BOOK IV.

Widethrough her realm she walked, and glad or lornShe mused. So, loitering, it chanced one mornWhen lone she sat upon a mountain height,One sudden stood anear, whose dark eyes brightUpon her shone. Pallid his face, and redHis smileless lips. “Who art thou?” Lilith said,And faint a hidden pain her hot heart stirred,When low, and rarely sweet, his voice she heard.She looked, half-pleased—and half in strange surpriseShrank ’neath the gaze of those wild, starry eyes.“Oh, dame,” the stranger said, “where waters leapBright glancing down, I rested oft, where steepThy Eden o’er, bare-browed, a peak uprose.Naught craving bloom or fruitage—nay, nor thoseFrail joys Adam holds dear. One only boonI sought of all his heritage. Fair ’neath the moonI saw thee stand; and all about thy feetThe night her perfume spilled, soft incense meet.Then low I sighed, when grew thy beauty on my sight,‘Some comfort yet remains, if that I mightFrom Adam pluck this perfect flower. Some morn—If I (some dreamed-of morn, perchance slow-born)This flawless bloom, white, fragrant, lustrous, pureFor ever on my breast might hold secure.’Yea, for thy love, through darkling realms of nightI followed thee, sharing thy fearful flightUnseen. Lo, when thy timid heart, behindHeard echoing phantom feet upon the wind,’Twas I, pursuing o’er the day’s last brink;Wherefore, I now am here. O Lilith, thinkHow over-much I love thee, and how sweetWere life with thee! O weary naked feet,With me each onward path wilt thou not tread?Or, if thou endest here thy quest,” he said,“Let me too bide with thee.”Made answer lowLilith thereto: “Meseems not long agoOne stood at Eden’s gate like thee. But thy faceIs darker, red thy lips. Of kingly raceI know thee. Say, whence comest thou, O prince?”“Nay, then,” he sighed, “an outcast I, long sinceFrom Heaven thrust out; yet now, the curse is past,Nor mourn I Heaven lost, if at the lastThy love I win. Yea, where thou art, I knowIs Heaven. And bliss, in sooth” (oh, soft and low,He said), “lives ever in thy smile.”His speechThus ended. And toward the sandy beachHe passed. Though long her eyes the stranger soughtWhere curved the distant shore, she saw him not.Soft through the trees the mottled shadows droppedWhen Lilith in her pleasance sat. Half-propped’Gainst mossy trunk her slender length. Her hairIn sunny web, enmeshed her elbows bare.Slowly the breeze swayed the mimosas slightAs Eblis pushed aside the bent boughs light.“O dame,” he said, “it seemeth surely meetEarth’s richest gifts to lay at Lilith’s feet;Therefore I said ‘unto the fairest one,Things loveliest beneath the shining sunI bring.’ Since of all crafts in this young earthI am true master, unto her whose worthSo much deserves, I bear this marble sphere,Whose hollowed husk, well polished, gleaming clear,Hides rarest fruit.” Therewith the globe he showed,The half whereof smooth-sparkling was: Half glowedWith carven work; embossed with pale leaves light,And delicately sculptured birds in flight,And clustered flowers frail. Lilith drew nearWith beaming eyes, and laid the graven sphereAgainst her smiling lips; o’ertraced the vineThat circled it with fingers slim. “Mine, mineIs it, O prince?” she cried. “I know not whyIts beauty doth recall the winds’ long sighThat surged among the palms. Methinks is deadSome summer-tide, that in its own sweet steadHath left upon the stone its imaging.”Eblis replied: “On earth, is anythingMore fair? If such thou knowest, Lilith, speak.That I, for thee, surely would straightway seek.Say, if indeed thou findest anywhere,On land or sea, created things so rare?”And Lilith answered, “On this earth so round,Naught else so lovely anywhere I found.So shames it meaner work—so had I said—But see yon nodding palm that droops its headLow sighing o’er the wave. Bring me a boughSo feathery-fine. Turn thy white sphere! NowOn its cold, fair surface, Eblis, canst thouSuch branches carve, or tender fronds, that weBright waving on the cocoa, these may see?”And Eblis wrought till grew upon the stoneSuch airy boughs as on the cocoa shone.Then Lilith cried: “Skilled craftsman, proven thou!Didst thou, then, make my cocoa-tree? Thy boughPale graven give the grace of its green crownWhen through it night winds gently slip adown.No charm of color, nor of change, nor glowOf blue noon sky, thy carven work doth show;Let dusk bees visit it—or sip the breathFrom thy chill marble buds.” Then, Lilith saith,“Eblis hath wroughten noblest on this earth.”He answered quick, “Poor bauble, little worthTo Lilith! Ope thy slighted husk, revealThe miracle thy rough rind doth conceal!”He touched a hidden spring, and wide apartThe riven sphere showed its white hollow heart,And in the midst a gem; the which he laidWithin her hand. “Behold,” he said, “I madeMost fair for thee this lustrous blood-red sard,And deftly traced its gleaming surface hardWith carvings thick of bright acacias slim,Pomegranates lush and river-reeds. Its rimA spray of leaves enchased, white as with rimeNight fallen. ‘Slow drags the lagging time,’I said, ‘till one day shines upon the breastOf her, whose perfect beauty worthiestIt decks, this gem.’ The token, Lilith, take;If lovelier there be, for Eblis’ sakeKeep silent; yet with me, oh Lilith, goAwhile from thine own land. Then shall I knowThe gem finds favor in thine eyes.”Then sheTurned from her pleasance and all silentlyPassed to the sea, across the yellow strandThat, glimmering, ringed her shadowy land.“Oh cool,” he said, “the lucent waves that fretThe barren shore, and curl their scattered spray wet’Gainst thy hand. Come! my longing pinnace waitsTo bear thee far. Her slender keel now gratesUpon the beach; and swift her shapely prowWill skim the deep, as swallows’ fleet wing. ThouSeest! comely and strong it is. For theeIts golden sails, its purple canopy.With skin of spotted pard, I cushioned it.Ere the fresh breeze doth die, light let us flitAcross the sea. No craft so proud, so staunch,Goes glancing through the foam. I safely launchHer now, and speed to fairy isles. Come thouWith me.” And glad she crossed the burnished prow;And ’mong the thick furred rugs sat down. “Oh craft,Fair fashioned, lightly built, speed far,” she laughed;“To other lands bear Lilith safe.”As sailedThey idly on, her slender hand she trailedAmong the waves, and sudden cried, “Indeed,A craft stauncher than thine floats by. What needHath it of helm, or prow, or silken sail,Sure harbor finding when the ocean galeFast drives it onward?” A nut she drew, round,Rough, coarse-husked, forth from the wave. “Lo, I found,”She said, “this boat well built. The cocoa-treeCast it amid the foam. Its pilot free,The summer wind; its port, the misty shoreOf ocean isles. It fades from sight. ‘No more,’We say, ‘it sails the wild uncertain main,’But when the drifting days are gone, againWe turn our prow, and reach the barren islesWhere, stranded as we went, the nut. Now smilesAbove; a bending tree. Aloud we cry,‘A miracle is wrought!’ We draw anigh.Behold, the cocoa, towering, doth springForth from the brown nut’s heart. About it clingSweet odors faint; and far stars trembling peep.When through its bowers cool the breezes creep.Strong, indeed, thy boat, well builded! I wisThere be yet other craft as firm, Eblis,That o’er these trackless waters boldly glide.Brave Nautilus afar, doth fearless ride,With sails of gossamer. So, too, doth spread,To summer airs, his silken gleaming thread,The water-spider fleet, free sailor trueThat in the sunshine floats, beneath the blue,Glad skies. And through the deep, all sparkling, slipA thousand insect-swarms, that, rippling, dipAmid the merry waves. Bright voyagersThat roam the sultry seas! Look, the wind stirsOur creaking sails! Thy pinnace flying o’erThe ocean’s swell, fast leaves the fading shore;Yet faster still the Nautilus sails by,And darts the spider quick. And swifter flyThe insect-fleets among the foam; yet thinkNot when among the billows wild doth sinkThy bounding boat, I fear. Nor would I slightThy skill, that made it strong, and swift, and light,And trimmed it gayly, for my sake.”Now nearA jutting shore Prince Eblis drew, where sheerThe brown rocks rose. And just beyond, a slimBeach of white sand curved to the ocean’s brim.Thereto he came, and high upon the strandDrew the boat’s keel. “Welcome, fair queen, to landThat Eblis rules,” he said. “I fain would showThee what thou hast not seen in the warm glowOf thy glad home. This blighted shore of mineNo verdure hath, nor bloom, nor fruits that shine’Mong drooping boughs. Far inland gloom lone peaksO’er blackened meads; or from their bare cones leapsGaunt, crackling flame; or crawl like ashen veinsThe smouldering fires across the stricken plains.Deep in these yawning caves black shadows lieThat shall be lifted never more. Come, IEnter! Know thou what treasure by the seaI gathered other time.” Therewith showed heHid ’mong the high heaped rocks a dusky grotWhere never sunshine fell. A dismal spotWhere dank the sea-weeds coiled and cold the airSwept through. And stooping, Eblis downward rolledBefore her webs of woven stuff, in foldOf purple sheen, enwrought with flecks of gold.Great wefts of scarlet and of blue, thick strewnWith pearls, or cleft with discs of jacinth stone;And drifts of silky woof and samite white,And warps of Orient hues. Eblis lightWound round her neck a scarf of amber. WideIts smooth folds sweeping flowed; and proud he cried,“Among these hills, in the still loom of night,I wrought for Lilith’s pleasing, all. And brightHave spun these webs, in blended morning huesAnd noontide shades and trail of silver dews—Hereon have set fair traceries of cloud-shineAnd tints of the far vales. The textures fineGlow with sweet thoughts of thee. And otherwhereHast thou such fabrics seen, or colors rareAs these?” Dawned in her eyes a swift delight,And low she cried, “Oh, wondrous is the sight,And much it pleaseth me. But yet,” she said,“Beside my knee one morn, its hooded headA Hagè reared. Its gliding shape so nearTo subtler music moved, than my dull earCould catch. Its velvet skin I gently strake,Watching the light that o’er its heaped coils brakeIn glittering waves. Within its small, wise glance,Flame silent slept, or quick in baleful danceBefore my startled gaze quivering did wake.Fair is thy woof, soft woven, yet the snakeOut-dazzles it. The beetle that doth boomIts dull life out among the tangled gloom,Lift his wide wing above thy weft, or trailHis splendor there, and thy poor web will pale;Yea, the red wayside lily that doth snareThe girdled bee, is softer still, more fairThan finest woven cloth.” But tenderlyShe smoothed the gleaming folds. “Much pleaseth me,Natlhess,” she said, “such loveliness.” Then broughtHe tapestries of fleeces fine, well wroughtIn colors soft as woodland mosses’ tinge,Or glow of autumn blooms: Heavy with fringeOf downward sweeping gold; arras, where throughShowed mottled stripes, or arabesques of blue,Broad zones of red, and tender grays, and hueOf dropping leaves. “Lilith,” he said, “when rolledThe storm-tossed billows round these caves, beholdI spun these daintily. ’Twere hard to findSuch twisted weft or woven strand.” “Oh, kind,”She said, “is Eblis, unto whom I fainWould give due thanks. His gorgeous trainBut yesterday I saw the peacock spread;Bright in the sun gleamed his small crested head;His haughty neck wrinkled to green and blue,And since I needs must truly speak, I knewNot color rich as his: and I have seenThe curious nest among the branches green,The busy weaver-bird plaits of thick leaves,And in and out its pliant meshes weaves;And since thou sayest ’twere hard to match thy fine,Strong, woven fabrics, watch the weaver twineHis cunning wefts. Though still,” she said, “think notI scorn thy gifts, Prince Eblis; for I wotTheir worth is greater than my tongue can say.”Then Eblis deeper in the cave led her a little way,And showed a stately screen of such fine artOne almost felt the breeze that seemed to partThe pictured boughs. And o’er the stirless lakeDreamed the swift, wimpling waters sudden brakeAmong the willows on its brink—and flowersOf scarlet, shining-clean from summer showers;And Eblis said, “Cold praise a friend should spareThis picture true. Certain naught else will dareVie with such beauty.”Archly Lilith tookThe rose from her bright hair, and lightly shookThe dewdrop from its heart. “I loving, touch,”She said, “these petals smooth. O, Eblis, suchGive to thy painted blooms; give its cool sheenOf morningtide, the mossy, lush leaves greenThat fold it round. Give its faint, fragrant breath,When with the fickle breeze it dallieth.Nay, fairer still my rose than gilded screen,Though it be limned with perfect art, I ween.”Thereat smiled Eblis bitterly. “I bringOne parting gift,” he said, “a dainty thing;Perchance in other time it will recallOne who strove long and patiently through allThese days to win thy praise.” An oval planeOf crystal gave he her; of fleck or stainClear-gleaming. Of ivory carven fineThe frame. And when she looked, “Divine,”He laughed, “the beauty it enshrines. Canst claimAught else is fairer?” And Lilith againGazed in the glass, her face beholding there,Her pink flushed cheeks, her yellow streaming hair.Quick came her breath. “O prince,” she slowly said,“Fair is the stranger. Bid those lips so redSpeak once to Lilith. For methinks the voiceOf such in music flowed. Let me rejoiceTherein.” “O glorious counterfeit!” criedHe. “Lovelier is not on this earth wide!Behold, sweet Lilith, ’tis thine own pure faceThat lends my happy mirror perfect graceIt else had not. Bid thou thine image speak!No other happiness I elsewhere seek,If the soft tale she whispers be of me.”And Lilith answered gravely, “I know thee,Eblis. Master indeed of all crafts thou—Red Sard, and marble sphere, and agile prowOf pinnace light well wroughten were by theeAnd decked full fair. And, beauteous to see,Fine woven weft and web, and the tall screenO’errun with painted bloom, crystal, with gleamOf Lilith’s face—thou madest these. MayhapBeetle and asp likewise didst tint—didst wrapThe green about my rose, and richly fringeMy cocoa-tree, or peacock’s train didst tingeWith dazzling hues. Methought thou wert a prince,But now Lilith should humbly kneel, sinceThou art far higher than she deemed, if thouMadest these wondrous things.” And lowly nowAs she would kneel, she drew anigh. But heCried, shrinking, “Nay, I made them not.” And sheLow questioned, “Eblis, tell me who then, did makeThem all. Who set the creeping hooded snakeAnd stealthy pard within the thorny brake,And spread the sea, and wreathed the waterfallWith foam? Who reared the hoar hills, towering tallAbove the lands?” With eyes wild flashing, lowHe groaned: “O Lilith, ask me not. My foeHe was—he is. Trembles with wrath my frameIf I but faintly breathe his awful name.”Lilith replied, “Meseemeth, master trueOf every craft is He.”Forth the twoFrom that drear cavern passed. Ere the water’s brimThey gained, he plucked the wilding reeds, that slimStood by a brook. “My pipe I make, one strainHarmonious to wake. Nor yet againShalt thou such fresh notes hear. Music like mineMethinks thou hast not known in any time.”He laid his pipe unto his lips, and blewA blast, wild, piercing, sweet. The far hills throughIt rung. And softer fell, yet wild and clear.It ceased. With drooping eyes, “Once I did hearA song as wildly clear, as sad,” she said,“In mine own realm.” And as she spoke, dark dreadThe sky grew with a coming storm. “Oh, haste,”He cried; “seek refuge ere this dreary wasteReeks with the rain!” And fast they spedBack to his ocean-cave. There safe, o’erheadThey watched the piling clouds. With angry roarThe baffled billows broke upon the rocks. O’erThem rushed the shrieking storm. Wild through the grotWandered the prisoned wind, a troubled ghost that soughtRepose. Or low did moan, and trembling, wail,Like some sore-hearted thing that hideth, pale,And dare not front the day; and wilder still,In chords melodious, swelled or sank, untilShe sighed, “Oh, this weird harp among the caves,Strange players hath! For loud as one that raves,It rises. Now more sweetly fade awayIts mellow notes than thy thin pipes.” “One day,”He said, “mayhap my strain may please, when windDoth not outpipe my slighted reeds. UnkindThou art.” “The storm is past; to mine own landI would return,” she said. And Eblis o’er the strandLed her. And homeward silent turned his prowThat swiftly through the swirling waves did plow.But when they parted, Eblis mused, “I knowNo gift soever winneth her, rich thoughIt be and seemly. Into this pure soul,Through fear of ill, I enter; or by goalOf future gain before it set.”So cameHe to her pleasance yet again. A flameLeaped high above a brazier that he bore,Its sweet, white, scented wood quick lapping o’er.With darkened face Eblis above her hung.“This hath, than my poor pipe, a keener tongue,”Smileless and stern, he said. “Oh, dame,List how the wild, crisp, crackling ruby flameEats through the tender boughs. A trusty knaveIt is, that serves me well, and loud doth raveAs tiger caged. When I do set it free,With angry fangs leaps on its prey. But see,It now sleeps harmlessly, till Eblis callsHis faithful servant back. Lilith, when fallsThe red fire at thy feet, dost fear?” “Nay, nay,”She cried, and drew her white neck up. “A wayTo tame it thou hast found. Believe me, sinceIt is thy slave I too will bind it, prince.Should Lilith fear? Unfaltering, these eyesHave watched when rushing storm-clouds heaped the skies,And the black whirlwind, with loud, deafening roar,Beat the torn waves; or whirled against the shoreThe tumbling billows, with fierce lips that bitThe shrinking land. And the wreathed lightnings splitThe cloud with thunder dread: or wildly burstUpon the sea the water-spout. Shall firstShe fear thy flame, who feared not these?” “Fit mateArt thou for Eblis,” answered he. “His fateShare, great-souled one. Thou wouldst not meanly shrink,Though his strong heart did fail. O Lilith, think!The crown of clustered worlds thou mayest find,If thou with him who loveth thee wilt bindThy life.” “Nay, far happier seems to meThan eagle caged, the wild lark soaring free,”She said. And through her rose-pleached alleys strayedThey to the sea. And tender music madeThat guileful voice; yet slow his wooing spedThose summer days. But when were deadAnd brown the crisping leaves, “Oh, love,” he said,“Of all the centuries, thou rarest bloom,Thy shut heart open wide. Its sweet perfume,Though I should die, fain would I parting drink.Sleeps yet thy love? From me no longer shrink,My Lilith. Oh, lift up thy tender eyes;In their blue depths doth happy morning rise;’Tis night if they be closed.”She softly sighed;And ancient strife recalling, thus replied:“When dwelt a prince discrowned, well satisfied?And fallen, loving, still art thou a prince,And otherwhiles might sorrow bring me, sinceIt might hap thou wouldst much desire her realm,Were Lilith thine; for princes seize the helmWhen Love lies moored, and bid the shallop seekAcross the waves new lands. But Love is weak,And so, alas, the craft upon the sandsIs dashed, while one, on-looking, wrings her hands.Such days I have outlived. Like Adam, thouPerchance will seek to bind the loosed. Then how(If one hath drunken wine of liberty)Shall she, athirst, rejoice; no longer free,Be glad?”“My love,” he said, “large-hearted lives,Full dowers thee, and royal bounty gives,Nor knoweth law, save Lilith’s wish alone.”“Why, then,” she answered, “on the polished stoneThat fronts yon hill, write, Eblis, in full day,That other time we read it clear, and say,‘Hereon are graven all those early vowsWe whispered low aneath the summer boughs,’Write every word. That so the stone shall beEver a witness mute twixt thee and me.Then shall I know thou seekest in me no thrallFor after-days, if thou make compact. AllThou hast said, write now.”Then on the stone,As she had said, graved Eblis, and thereonDid set his seal. So wedded they: and handIn hand the wide world roamed. Or in her landAbode. And oft, of hours, ere yet on earthHe walked, she questioned. Or he loosed with mirthHer yellow hair, down-streaming o’er his arm;And ’gainst his cheek her breath came sweet and warm;As through his dusky locks caressing playedHer fingers slim; and shadows, half afraid,She saw in his wild eyes.Or paths remoteThey trod, watching the white clouds rise and floatAthwart the sky. Or by the listless main,Or ’neath the lotus bough, slow paced the twain.Or dragon-trees spread their cool leafy screen.And faint crept odors through the mangroves green,Where paused the pair upon the sandy shore.Love-tranced, unheeded, swiftly passed them o’erGlad summer days: till one hour softly laidAt Lilith’s feet a fair, lone babe, that strayedFrom distant Dreamland far. So might one deemThat looked upon its face. Or, it might seemFrom other climes, a rose-leaf blown apart,Down-fluttered there, to gladden Lilith’s heart.

