And he,—being left alone,—he said: "A light!I see a light,—a star among the trees,—An angel." And it drew toward the cave,But with its sacred feet touched not the grass,Nor lifted up the lids of its pure eyes,But hung a span's length from that ground pollute,At the opening of the cave.
And when he looked,The dragon cried, "Thou newly-fashioned thing,Of name unknown, thy scorn becomes thee not.Doth not thy Master suffer what thine eyesThou countest all too clean to open on?"But still it hovered, and the quietnessOf holy heaven was on the drooping lids;And not as one that answereth, it let fallThe music from its mouth, but like to oneThat doth not hear, or, hearing, doth not heed.
"A message: 'I have heard thee, while remoteI went My rounds among the unfinished stars.'A message: 'I have left thee to thy ways,And mastered all thy vileness, for thy hateI have made to serve the ends of My great love.Hereafter will I chain thee down. To-dayOne thing thou art forbidden; now thou knowestThe name thereof: I told it thee in heaven,When thou wert sitting at My feet. ForbearTo let that hidden thing be whispered forth:For man, ungrateful (and thy hope it was,That so ungrateful he might prove), would scorn,And not believe it, adding so fresh weightOf condemnation to the doomed world.Concerning that, thou art forbid to speak;Know thou didst count it, falling from My tongue,A lovely song, whose meaning was unknown,Unknowable, unbearable to thought,But sweeter in the hearing than all harpsToned in My holy hollow. Now thine earsAre opened, know it, and discern and fear,Forbearing speech of it for evermore.'"
So said, it turned, and with a cry of joy,As one released, went up: and it was dawn,And all boughs dropped with dew, and out of mistCame the red sun and looked into the cave.
But the dragon, left a-tremble, called to him,From the nether kingdom, certain of his friends,—Three whom he trusted, councillors accursed.A thunder-cloud stooped low and swathed the placeIn its black swirls, and out of it they rushed,And hid them in recesses of the cave,Because they could not look upon the sun,Sith light is pure. And Satan called to them,—All in the dark, in his great rage he spake:"Up," quoth the dragon; "it is time to work,Or we are all undone." And he did hiss,And there came shudderings over land and trees,A dimness after dawn. The earth threw outA blinding fog, that crept toward the cave,And rolled up blank before it like a veil,—curtain to conceal its habiters.Then did those spirits move upon the floor,Like pillars of darkness, and with eyes aglow.One had a helm for covering of the scarsThat seamed what rested of a goodly face;He wore his vizor up, and all his wordsWere hollower than an echo from the hills:He was hight Make. And, lo, his fellow-fiendCame after, holding down his dastard head,Like one ashamed: now this for craft was great;The dragon honored him. A third sat downAmong them, covering with his wasted handSomewhat that pained his breast.
And when the fitOf thunder, and the sobbings of the wind,Were lulled, the dragon spoke with wrath and rage,And told them of his matters: "Look to this,If ye be loyal"; adding, "Give your thoughts,And let me have your counsel in this need."
One spirit rose and spake, and all the caveWas full of sighs, "The words of Make the Prince,Of him once delegate in Betelgeux:Whereas of late the manner is to change,We know not where 't will end; and now my wordsGo thus: give way, be peaceable, lie stillAnd strive not, else the world that we have wonHe may, to drive us out, reduce to naught.
"For while I stood in mine obedience yet,Steering of Betelgeux my sun, behold,A moon, that evil ones did fill, rolled upAstray, and suddenly the Master came,And while, a million strong, like rooks they rose,He took and broke it, flung it here and there,And called a blast to drive the powder forth;And it was fine as dust, and blurred the skiesFarther than 'tis from hence to this young sun.Spirits that passed upon their work that day,Cried out, 'How dusty 'tis.' Behoves us, then,That we depart, as leaving unto HimThis goodly world and goodly race of man.Not all are doomed; hereafter it may beThat we find place on it again. But if,Too zealous to preserve it, and the menOur servants, we oppose Him, He may comeAnd choosing rather to undo His workThan strive with it for aye, make so an end."
He sighing paused. Lo, then the serpent hissedIn impotent rage, "Depart! and how depart!Can flesh be carried down where spirits wonn?Or I, most miserable, hold my lifeOver the airless, bottomless gulf, and bideThe buffetings of yonder shoreless sea?O death, thou terrible doom: O death, thou dreadOf all that breathe."A spirit rose and spake;"Whereas in Heaven is power, is much to fear;For this admired country we have marred.Whereas in Heaven is love (and there are daysWhen yet I can recall what love was like),Is naught to fear. A threatening makes the whole,And clogged with strong conditions: 'O, repent,Man, and I turn,' He, therefore, powerful now,And more so, master, that ye bide in clay,Threateneth that He may save. They shall not die."
