University of Virginia Library

I. Noah, and his sons

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.
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.