Widethrough her realm she walked, and glad or lornShe mused. So, loitering, it chanced one mornWhen lone she sat upon a mountain height,One sudden stood anear, whose dark eyes brightUpon her shone. Pallid his face, and redHis smileless lips. “Who art thou?” Lilith said,And faint a hidden pain her hot heart stirred,When low, and rarely sweet, his voice she heard.She looked, half-pleased—and half in strange surpriseShrank ’neath the gaze of those wild, starry eyes.“Oh, dame,” the stranger said, “where waters leapBright glancing down, I rested oft, where steepThy Eden o’er, bare-browed, a peak uprose.Naught craving bloom or fruitage—nay, nor thoseFrail joys Adam holds dear. One only boonI sought of all his heritage. Fair ’neath the moonI saw thee stand; and all about thy feetThe night her perfume spilled, soft incense meet.Then low I sighed, when grew thy beauty on my sight,‘Some comfort yet remains, if that I mightFrom Adam pluck this perfect flower. Some morn—If I (some dreamed-of morn, perchance slow-born)This flawless bloom, white, fragrant, lustrous, pureFor ever on my breast might hold secure.’Yea, for thy love, through darkling realms of nightI followed thee, sharing thy fearful flightUnseen. Lo, when thy timid heart, behindHeard echoing phantom feet upon the wind,’Twas I, pursuing o’er the day’s last brink;Wherefore, I now am here. O Lilith, thinkHow over-much I love thee, and how sweetWere life with thee! O weary naked feet,With me each onward path wilt thou not tread?Or, if thou endest here thy quest,” he said,“Let me too bide with thee.”Made answer lowLilith thereto: “Meseems not long agoOne stood at Eden’s gate like thee. But thy faceIs darker, red thy lips. Of kingly raceI know thee. Say, whence comest thou, O prince?”“Nay, then,” he sighed, “an outcast I, long sinceFrom Heaven thrust out; yet now, the curse is past,Nor mourn I Heaven lost, if at the lastThy love I win. Yea, where thou art, I knowIs Heaven. And bliss, in sooth” (oh, soft and low,He said), “lives ever in thy smile.”His speechThus ended. And toward the sandy beachHe passed. Though long her eyes the stranger soughtWhere curved the distant shore, she saw him not.