The dragon said, "I tremble, I am sick."He said with pain of heart, "How am I fallen!For I keep silence; yea, I have withdrawnFrom haunting of His gates, and shouting upDefiance. Wherefore doth He hunt me outFrom this small world, this little one, that IHave been content to take unto myself,I here being loved and worshipped? He knowethHow much I have foregone; and must He stoopTo whelm the world, and heave the floors o' the deep,Of purpose to pursue me from my place?And since I gave men knowledge, must He takeTheir length of days whereby they perfect it?So shall He scatter all that I have stored,And get them by degrading them. I knowThat in the end it is appointed meTo fade. I will not fade before the time."
A spirit rose, the third, a spirit ashamedAnd subtle, and his face he turned aside:"Whereas," said he, "we strive against both powerAnd love, behoves us that we strive aright.Now some of old my comrades, yesterdayI met, as they did journey to appearIn the Presence; and I said, 'My master liethSick yonder, otherwise (for no decreeThere stands against it) he would also comeAnd make obeisance with the sons of God.'They answered, naught denying. Therefore, lord,'Tis certain that ye have admittance yet;And what doth hinder? Nothing but this breath.Were it not well to make an end, and die,And gain admittance to the King of kings?What if thy slaves by thy consent should takeAnd bear thee on their wings above the earth,And suddenly let fall,—how soon 't were o'er!We should have fear and sinking at the heart;But in a little moment we should see,Rising majestic from a ruined heap,The stately spirit that we served of yore."
The serpent turned his subtle deadly eyesUpon the spirit, and hissed; and sick with shame,It bowed itself together, and went backWith hidden face. "This counsel is not good,"The other twain made answer; "look, my lord,Whereas 'tis evil in thine eyes, in ours'Tis evil also; speak, for we perceiveThat on thy tongue the words of counsel sit,Ready to fly to our right greedy ears,That long for them." And Satan, flattered thus(Forever may the serpent kind be charmed,With soft sweet words, and music deftly played),Replied, "Whereas I surely rule the world,Behoves that ye prepare for me a path,And that I, putting of my pains aside,Go stir rebellion in the mighty heartsO' the giants; for He loveth them, and looksFull oft complacent on their glorious strength.He willeth that they yield, that He may spare;But, by the blackness of my loathed den,I say they shall not, no, they shall not yield;Go, therefore, take to you some harmless guise,And spread a rumor that I come. I, sick,Sorry, and aged, hasten. I have heardWhispers that out of heaven dropped unaware.I caught them up, and sith they bode men harm,I am ready for to comfort them; yea, more,To counsel, and I will that they drive forthThe women, the abhorréd of my soul;Let not a woman breathe where I shall pass,Lest the curse fall, and that she bruise my head.Friends, if it be their mind to send for meAn army, and triumphant draw me onIn the golden car ye wot of, and with shouts,I would not that ye hinder them. Ah, thenWill I make hard their hearts, and grieve Him sore,That loves them, O, by much too well to wetTheir stately heads, and soil those locks of strengthUnder the fateful brine. Then afterward,While He doth reason vainly with them, IWill offer Him a pact: 'Great King, a pact,And men shall worship Thee, I say they shall,For I will bid them do it, yea, and leaveTo sacrifice their kind, so Thou my nameWilt suffer to be worshipped after Thine.'"
"Yea, my lord Satan," quoth they, "do this thing,And let us hear thy words, for they are sweet."
Then he made answer, "By a messengerHave I this day been warned. There is a deedI may not tell of, lest the people addScorn to a Coming Greatness to their faults.Why this? Who careth when about to slay,And slay indeed, how well they have deservedDeath, whom he slayeth? Therefore yet is hidA meaning of some mercy that will robThe nether world. Now look to it,—'Twere vainAlbeit this deluge He would send indeed,That we expect the harvest; He would yetBe the Master-reaper; for I heard it said,Them that be young and know Him not, and themThat are bound and may not build, yea, more, their wives,Whom, suffering not to hear the doom, they keepJoyous behind the curtains, every oneWith maidens nourished in the house, and babesAnd children at her knees,—(then what remain!)He claimeth and will gather for His own.Now, therefore, it were good by guile to work,Princes, and suffer not the doom to fall.There is no evil like to love. I heardHim whisper it. Have I put on this fleshTo ruin his two children beautiful,And shall my deed confound me in the end,Through awful imitation? Love of God,I cry against thee; thou art worst of all."
Now while these evil ones took counsel strange,The son of Lamech journeyed home; and, lo!A company came down, and struck the trackAs he did enter it. There rode in frontTwo horsemen, young and noble, and behindWere following slaves with tent gear; others ledStrong horses, others bare the instrumentsO' the chase, and in the rear dull camels lagged,Sighing, for they were burdened, and they lovedThe desert sands above that grassy vale.
And as they met, those horsemen drew the rein,And fixed on him their grave untroubled eyes;He in his regal grandeur walked alone,And had nor steed nor follower, and his mienWas grave and like to theirs. He said to them,"Fair sirs, whose are ye?" They made answer cold,"The beautiful woman, sir, our mother dear,Niloiya, bear us to great Lamech's son."And he, replying, "I am he." They said,"We know it, sir. We have remembered youThrough many seasons. Pray you let us not;We fain would greet our mother." And they madeObeisance and passed on; then all their train,Which while they spoke had halted, moved apace,And, while the silent father stood, went by,He gazing after, as a man that dreams;For he was sick with their cold, quiet scorn,That seemed to say, "Father, we own you not.We love you not, for you have left us long,—So long, we care not that you come again."
