.

And Noah saw two Books—two sealèd Books,
And they were opened; and another Book—

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The Book of Life. The Dead, both small and great,
In terrour watched their opening; for the Sea
Gave up her dead; and Death, and Hades both
Delivered up their dead—and all were there.

So sate the Judge, for grand assize prepared:
And, at his side, was One to minister,
Whom, but for the great glory of his face,
That dazzled even prophetic dreamer's eye,
Noah had deemed Elihu's very self;
But now in doubt, for even the Lord of Doom,
Antient of Days, himself like semblance cast
From the bright radiance; but it came in rays,
And those so keen, no sight could scrutiny
Aspect of person whence such emanate,
And bring report of likeness sure. Nought sure
Was there and then, but that great Doom approached,
Nay, was then sitting; and the midst One was
The Angel of the Judgement. On his left,
Stood the strong form of Death, a seraph armed,
With brow severe—the form of Death, and Time;
Not like the Spectre on the Pale Horse, seen
By Japhet in his vision, but more like
The Archangel who foretold the coming Doom
To Noah, from the rainbow, standing on
The earth, and on the sea. He gazed again,
And even from him Elihu's countenance,
Only less gracious, sterner, and in frowns,
Looked out. In front of the mysterious Three,
(Like those who once partook of Noah's board,
Travellers, and guests, yet glorious now as gods,)
The Accusers—Satan, and Azaziel—stood.

Then said the Antient One. ‘I have looked on earth:
Flesh wholly hath its way corrupted there:
And now the End of all before me comes,

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Yet fit that each Accuser first be heard,
And Witnesses, that Mercy may find hope
Of palliation, rescue, and redeem.’

Hereat rose Satan: and, behold, to him
A Roll came flying, a huge Volume; swift
It came, and darkened where it flew. Soon seized,
The Fiend unfolded, and displayed its breadth,
And length—and then exclaimed,

‘Behold—behold—
The Book of Curses. On this side, and that,
Writ are transgressions manifold. All crimes
By all have been committed on the earth:
Even at his hearth whom thou hast favoured so,
Sin, well thou knowest, is found. In every house,
This Roll should enter, and remain, and burn:
That were the fitting end—a flood of fire,
Utterly to consume, and not of water,
Only to cleanse, and that but outwardly—
The Doom of Fire, let it come on the World.’

This said, from midst the Throne a Voice commanded,
To give the Roll of Accusation up;
Right willingly obeyed. Azaziel next
Was loud in menace.

‘Wherefore Fire alone?
Why not Annihilation? Why should Fire
Be? Let the Elements dissolve—for all
Is evil—Wherefore Nothing not?’

‘To be,’
It was replied, ‘is good; and not to be
Nor good, nor evil. What I make is good.
Where are the Witnesses?’

Then slow approached,
By Michael, and by Phanuel, on each side
Supported, the decrepit, withered form
Of melancholy Earth. In tears she came,
Before the Judge, and wept—and only wept—

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Words found no way—tears only—only tears.
So she retired; those twain first having said:
‘Our words are written in the Opened Books,
Whence judged are all the dead, according to
The things which there are written, and the works
That they have done. Well-speed the Book of Life.’

Then followed all the Planets, and the Stars,
With the bright Moon herself; and testified
Of worship—and the Night also came on;
She, too, had votaries, but no worshippers,
Atheists, who doubted of her being even,
Whose badge they wore, and, haply, of their own.
Then came the Orb of Ocean, like a wheel
Instinct with life, cherubic; and his globe,
Else watery pure, was dotted o'er with blood—
Blood shed in war unrighteous, robbery,
And murther, and the trade in human flesh,
To slavery forced or sold, no terms premised
Of mutual good, protection, or what else
For service should be rendered. Next appeared
The Heavens, and the full Air; for they had heard
Wails, sighs, and curses sore. The hirèd Man
Had toiled but for the wind, and with the east
His belly had been filled; and 'mong the poor
The Labourer was numbered. Wife, and child
Sobbed loud, and loud in execration shrieked;
Whence the sad Airs had borne, upon their wings,
Their lamentations to the ear of God:
For all are Angels, and can sympathize
With human sorrow; sacred Messengers;
Appointed Ministers of will divine;
Spirits, both felt, and feeling. And the Seas,
And Heavens have potent Spirits; and the Moon,
The Stars, and Clouds; Thunder, and Lightning, too;
And Angels dwell in Frost, and rule in Hail;
Snow hath a Spirit, solitary he,

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And vapourous; Mist, also, gorgeous still,
Summer or winter, or by day or night—
The glittering Dews, and the baptizing Rain.