Soft through the trees the mottled shadows droppedWhen Lilith in her pleasance sat. Half-propped’Gainst mossy trunk her slender length. Her hairIn sunny web, enmeshed her elbows bare.Slowly the breeze swayed the mimosas slightAs Eblis pushed aside the bent boughs light.“O dame,” he said, “it seemeth surely meetEarth’s richest gifts to lay at Lilith’s feet;Therefore I said ‘unto the fairest one,Things loveliest beneath the shining sunI bring.’ Since of all crafts in this young earthI am true master, unto her whose worthSo much deserves, I bear this marble sphere,Whose hollowed husk, well polished, gleaming clear,Hides rarest fruit.” Therewith the globe he showed,The half whereof smooth-sparkling was: Half glowedWith carven work; embossed with pale leaves light,And delicately sculptured birds in flight,And clustered flowers frail. Lilith drew nearWith beaming eyes, and laid the graven sphereAgainst her smiling lips; o’ertraced the vineThat circled it with fingers slim. “Mine, mineIs it, O prince?” she cried. “I know not whyIts beauty doth recall the winds’ long sighThat surged among the palms. Methinks is deadSome summer-tide, that in its own sweet steadHath left upon the stone its imaging.”Eblis replied: “On earth, is anythingMore fair? If such thou knowest, Lilith, speak.That I, for thee, surely would straightway seek.Say, if indeed thou findest anywhere,On land or sea, created things so rare?”And Lilith answered, “On this earth so round,Naught else so lovely anywhere I found.So shames it meaner work—so had I said—But see yon nodding palm that droops its headLow sighing o’er the wave. Bring me a boughSo feathery-fine. Turn thy white sphere! NowOn its cold, fair surface, Eblis, canst thouSuch branches carve, or tender fronds, that weBright waving on the cocoa, these may see?”And Eblis wrought till grew upon the stoneSuch airy boughs as on the cocoa shone.Then Lilith cried: “Skilled craftsman, proven thou!Didst thou, then, make my cocoa-tree? Thy boughPale graven give the grace of its green crownWhen through it night winds gently slip adown.No charm of color, nor of change, nor glowOf blue noon sky, thy carven work doth show;Let dusk bees visit it—or sip the breathFrom thy chill marble buds.” Then, Lilith saith,“Eblis hath wroughten noblest on this earth.”He answered quick, “Poor bauble, little worthTo Lilith! Ope thy slighted husk, revealThe miracle thy rough rind doth conceal!”