And while the sullen camels moved, he spakeTo him that led the last, "There are but twoOf these my sons; but where doth Japhet ride?For I would see him." And the leader said,"Sir, ye shall find him, if ye follow upAlong the track. Afore the noonday mealThe young men, even our masters, bathed; (there growsA clump of cedars by the bend of yonClear river)—there did Japhet, after meat,Being right weary, lay him down and sleep.There, with a company of slaves and someFew camels, ye shall find him."
And the manThe father of these three, did let him pass,And struggle and give battle to his heart,Standing as motionless as pillar setTo guide a wanderer in a pathless waste;But all his strength went from him, and he stroveVainly to trample out and trample downThe misery of his love unsatisfied,—Unutterable love flung in his face.
Then he broke out in passionate words, that criedAgainst his lot, "I have lost my own, and wonNone other; no, not one! Alas, my sons!That I have looked to for my solacing,In the bitterness to come. My children dear!"And when from his own lips he heard those words,With passionate stirring of the heart, he wept.
And none came nigh to comfort him. His faceWas on the ground; but, having wept, he roseFull hastily, and urged his way to findThe river; and in hollow of his handRaised up the water to his brow: "This son,This other son of mine," he said, "shall seeNo tears upon my face." And he looked on,Beheld the camels, and a group of slavesSitting apart from some one fast asleep,Where they had spread out webs of broidery workUnder a cedar-tree; and he came on,And when they made obeisance he declaredHis name, and said, "I will beside my sonSit till he wakeneth." So Japhet layA-dreaming, and his father drew to him.He said, "This cannot scorn me yet"; and paused,Right angry with himself, because the youth,Albeit of stately growth, so languidlyLay with a listless smile upon his mouth,That was full sweet and pure; and as he looked,He half forgot his trouble in his pride."And is this mine?" said he, "my son! mine own!(God, thou art good!) O, if this turn away,That pang shall be past bearing. I must thinkThat all the sweetness of his goodly faceIs copied from his soul. How beautifulAre children to their fathers! Son, my heartIs greatly glad because of thee; my lifeShall lack of no completeness in the daysTo come. If I forget the joy of youth,In thee shall I be comforted; ay, seeMy youth, a dearer than my own again."
And when he ceased, the youth, with sleep content,Murmured a little, turned himself and woke.
He woke, and opened on his father's faceThe darkness of his eyes; but not a wordThe Master-shipwright said,—his lips were sealed;He was not ready, for he feared to seeThis mouth curl up with scorn. And Japhet spoke,Full of the calm that cometh after sleep:"Sir, I have dreamed of you. I pray you, sir,What is your name?" and even with his wordsHis countenance changed. The son of Lamech said,"Why art thou sad? What have I done to thee?"And Japhet answered, "O, methought I fledIn the wilderness before a maddened beast,And you came up and slew it; and I thoughtYou were my father; but I fear me, sir,My thoughts were vain." With that his father said,"Whatever of blessing Thou reserv'st for me,God! if Thou wilt not give to both, give here:Bless him with both Thy hands"; and laid his ownOn Japhet's head.Then Japhet looked on him,Made quiet by content, and answered low,With faltering laughter, glad and reverent: "Sir,You are my father?" "Ay," quoth he, "I am!Kiss me, my son; and let me hear my name,My much desiréd name, from your dear lips."
Then after, rested, they betook them home:And Japhet, walking by the Master, thought,"I did not will to love this sire of mine;But now I feel as if I had always knownAnd loved him well; truly, I see not why,But I would rather serve him than go freeWith my two brethren." And he said to him,"Father!"—who answered, "I am here, my son."And Japhet said, "I pray you, sir, attendTo this my answer: let me go with you,For, now I think on it, I do not loveThe chase, nor managing the steed, nor yetThe arrows and the bow; but rather you,For all you do and say, and you yourself,Are goodly and delightsome in mine eyes.I pray you, sir, when you go forth again,That I may also go." And he replied,"I will tell thy speech unto the Highest; HeShall answer it. But I would speak to theeNow of the days to come. Know thou, most dearTo this thy father, that the drenched world,When risen clean washed from water, shall receiveFrom thee her lordliest governors, from theeDaughters of noblest soul."So Japhet said,"Sir, I am young, but of my mother straightI will go ask a wife, that this may be.I pray you, therefore, as the manner isOf fathers, give me land that I may reapCorn for sustaining of my wife, and bruiseThe fruit of the vine to cheer her." But he said,"Dost thou forget? or dost thou not believe,My son?" He answered, "I did ne'er believe,My father, ere to-day; but now, methinks,Whatever thou believest I believe,For thy belovéd sake. If this then beAs thou (I hear) hast said, and earth doth bearThe last of her wheat harvests, and make ripeThe latest of her grapes; yet hear me, sir,None of the daughters shall be given to meIf I be landless." Then his father said,"Lift up thine eyes toward the north, my son"And so he did. "Behold thy heritage!"Quoth the world's prince and master, "far awayUpon the side o' the north, where green the fieldLies every season through, and where the dewsOf heaven are wholesome, shall thy children reign;I part it to them, for the earth is mine;The Highest gave it me: I make it theirs.Moreover, for thy marriage gift, beholdThe cedars where thou sleepedst! There are vines;And up the rise is growing wheat. I give(For all, alas! is mine),—I give thee bothFor dowry, and my blessing."And he said,"Sir, you are good, and therefore the Most HighShall bless me also. Sir, I love you well."
