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

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.