He touched a hidden spring, and wide apartThe riven sphere showed its white hollow heart,And in the midst a gem; the which he laidWithin her hand. “Behold,” he said, “I madeMost fair for thee this lustrous blood-red sard,And deftly traced its gleaming surface hardWith carvings thick of bright acacias slim,Pomegranates lush and river-reeds. Its rimA spray of leaves enchased, white as with rimeNight fallen. ‘Slow drags the lagging time,’I said, ‘till one day shines upon the breastOf her, whose perfect beauty worthiestIt decks, this gem.’ The token, Lilith, take;If lovelier there be, for Eblis’ sakeKeep silent; yet with me, oh Lilith, goAwhile from thine own land. Then shall I knowThe gem finds favor in thine eyes.”Then sheTurned from her pleasance and all silentlyPassed to the sea, across the yellow strandThat, glimmering, ringed her shadowy land.“Oh cool,” he said, “the lucent waves that fretThe barren shore, and curl their scattered spray wet’Gainst thy hand. Come! my longing pinnace waitsTo bear thee far. Her slender keel now gratesUpon the beach; and swift her shapely prowWill skim the deep, as swallows’ fleet wing. ThouSeest! comely and strong it is. For theeIts golden sails, its purple canopy.With skin of spotted pard, I cushioned it.Ere the fresh breeze doth die, light let us flitAcross the sea. No craft so proud, so staunch,Goes glancing through the foam. I safely launchHer now, and speed to fairy isles. Come thouWith me.” And glad she crossed the burnished prow;And ’mong the thick furred rugs sat down. “Oh craft,Fair fashioned, lightly built, speed far,” she laughed;“To other lands bear Lilith safe.”As sailedThey idly on, her slender hand she trailedAmong the waves, and sudden cried, “Indeed,A craft stauncher than thine floats by. What needHath it of helm, or prow, or silken sail,Sure harbor finding when the ocean galeFast drives it onward?” A nut she drew, round,Rough, coarse-husked, forth from the wave. “Lo, I found,”She said, “this boat well built. The cocoa-treeCast it amid the foam. Its pilot free,The summer wind; its port, the misty shoreOf ocean isles. It fades from sight. ‘No more,’We say, ‘it sails the wild uncertain main,’But when the drifting days are gone, againWe turn our prow, and reach the barren islesWhere, stranded as we went, the nut. Now smilesAbove; a bending tree. Aloud we cry,‘A miracle is wrought!’ We draw anigh.Behold, the cocoa, towering, doth springForth from the brown nut’s heart. About it clingSweet odors faint; and far stars trembling peep.When through its bowers cool the breezes creep.Strong, indeed, thy boat, well builded! I wisThere be yet other craft as firm, Eblis,That o’er these trackless waters boldly glide.Brave Nautilus afar, doth fearless ride,With sails of gossamer. So, too, doth spread,To summer airs, his silken gleaming thread,The water-spider fleet, free sailor trueThat in the sunshine floats, beneath the blue,Glad skies. And through the deep, all sparkling, slipA thousand insect-swarms, that, rippling, dipAmid the merry waves. Bright voyagersThat roam the sultry seas! Look, the wind stirsOur creaking sails! Thy pinnace flying o’erThe ocean’s swell, fast leaves the fading shore;Yet faster still the Nautilus sails by,And darts the spider quick. And swifter flyThe insect-fleets among the foam; yet thinkNot when among the billows wild doth sinkThy bounding boat, I fear. Nor would I slightThy skill, that made it strong, and swift, and light,And trimmed it gayly, for my sake.”Now nearA jutting shore Prince Eblis drew, where sheerThe brown rocks rose. And just beyond, a slimBeach of white sand curved to the ocean’s brim.Thereto he came, and high upon the strandDrew the boat’s keel. “Welcome, fair queen, to landThat Eblis rules,” he said. “I fain would showThee what thou hast not seen in the warm glowOf thy glad home. This blighted shore of mineNo verdure hath, nor bloom, nor fruits that shine’Mong drooping boughs. Far inland gloom lone peaksO’er blackened meads; or from their bare cones leapsGaunt, crackling flame; or crawl like ashen veinsThe smouldering fires across the stricken plains.Deep in these yawning caves black shadows lieThat shall be lifted never more. Come, IEnter! Know thou what treasure by the seaI gathered other time.” Therewith showed heHid ’mong the high heaped rocks a dusky grotWhere never sunshine fell. A dismal spotWhere dank the sea-weeds coiled and cold the airSwept through. And stooping, Eblis downward rolledBefore her webs of woven stuff, in foldOf purple sheen, enwrought with flecks of gold.Great wefts of scarlet and of blue, thick strewnWith pearls, or cleft with discs of jacinth stone;And drifts of silky woof and samite white,And warps of Orient hues. Eblis lightWound round her neck a scarf of amber. WideIts smooth folds sweeping flowed; and proud he cried,“Among these hills, in the still loom of night,I wrought for Lilith’s pleasing, all. And brightHave spun these webs, in blended morning huesAnd noontide shades and trail of silver dews—Hereon have set fair traceries of cloud-shineAnd tints of the far vales. The textures fineGlow with sweet thoughts of thee. And otherwhereHast thou such fabrics seen, or colors rareAs these?” Dawned in her eyes a swift delight,And low she cried, “Oh, wondrous is the sight,And much it pleaseth me. But yet,” she said,“Beside my knee one morn, its hooded headA Hagè reared. Its gliding shape so nearTo subtler music moved, than my dull earCould catch. Its velvet skin I gently strake,Watching the light that o’er its heaped coils brakeIn glittering waves. Within its small, wise glance,Flame silent slept, or quick in baleful danceBefore my startled gaze quivering did wake.Fair is thy woof, soft woven, yet the snakeOut-dazzles it. The beetle that doth boomIts dull life out among the tangled gloom,Lift his wide wing above thy weft, or trailHis splendor there, and thy poor web will pale;Yea, the red wayside lily that doth snareThe girdled bee, is softer still, more fairThan finest woven cloth.” But tenderlyShe smoothed the gleaming folds. “Much pleaseth me,Natlhess,” she said, “such loveliness.” Then broughtHe tapestries of fleeces fine, well wroughtIn colors soft as woodland mosses’ tinge,Or glow of autumn blooms: Heavy with fringeOf downward sweeping gold; arras, where throughShowed mottled stripes, or arabesques of blue,Broad zones of red, and tender grays, and hueOf dropping leaves. “Lilith,” he said, “when rolledThe storm-tossed billows round these caves, beholdI spun these daintily. ’Twere hard to findSuch twisted weft or woven strand.” “Oh, kind,”She said, “is Eblis, unto whom I fainWould give due thanks. His gorgeous trainBut yesterday I saw the peacock spread;Bright in the sun gleamed his small crested head;His haughty neck wrinkled to green and blue,And since I needs must truly speak, I knewNot color rich as his: and I have seenThe curious nest among the branches green,The busy weaver-bird plaits of thick leaves,And in and out its pliant meshes weaves;And since thou sayest ’twere hard to match thy fine,Strong, woven fabrics, watch the weaver twineHis cunning wefts. Though still,” she said, “think notI scorn thy gifts, Prince Eblis; for I wotTheir worth is greater than my tongue can say.”Then Eblis deeper in the cave led her a little way,And showed a stately screen of such fine artOne almost felt the breeze that seemed to partThe pictured boughs. And o’er the stirless lakeDreamed the swift, wimpling waters sudden brakeAmong the willows on its brink—and flowersOf scarlet, shining-clean from summer showers;And Eblis said, “Cold praise a friend should spareThis picture true. Certain naught else will dareVie with such beauty.”Archly Lilith tookThe rose from her bright hair, and lightly shookThe dewdrop from its heart. “I loving, touch,”She said, “these petals smooth. O, Eblis, suchGive to thy painted blooms; give its cool sheenOf morningtide, the mossy, lush leaves greenThat fold it round. Give its faint, fragrant breath,When with the fickle breeze it dallieth.Nay, fairer still my rose than gilded screen,Though it be limned with perfect art, I ween.”Thereat smiled Eblis bitterly. “I bringOne parting gift,” he said, “a dainty thing;Perchance in other time it will recallOne who strove long and patiently through allThese days to win thy praise.” An oval planeOf crystal gave he her; of fleck or stainClear-gleaming. Of ivory carven fineThe frame. And when she looked, “Divine,”He laughed, “the beauty it enshrines. Canst claimAught else is fairer?” And Lilith againGazed in the glass, her face beholding there,Her pink flushed cheeks, her yellow streaming hair.Quick came her breath. “O prince,” she slowly said,“Fair is the stranger. Bid those lips so redSpeak once to Lilith. For methinks the voiceOf such in music flowed. Let me rejoiceTherein.” “O glorious counterfeit!” criedHe. “Lovelier is not on this earth wide!Behold, sweet Lilith, ’tis thine own pure faceThat lends my happy mirror perfect graceIt else had not. Bid thou thine image speak!No other happiness I elsewhere seek,If the soft tale she whispers be of me.”And Lilith answered gravely, “I know thee,Eblis. Master indeed of all crafts thou—Red Sard, and marble sphere, and agile prowOf pinnace light well wroughten were by theeAnd decked full fair. And, beauteous to see,Fine woven weft and web, and the tall screenO’errun with painted bloom, crystal, with gleamOf Lilith’s face—thou madest these. MayhapBeetle and asp likewise didst tint—didst wrapThe green about my rose, and richly fringeMy cocoa-tree, or peacock’s train didst tingeWith dazzling hues. Methought thou wert a prince,But now Lilith should humbly kneel, sinceThou art far higher than she deemed, if thouMadest these wondrous things.” And lowly nowAs she would kneel, she drew anigh. But heCried, shrinking, “Nay, I made them not.” And sheLow questioned, “Eblis, tell me who then, did makeThem all. Who set the creeping hooded snakeAnd stealthy pard within the thorny brake,And spread the sea, and wreathed the waterfallWith foam? Who reared the hoar hills, towering tallAbove the lands?” With eyes wild flashing, lowHe groaned: “O Lilith, ask me not. My foeHe was—he is. Trembles with wrath my frameIf I but faintly breathe his awful name.”Lilith replied, “Meseemeth, master trueOf every craft is He.”Forth the twoFrom that drear cavern passed. Ere the water’s brimThey gained, he plucked the wilding reeds, that slimStood by a brook. “My pipe I make, one strainHarmonious to wake. Nor yet againShalt thou such fresh notes hear. Music like mineMethinks thou hast not known in any time.”He laid his pipe unto his lips, and blewA blast, wild, piercing, sweet. The far hills throughIt rung. And softer fell, yet wild and clear.It ceased. With drooping eyes, “Once I did hearA song as wildly clear, as sad,” she said,“In mine own realm.” And as she spoke, dark dreadThe sky grew with a coming storm. “Oh, haste,”He cried; “seek refuge ere this dreary wasteReeks with the rain!” And fast they spedBack to his ocean-cave. There safe, o’erheadThey watched the piling clouds. With angry roarThe baffled billows broke upon the rocks. O’erThem rushed the shrieking storm. Wild through the grotWandered the prisoned wind, a troubled ghost that soughtRepose. Or low did moan, and trembling, wail,Like some sore-hearted thing that hideth, pale,And dare not front the day; and wilder still,In chords melodious, swelled or sank, untilShe sighed, “Oh, this weird harp among the caves,Strange players hath! For loud as one that raves,It rises. Now more sweetly fade awayIts mellow notes than thy thin pipes.” “One day,”He said, “mayhap my strain may please, when windDoth not outpipe my slighted reeds. UnkindThou art.” “The storm is past; to mine own landI would return,” she said. And Eblis o’er the strandLed her. And homeward silent turned his prowThat swiftly through the swirling waves did plow.But when they parted, Eblis mused, “I knowNo gift soever winneth her, rich thoughIt be and seemly. Into this pure soul,Through fear of ill, I enter; or by goalOf future gain before it set.”So cameHe to her pleasance yet again. A flameLeaped high above a brazier that he bore,Its sweet, white, scented wood quick lapping o’er.With darkened face Eblis above her hung.“This hath, than my poor pipe, a keener tongue,”Smileless and stern, he said. “Oh, dame,List how the wild, crisp, crackling ruby flameEats through the tender boughs. A trusty knaveIt is, that serves me well, and loud doth raveAs tiger caged. When I do set it free,With angry fangs leaps on its prey. But see,It now sleeps harmlessly, till Eblis callsHis faithful servant back. Lilith, when fallsThe red fire at thy feet, dost fear?” “Nay, nay,”She cried, and drew her white neck up. “A wayTo tame it thou hast found. Believe me, sinceIt is thy slave I too will bind it, prince.Should Lilith fear? Unfaltering, these eyesHave watched when rushing storm-clouds heaped the skies,And the black whirlwind, with loud, deafening roar,Beat the torn waves; or whirled against the shoreThe tumbling billows, with fierce lips that bitThe shrinking land. And the wreathed lightnings splitThe cloud with thunder dread: or wildly burstUpon the sea the water-spout. Shall firstShe fear thy flame, who feared not these?” “Fit mateArt thou for Eblis,” answered he. “His fateShare, great-souled one. Thou wouldst not meanly shrink,Though his strong heart did fail. O Lilith, think!The crown of clustered worlds thou mayest find,If thou with him who loveth thee wilt bindThy life.” “Nay, far happier seems to meThan eagle caged, the wild lark soaring free,”She said. And through her rose-pleached alleys strayedThey to the sea. And tender music madeThat guileful voice; yet slow his wooing spedThose summer days. But when were deadAnd brown the crisping leaves, “Oh, love,” he said,“Of all the centuries, thou rarest bloom,Thy shut heart open wide. Its sweet perfume,Though I should die, fain would I parting drink.Sleeps yet thy love? From me no longer shrink,My Lilith. Oh, lift up thy tender eyes;In their blue depths doth happy morning rise;’Tis night if they be closed.”She softly sighed;And ancient strife recalling, thus replied:“When dwelt a prince discrowned, well satisfied?And fallen, loving, still art thou a prince,And otherwhiles might sorrow bring me, sinceIt might hap thou wouldst much desire her realm,Were Lilith thine; for princes seize the helmWhen Love lies moored, and bid the shallop seekAcross the waves new lands. But Love is weak,And so, alas, the craft upon the sandsIs dashed, while one, on-looking, wrings her hands.Such days I have outlived. Like Adam, thouPerchance will seek to bind the loosed. Then how(If one hath drunken wine of liberty)Shall she, athirst, rejoice; no longer free,Be glad?”“My love,” he said, “large-hearted lives,Full dowers thee, and royal bounty gives,Nor knoweth law, save Lilith’s wish alone.”“Why, then,” she answered, “on the polished stoneThat fronts yon hill, write, Eblis, in full day,That other time we read it clear, and say,‘Hereon are graven all those early vowsWe whispered low aneath the summer boughs,’Write every word. That so the stone shall beEver a witness mute twixt thee and me.Then shall I know thou seekest in me no thrallFor after-days, if thou make compact. AllThou hast said, write now.”Then on the stone,As she had said, graved Eblis, and thereonDid set his seal. So wedded they: and handIn hand the wide world roamed. Or in her landAbode. And oft, of hours, ere yet on earthHe walked, she questioned. Or he loosed with mirthHer yellow hair, down-streaming o’er his arm;And ’gainst his cheek her breath came sweet and warm;As through his dusky locks caressing playedHer fingers slim; and shadows, half afraid,She saw in his wild eyes.Or paths remoteThey trod, watching the white clouds rise and floatAthwart the sky. Or by the listless main,Or ’neath the lotus bough, slow paced the twain.Or dragon-trees spread their cool leafy screen.And faint crept odors through the mangroves green,Where paused the pair upon the sandy shore.Love-tranced, unheeded, swiftly passed them o’erGlad summer days: till one hour softly laidAt Lilith’s feet a fair, lone babe, that strayedFrom distant Dreamland far. So might one deemThat looked upon its face. Or, it might seemFrom other climes, a rose-leaf blown apart,Down-fluttered there, to gladden Lilith’s heart.