And when two days were over, Japhet said,"Mother, so please you, get a wife for me."The mother answered, "Dost thou mock me, son?'Tis not the manner of our kin to wedSo young. Thou knowest it; art thou not ashamed?Thou carest not for a wife." And the youth blushed,And made for answer: "This, my father, saithThe doom is nigh; now therefore find a maid,Or else shall I be wifeless all my days.And as for me, I care not; but the landsAre parted, and the goodliest share is mine.And lo! my brethren are betrothed; their maidsAre with thee in the house. Then why not mine?Didst thou not diligently search for theseAmong the noblest born of all the earth,And bring them up? My sisters, dwell they notWith women that bespake them for their sons?Now, therefore, let a wife be found for me,Fair as the day, and gentle to my willAs thou art to my father's." When she heard,Niloiya sighed, and answered, "It is well."And Japhet went out from her presence.ThenQuoth the great Master: "Wherefore sought ye not,Woman, these many days, nor tired at all,Till ye had found, a maiden for my son?In this ye have done ill." Niloiya said:"Let not my lord be angry. All my soulIs sad: my lord hath walked afar so long,That some despise thee; yea, our servants failLately to bring their stint of corn and wood.And, sir, thy household slaves do steal awayTo thy great father, and our lands lie waste,—None till them: therefore think the women scornTo give me,—whatsoever gems I send,And goodly raiment,—(yea, I seek afar,And sue with all desire and humblenessThrough every master's house, but no one gives)—A daughter for my son." With that she ceased.
Then said the Master: "Some thou hast with thee,Brought up among thy children, dutifulAnd fair; thy father gave them for my slaves,—Children of them whom he brought captive forthFrom their own heritage." And she replied,Right scornfully: "Shall Japhet wed a slave?"Then said the Master: "He shall wed: look thouTo that. I say not he shall wed a slave;But by the might of One that made him mine,I will not quit thee for my doomed wayUntil thou wilt betroth him. Therefore, haste,Beautiful woman, loved of me and mine,To bring a maiden, and to say, 'BeholdA wife for Japhet.'" Then she answered, "Sir,It shall be done."And forth Niloiya sped.She gathered all her jewels,—all she heldOf costly or of rich,—and went and spakeWith some few slaves that yet abode with her,For daily they were fewer; and went forth,With fair and flattering words, among her feres,And fain had wrought with them: and she had hopeThat made her sick, it was so faint; and thenShe had fear, and after she had certainty,For all did scorn her. "Nay," they cried. "O fool!If this be so, and on a watery worldYe think to rock, what matters if a wifeBe free or bond? There shall be none to rule,If she have freedom: if she have it not,None shall there be to serve."And she alit,The time being done, desponding at her door,And went behind a screen, where should have wroughtThe daughters of the captives; but there wroughtOne only, and this rose from off the floor,Where she the river rush full deftly wove,And made obeisance. Then Niloiya said,"Where are thy fellows?" And the maid replied,"Let not Niloiya, this my lady loved,Be angry; they are fled since yesternight."Then said Niloiya, "Amarant, my slave,When have I called thee by thy name before?"She answered, "Lady, never"; and she tookAnd spread her broidered robe before her face.Niloiya spoke thus: "I am come to woe,And thou to honor." Saying this, she weptPassionate tears; and all the damsel's soulWas full of yearning wonder, and her robeSlipped from her hand, and her right innocent faceWas seen betwixt her locks of tawny hairThat dropped about her knees, and her two eyes,Blue as the much-loved flower that rims the beck,Looked sweetly on Niloiya; but she knewNo meaning in her words; and she drew nigh,And kneeled and said, "Will this my lady speak?Her damsel is desirous of her words."Then said Niloiya, "I, thy mistress, soughtA wife for Japhet, and no wife is found."And yet again she wept with grief of heart,Saying, "Ah me, miserable! I must giveA wife: the Master willeth it: a wife,Ah me! unto the high-born. He will scornHis mother and reproach me. I must give—None else have I to give—a slave,—even thee."This further spake Niloiya: "I was good,—Had rue on thee, a tender sucking child,When they did tear thee from thy mother's breast;I fed thee, gave thee shelter, and I taughtThy hands all cunning arts that women prize.But out on me! my good is turned to ill.O, Japhet, well-beloved!" And she rose up,And did restrain herself, saying, "Dost thou heed?Behold, this thing shall be." The damsel sighed,"Lady, I do." Then went Niloiya forth.
