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

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.