University of Virginia Library

SCENE V.

Adam. Seth.
Adam.
My son! return'd already! have thy pray'rs
With suppliant zeal besought th'almighty God?

Seth.
My soul ne'er felt such fervency before;
For O! my thoughts were loaded with distress,
And horror dwelt within me.

Adam.
Hear me, Seth;
Eve with her daughters,—should they here perchance
Surprize us,—they would see me die. Go, haste,
Tell 'em, my child, I mean this day to offer
Holy sacrifice, and would be alone,
Till the bright sun withdraw his chearful beams
Beneath the neighb'ring mountains.

Seth.
No, my sire,
I cannot leave thee; from my earliest days,
Thou know'st with filial duty I've obey'd thee.
But now to leave thee in this dreadful time,
Startles imagination with ideas
Fraught with strange horror.—But now thy Selima
Departed from thee, overwhelmed with care,
And plung'd in all the bitterness of woe.
My sorrowing looks, alas! escaped her not.
She wept, and wish'd to know the cause; her tears
Perforce o'ercame me, and I told her all.
Told her the sight these aching eyes beheld,
When I observ'd thee trembling, weak, and pale,
With tott'ring steps approach the sacred altar.

Adam.
O heav'n! and will they come!—well,—let it be;
My griefs will do their work the sooner.

Seth.
I hear
The tread of hasty steps this way approaching;
And see,—'tis Selima herself.

Adam.
So soon!
My children! O my children! O father,
Most wretched of all fathers!