These rose before the Judge, and with them rose
The Spirit of the Deep; and witness bore,
That he into his bosom had received
Methuselah, descending through the earth,
By earthquake; and, according to his charge,
Had broken up the Fountains of the Abyss,
And one revealed to air, upboiling thus,
And visible, impatient to expect
Heaven's Windows opening, and their Spirits thence
Co-operant descending. Nature next,
Complained of outrage, not in groves, and glens,
But violation in the heart, and flesh
Of reprobated man; and after her
Came Hherem, and reported sensual crimes,
Akin to brute, and worse. Dim Hades last,
And Hell, presented from their storehouse, Wrongs,
And ghosts of Misery, and shades of Guilt,
Madness, and Apathy, and Fear, and Wo;
And worst the evil Tongue, and evil Heart;
Malice, and Envy, and licentious Thoughts;
And passions, Love and Lust, Horrour and Hope;
Fancy, and Understanding; Reason, too,
Gone wild in speculation, and in act
Lost in the sense; and Sense itself; and Sin
And Death—a multitude of phantasies
Thronging: and Plagues substantial—Famine real,
Spiritual Famine, hunger of the soul,
And of the heart, and Thirst—eternal Thirst:
And Will perverse, Perdition, and blind Hate,
Anarchy, Chaos, and the Second Death.

There was the world's first martyr, Abel; nor
Was absent Cain, his brother. Him had God
Repentance granted, blest him to become

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The Father of a People, and to found
Arts, and a city, polities, and arms;
Defective, yet the best imperfect man,
Heroic though, and virtuous, might achieve.
Then Cain bowed down his face before the Throne,
Unconscious yet of transit from the Deep—
If yet such was, whereof I cannot tell—
Exclaiming thus—

‘And has my Lord come down
To Hades, seeking him he lost? Thy face
To me is turned again, whom long I've known
The Reconciled, since to my carnal heart
That sign miraculous was once vouchsafed.
I do confess my sin, and will repeat
Thy mercies in the hearing of the ear
Of the great congregation. Of old time
Thou broughtst to me thy Sister, and thy Bride,
Eternal Wisdom; that, in hours of toil,
I might with her be solaced, whose delights
Were with the sons of Adam. Often she
Met me when at my work, and from the ground
Allured my upward gaze, and taught me how
To sweeten labour, by deriving thence
Knowledge, and prescience, whether of the soil,
Or of the seasons, moving so my heart
To piety, and worship of the heavens.
With Abel she disported too, and drew
The Veil from the Invisible for him;
Hence he had visions often wished by me,
Produce of leisure, such as I desired,
Yet wanted faith to win, mid earthly cares,
And habits firmly fixed. Yet ne'ertheless
Would thoughts grow on my mind, erroneous thoughts;
Of God in anger, who had doomed the ground,
To task the sweat of man, and sacrifice
Demanded, knowing not the spotless Lamb

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Was an accepted body; purified
Of appetites, and lusts; and consecrate
To truth, in danger, and in death devote.
Then came to me a Form like to thy own,
Sterner, but beautiful; a Fury, clad
In radiance of angelic loveliness;
And words of wisdom spake, and knowledge deep,
And argument sublime, of all that Death
Should teach the soul. O fool, who then forgot
With Life dwells Wisdom, with true Being, Truth;
All else illusion, unsubstantial, vain.
How, then, he led me into Hades' realms,
Avoiding yet this better Paradise,
And what he shewed me there of phantoms fond,
Brood of the idle brain, thou knowest well;
Nor would it profit to repeat at large
Void fancies—dreamy lies. Thus then, seduced
From Wisdom in my anger, I returned;
And, in the Fury wrath enslaved me to,
My brother smote—and perished. Hence from me
Men learned to slay the Brethren, (all are such,)
In duel, or in war; till needs at length
A flood of waters stay the flood of crime.
Meantime, old Wisdom parted from the world,
And here awaited thee, thy Sister-Bride;
Whom late I found again, when, Angel-met,
I left my wearied flesh, as travelling home
From Adam's burial in too deep despair,
And gained what ne'er I hoped—a home indeed.’