Tothat fair Elf-child other summers came;But Lilith walked, heart-hungered, filled with shame,Naught comforted. And in that shadow-landShe sorrowing bore, in after-time, a bandOf elfin babes, that waked dim echoes longForgotten there, and ghastly bursts of song.Then Lilith saddened more, for that she knewThe curse was fallen now. And cried she throughFast-falling tears, “Oh, me most desolate,That shall not know in any time the fateOf happier mothers! Nay, nor cool touchOf baby hands. Oh, longed-for, loved so much!Alas, my babes, ere yet hour-old ye fly,Out-spreading shining wings with jeering cry,Afar from me. Most hapless I, from whomThe crown of motherhood, yet white with bloom,Falls blighted! Close in these empty arms fainWould I clasp my babes! My tender painBut once could ye not solace? Nay, ’tis vain;I shall not kiss their lips, nor hear again,As gladder mothers may, low-rippling, sweet,The laughter children bring about their feet.Oh, soulless ones, can ye not wait awhile,’Till on your loveless lips I wake one smile?”But merrily out-laughed the phantom crew;On shining pinions white, swift seaward flew,Or upward rose, slow-fading in the blue;Or lured her trembling, green morasses through.And ’mong the frothy waves they vanished fast;Or shrieked with glee borne on the wintry blast,And wilder raised their warlock song.While fairer grew each day that elfin throng.To pluck the mangoes brown, fair Lilith spedOne morn. Quick throbbed her heart. On mossy bedLay all her babes. With face like morning, shoneOne there, and wide her yellow hair out-blownAs ’twere in play. Red-flushed her cheeks, and deepAbout her lips the baby smiles. AsleepWas one, white-gleaming, pure as pearl unseenIn sunless caves, close-shut. And one did leanAgainst his fellow, lithe, sun-flushed and brown,With rings of jetty hair that low adownHis bosom streamed. And one there was, whose dreamO’erflowed with laughter. And one did seemHalf-waking. One, with dimpled arms in sleepThrust elbow-deep in moss, that sure did weepEre yet he slept, and on his cheek scarce driedThe wilful tears.Then low, pale Lilith criedAs near she drew, down-bending tender eyes:“And are ye here, my babes; and will ye riseIf I but break your sleep?” His naked feetOne faintly moved as low she leant; and warmHis slumbrous breath stirred ’gainst her circling arm,And slow aneath his closed lids slipped a waftOf wind, that loosed a trickling tear. Its craftThe mother-heart forgot thereat. “At last,Close to my breast, my babes,” she cried, and fastLaughing, outstretched her eager hands and strong.Then lay with empty arms.The elfin throngBreasted the pulsing air with mocking song.“Alas,” she said, “could ye not give one kiss—One tender clasp of hands! And must I missYour throbbing hearts from my cold, barren breast,Ye soulless ones, that flout my lonely rest?”There, prostrate, long lay Lilith, and there, late’Mid dew-fall, Eblis found his stricken mate.“O Eblis, say o’er me what curse hangs bare,For now no more,” she said, “this realm seems fair.Its fruits grow bitter, all its light falls chill.With thee, my prince, poor Lilith mates but ill—Earth-born, with angel linked. Alas, is leftNo joy to me, of my sweet ones bereft.Methinks soft baby lips might erewhile drainFrom Lilith’s famished heart its wildest pain.Wherefore, my Eblis, it were wise to seekSurcease of grief. That Lilith, is so weakWho wedded thee; and that she sinned, knew not.Yet, if we part, mayhap may follow naughtOf other ills.”“Sweet love,” he laughed, “o’er-lateThou art so timorous. At Eden’s gateNot so, what time the angel barred her wayMy Lilith stood. Shelter within my arms. Oh, say,Was not our young love sweet? Hath it grown cold?With me thou sharest endless life; nor old,Nor shrivelled, shalt thou be. And not one traceOf earth’s decay (sure doom of thy sad race)Shall taint thy babes. For lo, I giveThy soulless ones immortal youth. They liveWithout a pang. And yet, methinks the cryOf Earth adown the ages sounds, when dieIts babes; and mothers bend dumb lips above,And fold still hands, that answer not their love.Lilith, doth not indeed my love outweighCaresses missed from phantom babes? AstrayFrom Eden long, here in this fair domainTo bide; and through long cycles fearless reignMethinks were joy. In summer sheenWide spreads thy land. The marge of islets greenThe palm-trees skirt. Soft shine the dusk lagoonsAnd inland mountains. Mirk the jungle’s glooms,And fair thy fertile plains. Oh, sweet the glowWhen we together watch the day, that lowAmong the winds lies still. Shut lilies blowWhile here we wait. Come, for they fain would showTheir golden hearts. Or, love, with me to floatWere it not sweet, through flowery bays remote,Past coves and peaks? Or pierce yon ocean’s verge,And through wild tumbling waves our sails to urge?”“Yea, sweet is love,” she said, “and sweet to roamBy listless currents lulled; or ’mid the foamLow dip our feathery oars,” she sighed, “yet soreIs still the mother-heart that hears no moreThe lisping tongues. And sad, when baby smilesHave left it desolate. And baby wilesShall cheer it never more.”“Yet,” Eblis said,“Lilith, no longer mourn. For I have readUpon a scroll as samite glistening white,All coming fate, close hid from human sight,Great peoples yet shall dwell in these dusk lands.Then shall thy children, shadowy bandsThat fly thy fond caress, with them abideIn closest fellowship. And though they hideSometimes from human ken their better selves,Still loved, remain these tricksy elves.Though yet indeed some quips and pranks they play,’Tis but a jest, men know, when far awayThe flickering marsh-fires swift they lightAnd children follow their false tapers brightAmong the spongy bogs. The ship-lad smiles,When distant ’mid the waves the phantom islesRise green. ’Tis but a harmless jest that setsOn lonely plains, domes, mosques, and minarets,And o’er the desert sands, mirage upliftsWhen glimmering waves shine through deep riftsOf crested palms.“Still dearer they when wideTo undiscovered lands men boldly rideAcross new seas, and turn their venturous prows.When tempests shriek, and wet about their browsThe salt spray dashes fierce, one, watching, cries,‘Good mates, no storm I fear, for yonder riseThe Elf-babes ’mid the foam. Ye goblin crew,That sail these unknown seas, we follow youTo harbor safe. Ho, ho! With beckoning hands,Wind-driven, loud they cry—My mates! the lands,The golden lands we seek, are ours!’“In Earth’s brown bosom pent, the hardy wightLong in deep caverns dwells; and hard doth smiteThe rocky caves. Nor sees the golden spoilThrough weary days of wasted, lonely toil.From his wild eyes, far-flying hides the prize,Till desperate, angered, worn, aloud he cries:‘Vain, vain! The caves my labor answer not,Nor yellow threads, that gleam in any grot.Hard, cruel, silent hills, my strength ye mock,And seal your treasures close in flinty rock;So, after toilsome years, sweet wife, I bringTo thee no sparkling love-gift. Nay, nor anythingTo cheer our failing time.’“Then round him hearsHe sturdy blows, and listening, almost fearsHe dreams. But swift the echoes rise, and stillMore loudly roll, and quick replies the hill.Reverberant, through all the caverns round,The uproar swells, and fills the world with sound.Then lists he once again. ‘With lusty shocksYour hammers ring against the hard-ribbed rocks—Goblins!’ he boldly shouts, ‘smite! smite! ye bringMy treasure forth, dark-beating goblin wingAmong the gleaming caves, whose dusk veins holdThe gold. At last! At last, the ruddy gold!’“And lone, in stricken fields, the husbandmanSits pale, with anxious eyes that hopeless scanThe burning sky. Hot lie the glimmering plainAnd uplands parched. ‘Behold, the bending grain,Fair in the springtide, now is dead; and dryThe brooks. If yet the rainfall fail, we dieOf famine sore. No bleating lambs I hear in foldSafe shut, nor lowing kine; nor on the woldThe whir of mounting bird: Nor thrives about meAny living thing. So seemeth, end must beOf striving. Since all the land is cursed,What matter if by famine scorched, or thirst,We die?’ he saith.“And thick the warlock swarmAbove his head, wide-spreading dark wings warm,Fast flitted by. The waiting fields he standsAmong. And laughing, claps exultant hands.‘Good speed ye, Sprites! that bring the welcome cloudAnd pile the vapors thick,’ he shouts aloud.Oh! sweet shall bloom again the bending grain,And clothe afresh the wide, the wasted plain.The clouds sweep black. Ha, ha! Against my cheekThe big drops fall. Merry the goblins shriek.Behold, they mount, they sink, they rise again.Ho, friendly elves, that bring the longed-for rain!’”Thereat, he, smiling, ceased. And when soft creptThe listening stars across the sky, they sleptUntroubled, ’neath the mango-trees.But when midwayThe night was spent, Prince Eblis waking lay.Soft Lilith’s breathing ’mong the droopt leaves stirred.And he, sore troubled, mused on every wordThat Lilith spake ere yet they slept. In allForeseeing much of ill that might befallTheir love. “O, queenly soul! Of finer grainThou art than angels are. And more in brainThan man, I hold thee. Sooth, yet taints thee stillOne touch of womankind. And since so chillShe finds her babes, must I forego my vow?For one flaw, Hope’s clear crystal break? Oh, howAlly her cause with mine! So doth she longFor human love—a baby hand is strongTo hurl my empire down. From her soft heartRed, baby lips can drain revenge, and startUnbidden tears. And pity wakes to lifeWhen ’mong dead embers she sits lone, and strifeIs done.“Then, at Regret’s dull heels, lo, fast,Retrieving follows. Happy days long pastShe will recall. If so for love she yearn,Back to her early home once more will turn,Pardoning her wilful lord. And he againShall win the woman I so love, and fainWould hold forever. Lilith, thou one balmOf my lost soul in all this world! Shall calmMy sufferings, or love me, any one, save thee,When thou in Adam’s arms forgettest me?My only love! Nay, then, ’twere surely wiseTo shut these baby faces from her eyes,New seeds of wrath to sow, her hate so feedThat all her rankling wounds afresh shall bleed.And in her ears ‘Good Adam!’ will I cry,Lest she forget Eden she lost thereby.Yea, ‘Adam!’ I will laugh. Till her red lips with guileO’erflow. And she shall curse him loud. With subtlest wileSafe won, then shall she ever be mine own.Soul-bound to me in hate, more terrible than deathIn hate, that long outlasts Love’s puny breath—O cunning craft, that with the self-same blowForever wins my love, and smites my foe!“Last night, when Lilith slept, lest I might marHer dreams, from our green couch I rose, and farPassed silent. Know I not the spell that drawsMy feet unwilling, Edenward. Its lawsI may not brave to rend my foe. Nor thereThe Angel pass, unseen. The night so fair,As prone among the glistening leaves I lay,On Adam shone. Not sad, as on a dayErstwhile he seemed. And I could almost swearThe sound of silvery laughter on the airFell soft. And a fleet footfall ’mong the flowersScattered the dew. Yet ’mid those silent bowersNaught else I saw or heard save rippling flowOf waters, and the moonshine white. Oh, lowSpeak, Eblis, lest aloud the night may tellThy secret to the stars. Yet it were wellIf lies the hidden cure for Lilith’s woeClose shut in Paradise.“All would we know,If we, close hid without those verdant walls,Together watched. What fate soe’er befallsI care not, if with me she bide.”Down bentHe o’er her hair, thick with the night-dew sprent.Soft kissed it, crying, “Love, the morn shines bright.Waken, my Lilith, now. Through lands of nightOur happy course afar doth ever wend;Past smiling shores where mighty rivers bend,Past cove and cape and isle, and winding bayAnd still blue mists, that hang athwart the day.”Thereat she rose, and joyously they spedBy broad lagoons where musky odors shedNew blooms. About them coiled long wreaths of vine,And slim lianas drooped, and marish lichens fine.And fared they on o’er many a slanting beachAnd mountain crest; past many an open reachAnd forest wild—till over ParadiseThey saw the stars, clear, tender, loving, rise.Then ’neath the screen of those rose-girdled wallsThey hid without, listing the waterfalls,Or bird belated, twittering to its nest.So still the spot, the very grass to restSeemed hushed.The garden-close, a clinging rose o’ercrept.Its lustrous stem without that drooping sweptThick set with buds as tintless as the snowsOn sunless hills, when wild the north wind blows.Lilith a-tiptoe stood; upreaching, caughtThe swaying boughs. Her eyes with longing fraughtClose scanned her old deserted home. Then cameUpon her spirit sadness, as if blameUnuttered breathed through those remembered gladesAnd touched the odors moist ’mong mirky shades.With wistful gaze, she traced each bosky dell,Each winding path. And sweet youth’s memories fellAbout her.Then was she ware of Adam, slowPacing the pleasance-ways. With ruddy glowFresh shone his cheeks, and crisp his hair out-blownBy wanton winds. His lips were mirthful grown.Once he made pause hard by the coppice greenThat hid the watcher. Once the leafy screenSo near he passed, from the overhanging edgeHe brushed a rose. The hindering hedgeQuick through, in sudden blessing slim white handFain had she reached. “O Eden mine! Dear land,”She sighed. And springing warm the tender tideOf teardrops gemmed the roses at her side.So greets the weary wanderer once moreHis early home. The lintels worn, the doorAge-stained; the iris clumps, in sheltered nook;The mill-wheel rotting o’er the shrunken brook;The sunny orchard, sloping west; and farAnd cold, above his mother’s grave, a star—Then quick unbidden tears, the heart’s warm rain,O’erflow his soul, and leave it pure again.So Lilith backward turned to holier days,Watching through misty tears where trod those waysHer feet in other times.Sudden and sweetCame down those paths a glimpse of flying feet;A sound of girlish laughter smote the air.In jealous rage, Lilith uprose to dareThe guarding Angel’s wrath. But, silver clear,The mocking laugh of Eblis caught her ear.“Thou hast forgot,” he said, “this peaceful land,Living, thou canst not enter.”But her handGrasped once again the roses’ shining strand,And ’neath her guileful touch, like scarlet flameThe snowy flowers burned. So, first Earth’s shameAround them set the spikèd thorns.Long therePale Lilith looked, as coldly still and fairAs carven stone. Then, with a fierce despair,A sense of utter loss, downbending there,With fingers hot she tore the hedge apartAnd laid thereto her face. With sorer smartShe gazed again. For now, the twain at restWere laid. Pure as a dream, Eve’s sinless breastA babe close pressed. One pink foot, small and warm,Among the leaves was hid. One dimpled armAneath her head.Low Eblis sneered. “I wotIn young Eve’s arms my Lilith is forgot.Oh, soon,” he said, “these earth-worms changeful turn—From the oped rose when red the shut buds burn.”But wild eyes on the babe she fixed. “Oh, blind,”She cried, “was I. Yea, if the wanton windDoth mock, I will not chide. Was it for thisI wandered far, and bartered Eden’s bliss?For this have lost the very bloom of life?So Adam comfort finds, not knowing strife!Look you, that fragile thing at Adam’s side—I heed her not. But Lilith is deniedThe treasure she so careless doth possess.See how the babe, scarce waking, doth caressThe mother! Look! Oh, hear the mother croonAbove her child! Ah, Eblis, love, I swoon—I shall not know such joy. Alas, to meNo babe shall come! Accurséd may she be,Cursed Adam too. Thrice heavy on the headOf this poor babe my wrong be visited.”So, trembling, she brake off.“Fast fades the light,Sweet love. Once more to our dark realm of nightLet us return,” he said.As on fared theyWith merry jest, Eblis gan cheer the way.“Nay, otherwhiles mirth pleased,” she said. “Knowest thouWhat name she bears, who dwells in Eden now?When Lilith went, long tarried Adam lone?”She said. Replied he, “All to me is knownSince that same hour you parted. What befell,To thee as we wend onward I will tell.“Calm morn in Eden streaked the skies with red,And flushed the waiting hills above the grassy bedWhere Adam, joyless, saw new rise the sun,Unwinding golden webs night-vapors spunAthwart low meads. Slow, droning murmurs sentThe waking bees, with bloom and fragrance blent.Unheeded poured her music blithesome DayThe reedy brooks beside and shallows gray.For lone to Adam seemed the place, and cold;The landscape dumb, as one aneath the mould.For Lilith’s sake, no more was Eden fair.Bloomless the days, the nights bowed down with care.Oft pacing pathways dim, he saw the gleamOf strange-faced flowers beside the purling stream,Or toyed with circling leaves; or plucked the grass,And watched through rifted trees the clouds o’erpass;Wide roaming, heard the waters idly breakFar ’gainst the curving beach.“And grieving, spake,‘Oh, sweet with thee each hour—each wilding way,And sweet the memory of each gathered spray.Could you not wait, dear love? Or come once more?Yea, ’till you come, vain doth great Nature pourHer richest gifts.’ He paused, and heard aloneRespondent fall, the wood-dove’s plaintive moan,And the spent winds among the scented glades.Moss-couched beneath the glinting forest shades,He gazed, when shadows o’er the hills crept light,Quick vanishing, like phantom fingers white,Until on mead, and mere, and sounding shoreEden found voice, sad plaining, ‘Never-more!’Long time he pondered on blue peaks remoteWhen slow, as stranded ships that listless float,Moved by the sunset clouds. Or the white rackSwept o’er the garden walls.“‘Would I their trackMight take,’ he said, ‘Lilith, so long you stay.Whom my soul follows sorrowing—alway.’Thus ever mourned he, comfortless; that soIn after days the Master, in the glowOf morning-tide, the mother of the raceGave for his solacement.“Oh, fair the faceYoung Eve bent o’er his sleep. Ere down the gladeThe startled fawn leaps swift, her glance dismayedQuestions the hunter, mute. Such eyes—so brown,So soft, so winning, shy—that looked adownWhen Adam waked. Like vagrant tendrils, tossedDark hair about her brows. And quaintly crossedHer hands upon her breast. Less red the dartThat deepest cleaves the folded rose’s heart,Than her round cheeks. Not hers the regal airOf Lilith lost, the white arms, lissom, bare,The slender throat; the elbows dimpled deep, wheretoMight scarcely reach Eve’s head.“Yet soft, as throughSome pleasant dream, the summer’s spicy airStirs odorous ’mong seaward gardens fair,In southland hid; so, gently, Eve straightwayTo Adam’s life unbidden came, to stayForever there. Sure entrance then made sheInto that heart untenanted by thee.“So, to some olden house, from whose shut doorsOne went erewhile, another comes. Its floorsAll empty sees. The lowly threshold worn,The moss-grown roof, the casements left forlorn.Amid the shadows round about him stands,Missing the footsteps passed to other lands,And whispers tenderly, ‘Since here no moreThe owner bides, what harm if on the floorI pass? Good chance it were the clambering vineAbout the porch with fingers deft to twine—To draw the curtains, ope the door. For whoMay know how soon these paths untended, through,He comes again, with weary, way-worn feet,Who made aforetime, other days so sweet.Wherefore, I enter now. For whose dear sakeThese vacant rooms, white, fragrant, clean, I make.And when, world-wearied, he returns, we twainPerchance together bide. Nor part again.’So Eve found refuge. Tender love, the spellWhereby she ruled. Peaceful the pair did dwell.Fast fled the happy years, till softly laidIn her glad arms the babe—a winsome maid.”He ended there. Between them silence deepFell, as they journeyed. And the furthest steepThey crossed, that o’er their shadow-world rose high.Then saw they level plains, their home, anigh.And now, seeking her pleasance once again,They came to their own land. But all in vainHis care. Silent she was, and oft did grieve,Till Eblis wrathful cried: “Because this EveAdam holds dear, art mourning? Still dost yearnTo mate his sordid soul? Or wouldst thou turnFrom summer land to Eden walls?“The manBelike, ne’er loved thee. So is it young Eve canHis pulses sway. Is she not passing fair?Her fancies wild, it is her daily careTo bend beneath his ever fickle will.Red-lipped and soft, she deftly rules him still,Though he wist not. Yet sweeter Lilith’s frownThan archest smile she wears. Great Soul! The crownThou bearest of fadeless life. For fleeting dreamsIn Paradise, beside the winding streams,Wilt thou resign such boon? Thou art, in sooth,Of mold too firm for Adam’s love. In truthA prince—though fallen—consorts best with theeSay which were wise, with Eden’s lord to be,Or, shining high, the purer soul, the starThat fadeless burns, and Eblis lights afar?Were it not grand through endless spaces hurledWith me to drive, above a shrinking worldOur chariot, wide?“For I foresee when dawnDark days upon our foes, and hope is gone.Wherefore, my Lilith, now, as seems thee good,Make choice.” Thereat she, turning where she stood,With kisses hung about his neck, and smiled,Crying, “Thine, Eblis, thine!” So were they reconciled.