And Amarant murmured in her deep amaze,"Shall Japhet's little children kiss my mouth?And will he sometimes take them from my arms,And almost care for me for their sweet sake?I have not dared to think I loved him,—nowI know it well: but O, the bitternessFor him!" And ending thus, the damsel rose,For Japhet entered. And she bowed herselfMeekly and made obeisance, but her bloodRan cold about her heart, for all his faceWas colored with his passion.Japhet spoke:He said, "My father's slave"; and she replied,Low drooping her fair head, "My master's son."And after that a silence fell on them,With trembling at her heart, and rage at his.And Japhet, mastered of his passion, satAnd could not speak. O! cruel seemed his fate,—So cruel her that told it, so unkind.His breast was full of wounded love and wrathWrestling together; and his eyes flashed outIndignant lights, as all amazed he tookThe insult home that she had offered him,Who should have held his honor dear.And, lo,The misery choked him and he cried in pain,"Go, get thee forth"; but she, all white and still,Parted her lips to speak, and yet spake not,Nor moved. And Japhet rose up passionate,With lifted arm as one about to strike;But she cried out and met him, and she heldWith desperate might his hand, and prayed to him,"Strike not, or else shall men from henceforth say,'Japhet is like to us.'" And he shook offThe damsel, and he said, "I thank thee, slave;For never have I stricken yet or childOr woman. Not for thy sake am I glad,Nay, but for mine. Get hence. Obey my words."Then Japhet lifted up his voice, and wept.
And no more he restrained himself, but cried,With heavings of the heart, "O hateful day!O day that shuts the door upon delight.A slave! to wed a slave! O loathéd wife,Hated of Japhet's soul." And after, long,With face between his hands, he sat, his thoughtsSullen and sore; then scorned himself, and saying,"I will not take her, I will die unwed,It is but that"; lift up his eyes and sawThe slave, and she was sitting at his feet;And he, so greatly wondering that she daredThe disobedience, looked her in the faceLess angry than afraid, for pale she wasAs lily yet unsmiled on by the sun;And he, his passion being spent, sighed out,"Low am I fallen indeed. Hast thou no fear,That thou dost flout me?" but she gave to himThe sighing echo of his sigh, and mourned,"No."And he wondered, and he looked again,For in her heart there was a new-born pang,That cried; but she, as mothers with their young,Suffered, yet loved it; and there shone a strangeGrave sweetness in her blue unsullied eyes.And Japhet, leaning from the settle, thought,"What is it? I will call her by her name,To comfort her, for also she is naughtTo blame; and since I will not her to wife,She falls back from the freedom she had hoped."Then he said "Amarant"; and the damsel drewHer eyes down slowly from the shaded skyOf even, and she said, "My master's son,Japhet"; and Japhet said, "I am not wrothWith thee, but wretched for my mother's deed,Because she shamed me."And the maiden said,"Doth not thy father love thee well, sweet sir?""Ay," quoth he, "well." She answered, "Let the heartOf Japhet, then, be merry. Go to himAnd say, 'The damsel whom my mother chose,Sits by her in the house; but as for me,Sir, ere I take her, let me go with youTo that same outland country. Also, sir,My damsel hath not worked as yet the robeOf her betrothal'; now, then, sith he loves,He will not say thee nay. Herein for awhileIs respite, and thy mother far and nearWill seek again: it may be she will findA fair, free maiden."Japhet said, "O maid,Sweet are thy words; but what if I return,And all again be as it is to-day?"Then Amarant answered, "Some have died in youth;But yet, I think not, sir, that I shall die.Though ye shall find it even as I had died,—Silent, for any words I might have said;Empty, for any space I might have filled.Sir, I will steal away, and hide afar;But if a wife be found, then will I bideAnd serve." He answered, "O, thy speech is good;Now therefore (since my mother gave me thee),I will reward it; I will find for theeA goodly husband, and will make him freeThee also."Then she started from his feet,And, red with shame and anger, flashed on himThe passion of her eyes; and put her handsWith catching of the breath to her fair throat,And stood in her defiance lost to fear,Like some fair hind in desperate danger turnedAnd brought to bay, and wild in her despair.But shortly, "I remember," quoth she, low,With raining down of tears and broken sighs,"That I am Japhet's slave; beseech you, sir,As ye were ever gentle, ay, and sweetOf language to me, be not harder now.Sir, I was yours to take; I knew not, sir,That also ye might give me. Pray you, sir,Be pitiful,—be merciful to me,A slave." He said, "I thought to do thee good,For good hath been thy counsel"; but she cried,"Good master, be you therefore pitifulTo me, a slave." And Japhet wondered muchAt her, and at her beauty, for he thought,"None of the daughters are so fair as this,Nor stand with such a grace majestical;She in her locks is like the travelling sun,Setting, all clad in coifing clouds of gold.And would she die unmatched?" He said to her,"What! wilt thou sail alone in yonder ship,And dwell alone hereafter?" "Ay," she said,"And serve my mistress.""It is well," quoth he,And held his hand to her, as is the wayOf masters. Then she kissed it, and she said,"Thanks for benevolence," and turned herself,Adding, "I rest, sir, on your gracious words";Then stepped into the twilight and was gone.