Whereto the Antient One. ‘In three-fold wise,
And three-fold dispensation, hath the Age,
Now consummate, made manifest the Truth,
Whereof I am the Life. Thus He who spurned
At prohibition, that he might approve
Knowledge of evil, was from Eden sent;
And Cain, transgressing, was exiled to Naid;

364

And sons of God, betrayed by carnal love,
Daughters of Men in marriage who conjoined,
Accumulating guilt, shall earth cast out
To Hades, first baptized within the waves
Of utter Deluge, where-above shall soar
The Ark, expectant of the World Restored.’

Only not there was Uriel. And it seemed
To Noah in his Vision, Satan rose,
And spake in taunting wise. ‘Of man was I,’
He said, ‘the Watcher, and Ambition hurled
Me from my former place, my archial seat.
Sure, He who rules the day may rather brood
High thoughts, conceiving like emprize, more like
To prosper. Be it given me to tempt
The Seraph, I would prove his faith perverse.’

Straight Word returned to him, ‘A lie is in
Thy mouth, and be the Seraph's faith approved.’

So Satan on his mission passed away;
And, in his place, came on a Spirit stern,
Over the seven celestial Cataracts
Prime Watcher. ‘The dread Angel of the Deep’—
Exclaimed he—‘cries, for answer to my sphere;
How long? how long?’ Hereat the Souls of Men,
Complaining of oppression when on earth,
Took up the cry—‘How long? O Lord, how long?
Speed justice, God of gods, and King of kings.
Avenge our blood, the blood that still is shed
Of righteous men—haste, Lord; let judgement haste.’

Then rose the Antient One, who made the days,
The Eternal of the ages, terrible
In indignation, terrible in wrath.
—‘Have I not sworn? and cometh not even now
The Seraph of the hairy Star, whose course
The dispensation of the time completes,
Of Uriel now expected, with his Orb,

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And the round Moon's, in dread conjunction met,
Whence Deluge shall descend? For he hath heard
The Almighty Oath whereby the heavens were hung,
Ere the worlds were that orb the eternal depth—
And the firm earth was founded on the flood,
And from the secret fountains of the hills,
Rivers, from time's beginning to his end,
Issued in ceaseless motion, and flow on,
For ever and for ever. By its power,
The sea, and his deep bed, were formed; and fixed
The limitary sands that should restrain
His fury; and therefrom the great abyss
Received her strength, to keep her stated place,
Aye irremoveable. Thereby the Sun,
And Moon, and Stars are ordered, and obey
Unswerving high command; also the Winds,
The Thunders, and the Lightnings, Hail, and Frost,
Treasures of Dew, and Snow, and Rain, reserved
For Judgement, and for Mercy—by this Oath
Are they established, guided, and preserved.
—Have I not sworn? hear, and record the Oath.
Thus saith Jehovah; I created Man,
And will destroy him from the face of earth,
Both Man, and Beast, and creeping things, and fowls
Of air, whom it repents me I have made;
But in my eyes hath Noah favour found.’

Hereat, into the circle sudden came
Cherubic Chariot, and received at once
The Thronèd One, and Wisdom his espoused,
Who at his feet had there been sitting;—while
Hymn hymeneal rose, as they were borne,
Ascending from mid Hades to high Heaven,
Thus; ‘Holy; holy; holy; Father; God;
Who gave to Adam Law. Hosanna; Son
Divine; who Truth to righteous Abel shewed;
And Hallelujah to the Spirit sing,

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Who dwelt with Seth, and unto Enosh taught
Jehovah's Name. Elohim holiest,
Who but Jehovah our Eloah is?
Hath he not heard the Spirit, and the Bride?
Thrice holy he—Eternal—Wise, and Good.’

Then Noah woke. One hour it wanted yet
Of dawn; yet up he rose, and called his Sons,
Ready to make the Ark for coming doom.

IV. The Cherubim

How sweetly breathes the Angel of the Morn—
How beautiful the smile upon his face;
And as he whispers in the rising breeze,
What music in the mercy of his voice,
The dewy tones compassionate: the drops,
That hang the leaves, and grasses, are the tears
Wept from the eyes of Pity. Lovelily,
To him who looks his last upon her face,
Beams the great mother; and his heart is touched
With sympathies celestial—nay, divine.
Nor Earth less sympathizes, and her Sons,
Who in the sight of Heaven had found grace,
Feel in their souls her passion; and come forth
To tend yon mystic Ark, that shall for her
Preserve a race alive; while she, baptized,
Wash off corruption, dying to be born
Anew . . to her old glory, nay, to more,
Redeemed, so that no spot upon her orb
Should be that was not holy, capable
Of consecration, or even needing none.
—Noah with Chava, mid their duteous Sons,
Each with his Bride, stood at the guarded door
Of the appointed Ark, and thence they gazed
For the last morn on the devoted Earth.