Tothat fair Elf-child other summers came;But Lilith walked, heart-hungered, filled with shame,Naught comforted. And in that shadow-landShe sorrowing bore, in after-time, a bandOf elfin babes, that waked dim echoes longForgotten there, and ghastly bursts of song.Then Lilith saddened more, for that she knewThe curse was fallen now. And cried she throughFast-falling tears, “Oh, me most desolate,That shall not know in any time the fateOf happier mothers! Nay, nor cool touchOf baby hands. Oh, longed-for, loved so much!Alas, my babes, ere yet hour-old ye fly,Out-spreading shining wings with jeering cry,Afar from me. Most hapless I, from whomThe crown of motherhood, yet white with bloom,Falls blighted! Close in these empty arms fainWould I clasp my babes! My tender painBut once could ye not solace? Nay, ’tis vain;I shall not kiss their lips, nor hear again,As gladder mothers may, low-rippling, sweet,The laughter children bring about their feet.Oh, soulless ones, can ye not wait awhile,’Till on your loveless lips I wake one smile?”But merrily out-laughed the phantom crew;On shining pinions white, swift seaward flew,Or upward rose, slow-fading in the blue;Or lured her trembling, green morasses through.And ’mong the frothy waves they vanished fast;Or shrieked with glee borne on the wintry blast,And wilder raised their warlock song.While fairer grew each day that elfin throng.

