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

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?

100

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

101

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,

102

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,

103

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.