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Then in the presence of the Cherubim,
Even on that Mount their Sacrifice they lay,
Accepted soon of that enkindling Cone,
That fiery pillar, templed wherein dwelt
The Image of the Majesty Divine;
While on their faces the Noachidæ
Adoring fell; and thus the Patriarch prayed:

‘God of our Fathers; God of Adam; God
Of Abel; God of Seth, and Enosh; hear.
Hear, God of Cainan, and Mahalaleel,
Of Jared, Enoch, and Methuselah.
O God of Lamech: listen to our prayer.
—Wisdom of old with thee pronounced the Light,
And Laws Eternal to the Worlds prescribed,
Thy making. Wilt thou mar what thou hast made,
And, o'er the fair face of thy Universe,
Bid Ruin pass in Deluge, like the Deep
Ere Order was? Have Mercy yet on Earth:
Mercy on Man who in her bosom dwells.
—But Doom is said, and none may refuge find
Save in the Ark, and only Eight Souls there,
Of all Mankind. There comfort thou our Souls,
O God of Consolation: comfort us,
For the destruction of our Brethren; for
The peril which will threat us round about—
And for the doubts that may perplex our souls.
Save us, deliver us, from out the Flood,
And set our feet upon the ample round
Of earth again. Save us, deliver us—
O by the Sorrows of our Sire forgiven:
O by the Blood of Abel: by the Truth
Of Seth; and Enoch's Immortality.
We pray thee; we intreat thee; we implore.
Us guard—us guide—and from the waters bring.
So that Creation perish not, for lack
Of Man to contemplate her countenance,

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And call upon the works of thy great hand,
The Sun, and Moon, and Stars, and Heaven, and Earth,
And the wide Sea, to praise and magnify
Thy Wisdom, and thy Power, and thy Love.’

Such was the prayer of Noah, while the Fire
From the immediate Cherubim replied,
And kindled into flame the Sacrifice,
That on that hill, as on an Altar, lay;
And when it was consumed, the Eight arose
Cheered, but yet felt a sadness in their joy.

Not without tears, the Patriarch's family
Gazed on the doomèd World. In Noah's breast,
The venerable Chava hid her face,
In grief extreme; and very sad it was
For thee, Ahama; though with Japhet blest,
To leave so bright an orb: and, Leila; thou
Wert sorrowful exceedingly; nor thou,
Ahola; mightst restrain the gushing heart:
Loved earth, and her inhabitants, and those
So near, and dear, friends, parents, kin beloved,
Brother, and sister, and the playmate blithe,
And generous acquaintance, all foredoomed.
Nor were, be sure, Zateel, and Zerah far—
There partings were of such, for they had come
To take eternal farewells: for not all
Were evil, though not favoured so with grace,
As patrial Noah to regenerate
The renovated world; yet were they blest
With patience, and with resignation meek,
To meet the coming Judgement, and what doom
Might God appoint them. These, with ardent lips,
And feelings all mysterious, and too deep,
Stood by the place of refuge with the saved;
Nor end had been to their embrace, but then
Elihu came, and, interposing aid,

369

Soothed the afflicted, and the downcast raised:
Within his arms he brought the Tables erst
To Enoch given, by him to Eden borne,
And from its gates so late promulged anew
With such effect. Them to the hands of Ham
Elihu did confide, with strict command,
Within that Ark securely to enshrine
For preservation. These the Tables were
Of which tradition tells, by Ham preserved
From deluge, and in Mitzraim since laid up
In temples, though concealed by hireling priests,
But not from Musah, skilled in Mitzraim's lore—
To whom on Sinai they were renewed.

Now slow, though unreluctant, went in faith
Into the Ark, sage Noah, and his Wife,
And Shem, and Ham, and Japhet, with their Brides;
Then on them fast he shut secure the door,
And the world vanished from their veilèd eyes.