To pluck the mangoes brown, fair Lilith spedOne morn. Quick throbbed her heart. On mossy bedLay all her babes. With face like morning, shoneOne there, and wide her yellow hair out-blownAs ’twere in play. Red-flushed her cheeks, and deepAbout her lips the baby smiles. AsleepWas one, white-gleaming, pure as pearl unseenIn sunless caves, close-shut. And one did leanAgainst his fellow, lithe, sun-flushed and brown,With rings of jetty hair that low adownHis bosom streamed. And one there was, whose dreamO’erflowed with laughter. And one did seemHalf-waking. One, with dimpled arms in sleepThrust elbow-deep in moss, that sure did weepEre yet he slept, and on his cheek scarce driedThe wilful tears.Then low, pale Lilith criedAs near she drew, down-bending tender eyes:“And are ye here, my babes; and will ye riseIf I but break your sleep?” His naked feetOne faintly moved as low she leant; and warmHis slumbrous breath stirred ’gainst her circling arm,And slow aneath his closed lids slipped a waftOf wind, that loosed a trickling tear. Its craftThe mother-heart forgot thereat. “At last,Close to my breast, my babes,” she cried, and fastLaughing, outstretched her eager hands and strong.Then lay with empty arms.The elfin throngBreasted the pulsing air with mocking song.“Alas,” she said, “could ye not give one kiss—One tender clasp of hands! And must I missYour throbbing hearts from my cold, barren breast,Ye soulless ones, that flout my lonely rest?”

There, prostrate, long lay Lilith, and there, late’Mid dew-fall, Eblis found his stricken mate.“O Eblis, say o’er me what curse hangs bare,For now no more,” she said, “this realm seems fair.Its fruits grow bitter, all its light falls chill.With thee, my prince, poor Lilith mates but ill—Earth-born, with angel linked. Alas, is leftNo joy to me, of my sweet ones bereft.Methinks soft baby lips might erewhile drainFrom Lilith’s famished heart its wildest pain.Wherefore, my Eblis, it were wise to seekSurcease of grief. That Lilith, is so weakWho wedded thee; and that she sinned, knew not.Yet, if we part, mayhap may follow naughtOf other ills.”“Sweet love,” he laughed, “o’er-lateThou art so timorous. At Eden’s gateNot so, what time the angel barred her wayMy Lilith stood. Shelter within my arms. Oh, say,Was not our young love sweet? Hath it grown cold?With me thou sharest endless life; nor old,Nor shrivelled, shalt thou be. And not one traceOf earth’s decay (sure doom of thy sad race)Shall taint thy babes. For lo, I giveThy soulless ones immortal youth. They liveWithout a pang. And yet, methinks the cryOf Earth adown the ages sounds, when dieIts babes; and mothers bend dumb lips above,And fold still hands, that answer not their love.Lilith, doth not indeed my love outweighCaresses missed from phantom babes? AstrayFrom Eden long, here in this fair domainTo bide; and through long cycles fearless reignMethinks were joy. In summer sheenWide spreads thy land. The marge of islets greenThe palm-trees skirt. Soft shine the dusk lagoonsAnd inland mountains. Mirk the jungle’s glooms,And fair thy fertile plains. Oh, sweet the glowWhen we together watch the day, that lowAmong the winds lies still. Shut lilies blowWhile here we wait. Come, for they fain would showTheir golden hearts. Or, love, with me to floatWere it not sweet, through flowery bays remote,Past coves and peaks? Or pierce yon ocean’s verge,And through wild tumbling waves our sails to urge?”“Yea, sweet is love,” she said, “and sweet to roamBy listless currents lulled; or ’mid the foamLow dip our feathery oars,” she sighed, “yet soreIs still the mother-heart that hears no moreThe lisping tongues. And sad, when baby smilesHave left it desolate. And baby wilesShall cheer it never more.”“Yet,” Eblis said,“Lilith, no longer mourn. For I have readUpon a scroll as samite glistening white,All coming fate, close hid from human sight,Great peoples yet shall dwell in these dusk lands.Then shall thy children, shadowy bandsThat fly thy fond caress, with them abideIn closest fellowship. And though they hideSometimes from human ken their better selves,Still loved, remain these tricksy elves.Though yet indeed some quips and pranks they play,’Tis but a jest, men know, when far awayThe flickering marsh-fires swift they lightAnd children follow their false tapers brightAmong the spongy bogs. The ship-lad smiles,When distant ’mid the waves the phantom islesRise green. ’Tis but a harmless jest that setsOn lonely plains, domes, mosques, and minarets,And o’er the desert sands, mirage upliftsWhen glimmering waves shine through deep riftsOf crested palms.“Still dearer they when wideTo undiscovered lands men boldly rideAcross new seas, and turn their venturous prows.When tempests shriek, and wet about their browsThe salt spray dashes fierce, one, watching, cries,‘Good mates, no storm I fear, for yonder riseThe Elf-babes ’mid the foam. Ye goblin crew,That sail these unknown seas, we follow youTo harbor safe. Ho, ho! With beckoning hands,Wind-driven, loud they cry—My mates! the lands,The golden lands we seek, are ours!’

“In Earth’s brown bosom pent, the hardy wightLong in deep caverns dwells; and hard doth smiteThe rocky caves. Nor sees the golden spoilThrough weary days of wasted, lonely toil.From his wild eyes, far-flying hides the prize,Till desperate, angered, worn, aloud he cries:‘Vain, vain! The caves my labor answer not,Nor yellow threads, that gleam in any grot.Hard, cruel, silent hills, my strength ye mock,And seal your treasures close in flinty rock;So, after toilsome years, sweet wife, I bringTo thee no sparkling love-gift. Nay, nor anythingTo cheer our failing time.’

“Then round him hearsHe sturdy blows, and listening, almost fearsHe dreams. But swift the echoes rise, and stillMore loudly roll, and quick replies the hill.Reverberant, through all the caverns round,The uproar swells, and fills the world with sound.Then lists he once again. ‘With lusty shocksYour hammers ring against the hard-ribbed rocks—Goblins!’ he boldly shouts, ‘smite! smite! ye bringMy treasure forth, dark-beating goblin wingAmong the gleaming caves, whose dusk veins holdThe gold. At last! At last, the ruddy gold!’

“And lone, in stricken fields, the husbandmanSits pale, with anxious eyes that hopeless scanThe burning sky. Hot lie the glimmering plainAnd uplands parched. ‘Behold, the bending grain,Fair in the springtide, now is dead; and dryThe brooks. If yet the rainfall fail, we dieOf famine sore. No bleating lambs I hear in foldSafe shut, nor lowing kine; nor on the woldThe whir of mounting bird: Nor thrives about meAny living thing. So seemeth, end must beOf striving. Since all the land is cursed,What matter if by famine scorched, or thirst,We die?’ he saith.“And thick the warlock swarmAbove his head, wide-spreading dark wings warm,Fast flitted by. The waiting fields he standsAmong. And laughing, claps exultant hands.‘Good speed ye, Sprites! that bring the welcome cloudAnd pile the vapors thick,’ he shouts aloud.Oh! sweet shall bloom again the bending grain,And clothe afresh the wide, the wasted plain.The clouds sweep black. Ha, ha! Against my cheekThe big drops fall. Merry the goblins shriek.Behold, they mount, they sink, they rise again.Ho, friendly elves, that bring the longed-for rain!’”

Thereat, he, smiling, ceased. And when soft creptThe listening stars across the sky, they sleptUntroubled, ’neath the mango-trees.But when midwayThe night was spent, Prince Eblis waking lay.Soft Lilith’s breathing ’mong the droopt leaves stirred.And he, sore troubled, mused on every wordThat Lilith spake ere yet they slept. In allForeseeing much of ill that might befallTheir love. “O, queenly soul! Of finer grainThou art than angels are. And more in brainThan man, I hold thee. Sooth, yet taints thee stillOne touch of womankind. And since so chillShe finds her babes, must I forego my vow?For one flaw, Hope’s clear crystal break? Oh, howAlly her cause with mine! So doth she longFor human love—a baby hand is strongTo hurl my empire down. From her soft heartRed, baby lips can drain revenge, and startUnbidden tears. And pity wakes to lifeWhen ’mong dead embers she sits lone, and strifeIs done.“Then, at Regret’s dull heels, lo, fast,Retrieving follows. Happy days long pastShe will recall. If so for love she yearn,Back to her early home once more will turn,Pardoning her wilful lord. And he againShall win the woman I so love, and fainWould hold forever. Lilith, thou one balmOf my lost soul in all this world! Shall calmMy sufferings, or love me, any one, save thee,When thou in Adam’s arms forgettest me?My only love! Nay, then, ’twere surely wiseTo shut these baby faces from her eyes,New seeds of wrath to sow, her hate so feedThat all her rankling wounds afresh shall bleed.And in her ears ‘Good Adam!’ will I cry,Lest she forget Eden she lost thereby.Yea, ‘Adam!’ I will laugh. Till her red lips with guileO’erflow. And she shall curse him loud. With subtlest wileSafe won, then shall she ever be mine own.Soul-bound to me in hate, more terrible than deathIn hate, that long outlasts Love’s puny breath—O cunning craft, that with the self-same blowForever wins my love, and smites my foe!