And Japhet, having found his father, said,"Sir, let me also journey when ye go."Who answered, "Hath thy mother done her part?"
He said, "Yea, truly, and my damsel sitsBefore her in the house; and also, sir,She said to me, 'I have not worked, as yet,The garment of betrothal.'" And he said,"'Tis not the manner of our kin to speakConcerning matters that a woman rules;But hath thy mother brought a damsel home,And let her see thy face, then all is oneAs ye were wed." He answered, "Even so,It matters nothing; therefore hear me, sir:The damsel being mine, I am contentTo let her do according to her will;And when we shall return, so surely, sir,As I shall find her by my mother's side,Then will I take her"; and he left to speak;His father answering, "Son, thy words are good."
Night. Now a tent was pitched, and Japhet satIn the door and watched, for on a litter layThe father of his love. And he was sickTo death; but daily he would rouse him up,And stare upon the light, and ever say,"On, let us journey"; but it came to passThat night, across their path a river ran,And they who served the father and the sonHad pitched the tents beside it, and had madeA fire, to scare away the savageryThat roamed in that great forest, for their wayHad led among the trees of God.The moonShone on the river, like a silver roadTo lead them over; but when Japhet looked,He said, "We shall not cross it. I shall layThis well-belovéd head low in the leaves,—Not on the farther side." From time to time,The water-snakes would stir its glassy flowWith curling undulations, and would layTheir heads along the bank, and, subtle-eyed,Consider those long spirting flames, that danced,When some red log would break and crumble down;And show his dark despondent eyes, that watched,Wearily, even Japhet's. But he caredLittle; and in the dark, that was not dark,But dimness of confused incertitude,Would move a-near all silently, and gazeAnd breathe, and shape itself, a manéd thingWith eyes; and still he cared not, and the formWould falter, then recede, and melt againInto the farther shade. And Japhet said:"How long? The moon hath grown again in heaven,After her caving twice, since we did leaveThe threshold of our home; and now what 'vailsThat far on tumbled mountain snow we toiled,Hungry, and weary, all the day; by nightWaked with a dreadful trembling underneath,To look, while every cone smoked, and there ranRed brooks adown, that licked the forest up,While in the pale white ashes wading onWe saw no stars?—what 'vails if afterward,Astonished with great silence, we did moveOver the measureless, unknown desert mead;While all the day, in rents and crevices,Would lie the lizard and the serpent kind,Drowsy; and in the night take fearsome shapes,And oft-times woman-faced and woman-hairedWould trail their snaky length, and curse and mourn;Or there would wander up, when we were tired,Dark troops of evil ones, with eyes morose,Withstanding us, and staring;—O! what 'vailsThat in the dread deep forest we have foughtWith following packs of wolves? These men of might,Even the giants, shall not hear the doomMy father came to tell them of. Ah, me!If God indeed had sent him, would he lie(For he is stricken with a sore disease)Helpless outside their city?"Then he rose,And put aside the curtains of the tent,To look upon his father's face; and lo!The tent being dark, he thought that somewhat satBeside the litter; and he set his eyesTo see it, and saw not; but only markedWhere, fallen away from manhood and from power,His father lay. Then he came forth again,Trembling, and crouched beside the dull red fire,And murmured, "Now it is the second time:An old man, as I think (but scarcely saw).Dreadful of might. Its hair was white as wool:I dared not look; perhaps I saw not aught,But only knew that it was there: the sameWhich walked beside us once when he did pray."And Japhet hid his face between his handsFor fear, and grief of heart, and wearinessOf watching; and he slumbered not, but mournedTo himself, a little moment, as it seemed,For sake of his loved father: then he liftHis eyes, and day had dawned. Right suddenlyThe moon withheld her silver, and she hungFrail as a cloud. The ruddy flame that played,By night on dim, dusk trees, and on the flood,Crept red amongst the logs, and all the worldAnd all the water blushed and bloomed. The starsWere gone, and golden shafts came up, and touchedThe feathered heads of palms, and green was bornUnder the rosy cloud, and purples flewLike veils across the mountains; and he saw,Winding athwart them, bathed in blissful peace,And the sacredness of morn, the battlementsAnd out-posts of the giants; and there ranOn the other side the river, as it were,White mounds of marble, tabernacles fair,And towers below a line of inland cliff:These were their fastnesses, and here their homes.