As for the rest, they to the Cherubim,
All save Elihu, bowed adoring down.
He, to the hill returned, transfigured stood,
Person divine, amidst the fiery cone,
In glory ineffable by me—yet I,
(The Poet, gifted by the Spirit's Voice,
To summon from the vastiest Deep the Dead,
Those who aforetime disobedient were
In Noah's days, when Patience, heavenly throned,
Delayed the doom that God had fain recalled,
Had Man permitted Mercy to prevail,)
Looked with my spiritual eye on Paradise,
Heard with my spiritual ear her harmonies,
And saw the great array of Cherubim:
The cloudy column fast outflashing fire,
With the four-facèd creatures pillared there,
As in a temple of the elements,
Throned on the summit of the sacred hill,

370

And bickering, as with lightning. And they spake,
As with the voice of thunder, but in songs
And rythmic dialogues. Fierce was the fire,
And vehement the sound of their discourse.
Such cloud the body is wherein we live,
Such fire the spirit, which, enkindled right,
Shall fain consume it, burning out thereby
Corruption, purging out the dross of sin.
Such cloud of smoke, as from a furnace sped—
Such flame, as of a burning lamp,—were seen
By Abram, when the sun declined, and him
A horrour of great darkness fell around;
Such Musah in the Holy Bush surprised—
Such, in a pillar both of cloud and fire,
With Israel in the Wilderness along,
Went night and day, and found, at last, abode
Within the Holiest, the Glory there.

There, overhovered by the Seraphim,
Elihu stood, between the Cherub twain,
And on the waiting and expectant Ark,
Looked down, and blessed it with uplifted hands.
Next, and more inward, amid Myrtle groves,
Were Horses with their Riders, in a vale,
A velvet bottom, mid the sacred hills
Of Eden; whom erst Phanuel heard enquire
The Angel, touching earth, then sitting still:
But now the storm was speeding, which that calm
So ominously threatened. Swift they came,
And went, the Cherub-steeds; and went, and came,
And then stood still: and then away—away,
On errand strange; and shouted choral hymns,
And anthems, all too loud for mortal ear,
In dreadful quire: and then returned again,
And chaunted epode, terrible, and wild.
And there were Chariots too, with harnessed Steeds
Of many colours; red, and black, and bay,

371

Grisled, and white—the chariots of the Lord,
Spirits of Fire—his ready messengers,
Between the mountains, waiting for his voice,
To send them forth to the four ends of heaven;
And there the Horses, too, that Japhet saw,
In vision. He that bare the Crownèd One,
Who had the bow, and went to conquer forth—
The White Horse: He that bare the Sworded One,
Commissioned to take peace from earth away—
The Red Horse: He that bare the Balancer,
Who scanned the slanting scales with sceptic eye—
The Black Horse: He that bare the Name of Death,
Whom Hades followed, Famine and dread War,
And Beasts to slaughter Man, and Pestilence—
The Pale Horse.

And the Vision frighted me—
Frighted the more, since Satan I beheld
Fall from the sun, of Uriel thence cast down,
Defeated by his brightness; while soft sounds
Sighed from beneath, above, and all around,
‘How art thou fallen, starry Lucifer.’
Then seemed, as 'twere, the Future, yet unborn,
Rose from the germ; expanding:—and, from far,
To the mid air, wherein, suspended, swam
The falling deity, up from the deep
Floated the form of an unbodied Man,
Paul, the Apostle, rapt to the Third Heaven.
There, for awhile, delayed; to look upon
That Majesty obscured, but not destroyed.
And thus the Saint addressed the Demon-Prince:

‘Satan, or Zeus; Archangel of the Light,
The fluid Light, whereof a part became
The firmamental Heavens—thy primal realm,
Whose cosmic ether filled unmeasured space;
Knewst not, thou wert create, when Mystery,
(Whose Deep obscure thy Being's womb had been)

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Of Darkness older than thyself, remained,
Beyond thy limits, separate, distinct,
A barrier that no beam might penetrate?
—That Darkness but Light absolute, intense,
Whose glory blinded thine intelligence.
Over the cycles of unfolding Time,
Thou thence didst hold dominion. Day was thine,
And so was Night, where wander all the earths,
Conglobed of luminous matter, swayed by thee,
God of the worlds, Usurper. But a secret,
Wherewith still nature groaneth, big with travail,
Hath aye been uttered by Promethean souls,
Threatened but not revealed. Deliverance comes,
But not by thee, whom Fate thus overrules,
Down-falling.’