“Last night, when Lilith slept, lest I might marHer dreams, from our green couch I rose, and farPassed silent. Know I not the spell that drawsMy feet unwilling, Edenward. Its lawsI may not brave to rend my foe. Nor thereThe Angel pass, unseen. The night so fair,As prone among the glistening leaves I lay,On Adam shone. Not sad, as on a dayErstwhile he seemed. And I could almost swearThe sound of silvery laughter on the airFell soft. And a fleet footfall ’mong the flowersScattered the dew. Yet ’mid those silent bowersNaught else I saw or heard save rippling flowOf waters, and the moonshine white. Oh, lowSpeak, Eblis, lest aloud the night may tellThy secret to the stars. Yet it were wellIf lies the hidden cure for Lilith’s woeClose shut in Paradise.“All would we know,If we, close hid without those verdant walls,Together watched. What fate soe’er befallsI care not, if with me she bide.”Down bentHe o’er her hair, thick with the night-dew sprent.Soft kissed it, crying, “Love, the morn shines bright.Waken, my Lilith, now. Through lands of nightOur happy course afar doth ever wend;Past smiling shores where mighty rivers bend,Past cove and cape and isle, and winding bayAnd still blue mists, that hang athwart the day.”Thereat she rose, and joyously they spedBy broad lagoons where musky odors shedNew blooms. About them coiled long wreaths of vine,And slim lianas drooped, and marish lichens fine.And fared they on o’er many a slanting beachAnd mountain crest; past many an open reachAnd forest wild—till over ParadiseThey saw the stars, clear, tender, loving, rise.Then ’neath the screen of those rose-girdled wallsThey hid without, listing the waterfalls,Or bird belated, twittering to its nest.So still the spot, the very grass to restSeemed hushed.The garden-close, a clinging rose o’ercrept.Its lustrous stem without that drooping sweptThick set with buds as tintless as the snowsOn sunless hills, when wild the north wind blows.

Lilith a-tiptoe stood; upreaching, caughtThe swaying boughs. Her eyes with longing fraughtClose scanned her old deserted home. Then cameUpon her spirit sadness, as if blameUnuttered breathed through those remembered gladesAnd touched the odors moist ’mong mirky shades.With wistful gaze, she traced each bosky dell,Each winding path. And sweet youth’s memories fellAbout her.Then was she ware of Adam, slowPacing the pleasance-ways. With ruddy glowFresh shone his cheeks, and crisp his hair out-blownBy wanton winds. His lips were mirthful grown.Once he made pause hard by the coppice greenThat hid the watcher. Once the leafy screenSo near he passed, from the overhanging edgeHe brushed a rose. The hindering hedgeQuick through, in sudden blessing slim white handFain had she reached. “O Eden mine! Dear land,”She sighed. And springing warm the tender tideOf teardrops gemmed the roses at her side.

So greets the weary wanderer once moreHis early home. The lintels worn, the doorAge-stained; the iris clumps, in sheltered nook;The mill-wheel rotting o’er the shrunken brook;The sunny orchard, sloping west; and farAnd cold, above his mother’s grave, a star—Then quick unbidden tears, the heart’s warm rain,O’erflow his soul, and leave it pure again.So Lilith backward turned to holier days,Watching through misty tears where trod those waysHer feet in other times.Sudden and sweetCame down those paths a glimpse of flying feet;A sound of girlish laughter smote the air.In jealous rage, Lilith uprose to dareThe guarding Angel’s wrath. But, silver clear,The mocking laugh of Eblis caught her ear.“Thou hast forgot,” he said, “this peaceful land,Living, thou canst not enter.”But her handGrasped once again the roses’ shining strand,And ’neath her guileful touch, like scarlet flameThe snowy flowers burned. So, first Earth’s shameAround them set the spikèd thorns.Long therePale Lilith looked, as coldly still and fairAs carven stone. Then, with a fierce despair,A sense of utter loss, downbending there,With fingers hot she tore the hedge apartAnd laid thereto her face. With sorer smartShe gazed again. For now, the twain at restWere laid. Pure as a dream, Eve’s sinless breastA babe close pressed. One pink foot, small and warm,Among the leaves was hid. One dimpled armAneath her head.Low Eblis sneered. “I wotIn young Eve’s arms my Lilith is forgot.Oh, soon,” he said, “these earth-worms changeful turn—From the oped rose when red the shut buds burn.”But wild eyes on the babe she fixed. “Oh, blind,”She cried, “was I. Yea, if the wanton windDoth mock, I will not chide. Was it for thisI wandered far, and bartered Eden’s bliss?For this have lost the very bloom of life?So Adam comfort finds, not knowing strife!Look you, that fragile thing at Adam’s side—I heed her not. But Lilith is deniedThe treasure she so careless doth possess.See how the babe, scarce waking, doth caressThe mother! Look! Oh, hear the mother croonAbove her child! Ah, Eblis, love, I swoon—I shall not know such joy. Alas, to meNo babe shall come! Accurséd may she be,Cursed Adam too. Thrice heavy on the headOf this poor babe my wrong be visited.”So, trembling, she brake off.“Fast fades the light,Sweet love. Once more to our dark realm of nightLet us return,” he said.As on fared theyWith merry jest, Eblis gan cheer the way.“Nay, otherwhiles mirth pleased,” she said. “Knowest thouWhat name she bears, who dwells in Eden now?When Lilith went, long tarried Adam lone?”She said. Replied he, “All to me is knownSince that same hour you parted. What befell,To thee as we wend onward I will tell.

“Calm morn in Eden streaked the skies with red,And flushed the waiting hills above the grassy bedWhere Adam, joyless, saw new rise the sun,Unwinding golden webs night-vapors spunAthwart low meads. Slow, droning murmurs sentThe waking bees, with bloom and fragrance blent.Unheeded poured her music blithesome DayThe reedy brooks beside and shallows gray.For lone to Adam seemed the place, and cold;The landscape dumb, as one aneath the mould.For Lilith’s sake, no more was Eden fair.Bloomless the days, the nights bowed down with care.Oft pacing pathways dim, he saw the gleamOf strange-faced flowers beside the purling stream,Or toyed with circling leaves; or plucked the grass,And watched through rifted trees the clouds o’erpass;Wide roaming, heard the waters idly breakFar ’gainst the curving beach.“And grieving, spake,‘Oh, sweet with thee each hour—each wilding way,And sweet the memory of each gathered spray.Could you not wait, dear love? Or come once more?Yea, ’till you come, vain doth great Nature pourHer richest gifts.’ He paused, and heard aloneRespondent fall, the wood-dove’s plaintive moan,And the spent winds among the scented glades.Moss-couched beneath the glinting forest shades,He gazed, when shadows o’er the hills crept light,Quick vanishing, like phantom fingers white,Until on mead, and mere, and sounding shoreEden found voice, sad plaining, ‘Never-more!’Long time he pondered on blue peaks remoteWhen slow, as stranded ships that listless float,Moved by the sunset clouds. Or the white rackSwept o’er the garden walls.“‘Would I their trackMight take,’ he said, ‘Lilith, so long you stay.Whom my soul follows sorrowing—alway.’Thus ever mourned he, comfortless; that soIn after days the Master, in the glowOf morning-tide, the mother of the raceGave for his solacement.“Oh, fair the faceYoung Eve bent o’er his sleep. Ere down the gladeThe startled fawn leaps swift, her glance dismayedQuestions the hunter, mute. Such eyes—so brown,So soft, so winning, shy—that looked adownWhen Adam waked. Like vagrant tendrils, tossedDark hair about her brows. And quaintly crossedHer hands upon her breast. Less red the dartThat deepest cleaves the folded rose’s heart,Than her round cheeks. Not hers the regal airOf Lilith lost, the white arms, lissom, bare,The slender throat; the elbows dimpled deep, wheretoMight scarcely reach Eve’s head.“Yet soft, as throughSome pleasant dream, the summer’s spicy airStirs odorous ’mong seaward gardens fair,In southland hid; so, gently, Eve straightwayTo Adam’s life unbidden came, to stayForever there. Sure entrance then made sheInto that heart untenanted by thee.“So, to some olden house, from whose shut doorsOne went erewhile, another comes. Its floorsAll empty sees. The lowly threshold worn,The moss-grown roof, the casements left forlorn.Amid the shadows round about him stands,Missing the footsteps passed to other lands,And whispers tenderly, ‘Since here no moreThe owner bides, what harm if on the floorI pass? Good chance it were the clambering vineAbout the porch with fingers deft to twine—To draw the curtains, ope the door. For whoMay know how soon these paths untended, through,He comes again, with weary, way-worn feet,Who made aforetime, other days so sweet.Wherefore, I enter now. For whose dear sakeThese vacant rooms, white, fragrant, clean, I make.And when, world-wearied, he returns, we twainPerchance together bide. Nor part again.’So Eve found refuge. Tender love, the spellWhereby she ruled. Peaceful the pair did dwell.Fast fled the happy years, till softly laidIn her glad arms the babe—a winsome maid.”He ended there. Between them silence deepFell, as they journeyed. And the furthest steepThey crossed, that o’er their shadow-world rose high.Then saw they level plains, their home, anigh.And now, seeking her pleasance once again,They came to their own land. But all in vainHis care. Silent she was, and oft did grieve,Till Eblis wrathful cried: “Because this EveAdam holds dear, art mourning? Still dost yearnTo mate his sordid soul? Or wouldst thou turnFrom summer land to Eden walls?“The manBelike, ne’er loved thee. So is it young Eve canHis pulses sway. Is she not passing fair?Her fancies wild, it is her daily careTo bend beneath his ever fickle will.Red-lipped and soft, she deftly rules him still,Though he wist not. Yet sweeter Lilith’s frownThan archest smile she wears. Great Soul! The crownThou bearest of fadeless life. For fleeting dreamsIn Paradise, beside the winding streams,Wilt thou resign such boon? Thou art, in sooth,Of mold too firm for Adam’s love. In truthA prince—though fallen—consorts best with theeSay which were wise, with Eden’s lord to be,Or, shining high, the purer soul, the starThat fadeless burns, and Eblis lights afar?Were it not grand through endless spaces hurledWith me to drive, above a shrinking worldOur chariot, wide?“For I foresee when dawnDark days upon our foes, and hope is gone.Wherefore, my Lilith, now, as seems thee good,Make choice.” Thereat she, turning where she stood,With kisses hung about his neck, and smiled,Crying, “Thine, Eblis, thine!” So were they reconciled.

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