In valleys and the forest, all that night,There had been woe; in every hollow place,And under walls, like drifted flowers, or snow,Women lay mourning; for the serpent lodgedThat night within the gates, and had decreed,"I will (or ever I come) that ye drive outThe women, the abhorred of my soul."Therefore, more beauteous than all climbing bloom,Purple and scarlet, cumbering of the boughs,Or flights of azure doves that lit to drinkThe water of the river; or, new born,The quivering butterflies in companies,That slowly crept adown the sandy marge,Like living crocus beds, and also drank,And rose an orange cloud; their hollowed handsThey dipped between the lilies, or with robesFull of ripe fruitage, sat and peeled and ate,Weeping; or comforting their little ones,And lulling them with sorrowful long hymnsAmong the palms.So went the earlier morn.Then came a messenger, while Japhet satMournfully, and he said, "The men of mightAre willing; let thy master, youth, appear."And Japhet said, "So be it"; and he thought,"Now will I trust in God"; and he went inAnd stood before his father, and he said,"My father"; but the Master answered not,But gazed upon the curtains of his tent,Nor knew that one had called him. He was cladAs ready for the journey, and his feetWere sandalled, and his staff was at his side;And Japhet took the gown of sacrificeAnd spread it on him, and he laid his crownUpon his knees, and he went forth, and liftHis hand to heaven, and cried, "My father's God!"But neither whisper came nor echo fellWhen he did listen. Therefore he went on:"Behold, I have a thing to say to thee.My father charged thy servant, 'Let not ruthPrevail with thee, to turn and bear me hence,For God appointed me my task, to preachBefore the mighty.' I must do my part(O! let it not displease thee), for he saidBut yesternight, 'When they shall send for me,Take me before them.' And I sware to him.I pray thee, therefore, count his life and minePrecious; for I that sware, I will perform."
Then cried he to his people, "Let us hence:Take up the litter." And they set their feetToward the raft whereby men crossed that flood.And while they journeyed, lo, the giants satWithin the fairest hall where all were fair,Each on his carven throne, o'er-canopiedWith work of women. And the dragon layIn a place of honor; and with subtletyHe counselled them, for they did speak by turns;And they being proud, might nothing master them,But guile alone: and he did fawn on them;And when the younger taunted him, submissHe testified great humbleness, and cried,"A cruel God, forsooth! but nay, O nay,I will not think it of Him, that He meantTo threaten these. O, when I look on them,How doth my soul admire."
And one stood forth,The youngest; of his brethren, named "the Rock.""Speak out," quoth he, "thou toothless slavering thing,What is it? thinkest thou that such as weShould be afraid? What is this goodly doom?"And Satan laughed upon him. "Lo," said he,"Thou art not fully grown, and every oneI look on, standeth higher by the head,Yea, and the shoulders, than do other men;Forsooth, thy servant thought not thou wouldst fear,Thou and thy fellows." Then with one accord,"Speak," cried they; and with mild persuasive eyes,And flattering tongue, he spoke.
"Ye mighty ones,It hath been known to you these many daysHow that for piety I am much famed.I am exceeding pious: if I lie,As hath been whispered, it is but for sakeOf God, and that ye should not think Him hard,For I am all for God. Now some have thoughtthat He hath also (and it, may be soOr yet may not be so) on me been hard;Be not ye therefore wroth, for my poor sake;I am contented to have earned your weal,Though I must therefore suffer.
"Now to-dayOne cometh, yea, an harmless man, a fool,Who boasts he hath a message from our God,And lest that you, for bravery of heartAnd stoutness, being angered with his prate,Should lift a hand, and kill him, I am here."
Then spoke the Leader, "How now, snake? Thy wordsRing false. Why ever liest thou, snake, to us?Thou coward! none of us will see thee harmed.I say thou liest. The land is strewed with slain;Myself have hewn down companies, and bloodMakes fertile all the field. Thou knowest it well;And hast thou, driveller, panting sore for age,Come with a force to bid us spare one fool?"
And Satan answered, "Nay you! be not wroth;Yet true it is, and yet not all the truth.Your servant would have told the rest, if now(For fulness of your life being fretted soreAt mine infirmities, which God in vainI supplicate to heal) ye had not causedMy speech to stop." And he they called "the Oak"Made answer, "'Tis a good snake; let him be.Why would ye fright the poor old craven beast?Look how his lolling tongue doth foam for fear.Ye should have mercy, brethren, on the weak.Speak, dragon, thou hast leave; make stout thy heart.What! hast thou lied to this great company?It was, we know it was, for humbleness;Thou wert not willing to offend with truth."
"Yea, majesties," quoth Satan, "thus it was,"And lifted up appealing eyes, and groaned;"O, can it be, compassionate as brave,And housed in cunning works themselves have reared,And served in gold, and warmed with minivere,And ruling nobly,—that He, not contentUnless alone He reigneth, looks to bendO break them in, like slaves to cry to Him,'What is Thy will with us, O Master dear?'Or else to eat of death?
"For my part, lords,I cannot think it: for my pietyAnd reason, which I also share with you,Are my best lights, and ever counsel me,'Believe not aught against thy God; believe,Since thou canst never reach to do Him wrong,That He will never stoop to do thee wrong.Is He not just and equal, yea, and kind?'Therefore, O majesties, it is my mindConcerning him ye wot of, thus to thinkThe message is not like what I have learnedBy reason and experience, of the God.Therefore no message 'tis. The man is mad."Thereat the great Leader laughed for scorn. "Hold, snake;If God be just, there SHALL be reckoning days.We rather would He were a partial God,And being strong, He sided with the strong.Turn now thy reason to the other side,And speak for that; for as to justice, snake,We would have none of it."