Having spoken, upward sped
The Saint upon his flight;—and downward still
Satan descended, shadows hiding him,
Fogs, vapours. But at length were these dispelled:
And far beyond the myrtle-groves I saw,
Astonied, further in, just by the Tree
Of Lives,—(a Templed Shade, wherein reposed
Enoch, awaiting yet translation thence,
To place more heavenly, to yet higher heaven;)
A glorious tree, and fruitful; at whose foot,
River of Life, ran, eloquently sweet,
A spiritual stream,—seven Angels stand
With Trumpets, all prepared for instant sound:
And an Archangel over them, with wings
Outspread, sublime, and with a golden voice
Of music, like melodious thunder-peals,
Calling aloud, and not unechoed then
Nine-fold; Wo—wo—wo. Straight the Trumpets blew
A blast so high, and deep, and broad, and long,
Heaven shook, and the great Earth; and all that Mount
Of Paradise was shaken. And forth rushed

373

Seven angry Ones, seraphic, terrible,
Like gods, with vials in their giant hands,
Brim-full of wrath—brim-full of wrath—and they
Soared up, and made toward earth, right by the way
Where the strong Watchers of heaven's Cataracts
High station held.—Straightway the Archangel stood
Within the Rainbow, he whom Noah saw
In vision; and his hand was lifted up
To swear—but terrour made me blind, and deaf.

The Veil for me was drawn awhile, then closed.
A calm broods on my soul, and on my mind,
As I return unto the common world,
Yet full of mystery to the sage, and saint;
An Epos it, in mythic characters
Composed by hand divine, Creator pure;
Whom with this hymn I worship—His own gift,
With humble heart contrite, with holy fear—
Not unbaptized with water, nor with Fire.

END OF THE JUDGEMENT OF THE FLOOD.

374

PALINODE.

I.

Heart; be not downcast: cheerly, cheerly.
Some be there thou hast loved too dearly,
Things that have won too much regard,
Trials that have been overhard;
Shipwreck of hopes—thou Mariner
In seas untried—thou trespasser
On alien shores—thou sorely tempted:
Thou dupe of Faith; whiles, unexempted
From chance, and change, who fondly trusted
A world too old; a weapon rusted;
An icy globe with snow o'er-crusted,
That slips, and crunches as we roll it,
Uphill and downhill, with our feet
Taught, like a gymnast, to control it,
Yet—or betrayed, or indiscreet—
Still sliding from its surface found;
Till, fallen from off the treacherous round,
Sheer into space we gyrate; while the skies
Laugh all about us, with their starry eyes.

II.

Yet cheer thee, Heart. Keep merry chime;
Howe'er absurd, howe'er sublime,

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The strife, the struggle may appear,
Let saints applaud, or sinners jeer;
Something is done that had not been,
But for thy action on the scene.
What once has been must always be:
Throb on, then—while there's pulse in thee.
Thy strings be harp-strings—scatter free
Their music over land, and sea.
—Up to the Heavens, down to the Hells,
One Harmony the Chorus swells,
Wherein bears each his proper part:
Then be not downcast; cheer thee, Heart.

Nought that is done in vain is done;
Each mite a world, each world a sun;
Nought so minute, but in its border
Resides an Everlasting Order,
A System, an Intelligence
From centre to circumference;
The tinièst as infinite
As the Titanic to the sight,
A universe of law, and truth,
Still fresh as in its dawn of youth,
Full of beauty, full of power,
Creating both from hour to hour;
Declaring each what all inherit,
The Strength of the Poetic Spirit:
Whence 'tis each planet to the other
Sings, and is sung to, like a brother;
And star to star, like sister-friends,
A fond electric message sends,
So that the air, from pole to pole,
Is formed from Breathings of the Soul.
Then cheer thee, Heart. Thy music-chords
Let any breeze shape into words.
Sing, while thou livest; if thou wouldst live,

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Sing on; respire what all things give,
That influence without which we die,
But having, live immortally.

III.

O wonder-world of poet-song—
O harmony of right, and wrong—
What knows of you your Maker, ere
Ye rise within his being's sphere?
Prescient that he can sing, ere he
Attempt what is his destiny,
He sends his Voice into the Void,
And hears its echo overjoyed.
A new creation well he knows
Within that utterance lives, and glows,
Child of his Love. Let him rejoice
In the fair Daughter of his Voice:
And blame him not, if he should deem
His Vision more than common dream,
Something even brighter than the gleam
That makes the face of nature shine
To infant orbs as if divine;
Invested with a solemn trance,
Like that which bathes his countenance;
And hath his eyes intensely fired
With all that proves the man inspired.
O wonder-world of poet song—
O harmony of right, and wrong—
O hidden Kosmos, builded in the brain,
Fire-guarded from approach profane.

1856.

END.