And Satan fawned:"My lord is pleased to mock at my poor wit;Yet in my pious fashion I must talk:For say that God was wroth with man, and cameAnd slew him, that should make an empty world,But not a bettor nation."
This replied,"Truth, dragon, yet He is not bound to meanA better nation; may be, He designs,If none will turn again, a punishmentUpon an evil one."And Satan cried,"Alas! my heart being full of love for men,I cannot choose but think of God as likeTo me; and yet my piety concludes,Since He will have your fear, that love aloneSufficeth not, and I admire, and say,'Give me, O friends, your love, and give to GodYour fear.'" But they cried out in wrath and rage,"We are not strong that any we will fear,Nor specially a foe that means us ill."
And while he spoke there was a noise without;The curtains of the door were flung aside,And some with heavy feet bare in, and setA litter on the floor.The Master layUpon it, but his eyes were dimmed and set;And Japhet, in despairing weariness,Leaned it beside. He marked the mighty ones,Silent for pride of heart, and in his placeThe jewelled dragon; and the dragon laughed,And subtly peered at him, till Japhet shookWith rage and fear. The snaky wonder cried,Hissing, "Thou brown-haired youth, come up to me;I fain would have thee for my shrine afar,To serve among an host as beautifulAs thou: draw near." It hissed, and Japhet feltHorrible drawings, and cried out in fear,"Father! O help, the serpent draweth me!"And struggled and grew faint, as in the toilsA netted bird. But still his father layUnconscious, and the mighty did not speak,But half in fear and half for wondermentBeheld. And yet again the dragon laughed,And leered at him and hissed; and Japhet stroveVainly to take away his spell-set eyes,And moved to go to him, till piercinglyCrying out, "God! forbid it, God in heaven!"The dragon lowered his head, and shut his eyesAs feigning sleep; and, suddenly released,He fell back staggering; and at noise of it,And clash of Japhet's weapons on the floor,And Japhet's voice crying out, "I loathe thee, snake!I hate thee! O, I hate thee!" came again,The senses of the shipwright; and he, moved,And looking, as one 'mazed, distressfullyUpon the mighty, said, "One called on God:Where is my God? If God have need of me,Let Him come down and touch my lips with strength,Or dying I shall die."
It came to pass,While he was speaking, that the curtains swayed;A rushing wind did move throughout the place,And all the pillars shook, and on the headOf Noah the hair was lifted, and there playedA somewhat, as it were a light, uponHis breast; then fell a darkness, and men heardA whisper as of one that spake. With that,The daunted mighty ones kept silent watchUntil the wind had ceased and darkness fled.When it grew light, there curled a cloud of smokeFrom many censers where the dragon lay.It hid him. He had called his ministrants,And bid them veil him thus, that none might look;Also the folk who came with Noah had fled.
But Noah was seen, for he stood up erect,And leaned on Japhet's hand. Then, after pause,The Leader said, "My brethren, it were well(For naught we fear) to let this sorcerer speak."And they did reach toward the man their staves,And cry with loud accord, "Hail, sorcerer, hail!"
And he made answer, "Hail! I am a manThat is a shipwright. I was born afarTo Lamech, him that reigns a king, to wit,Over the land of Jalal. Majesties,I bring a message,—lay you it to heart;For there is wrath in heaven: my God is wroth.'Prepare your houses, or I come,' saith He,'A Judge.' Now, therefore, say not in your hearts,'What have we done?' Your dogs may answer that,To make whom fiercer for the chase, ye feedWith captives whom ye slew not in the war,But saved alive, and living throw to themDaily. Your wives may answer that, whose babesTheir firstborn ye do take and offer upTo this abhorred snake, while yet the milkIs in their innocent mouths,—your maiden babesTender. Your slaves may answer that,—the gangsWhose eyes ye did put out to make them workBy night unwitting (yea, by multitudesThey work upon the wheel in chains). Your friendsMay answer that,—(their bleachéd bones cry out.)For ye did, wickedly, to eat their lands,Turn on their valleys, in a time of peace,The rivers, and they, choking in the night,Died unavenged. But rather (for I leaveTo tell of more, the time would be so longTo do it, and your time, O mighty ones,Is short),—but rather say, 'We sinners knowWhy the Judge standeth at the door,' and turnWhile yet there may be respite, and repent.
"'Or else,' saith He that forméd you, 'I swear,By all the silence of the times to come,By the solemnities of death,—yea, more,.By Mine own power and love which ye have scorned,That I will come. I will command the clouds,And raining they shall rain; yea, I will stirWith all my storms the ocean for your sake,And break for you the boundary of the deep.
"'Then shall the mighty mourn.Should I forbear,That have been patient? I will not forbear!For yet,' saith He, 'the weak cry out; for yetThe little ones do languish; and the slaveLifts up to Me his chain. I therefore, IWill hear them. I by death will scatter you;Yea, and by death will draw them to My breast,And gather them to peace."'But yet,' saith He,'Repent, and turn you. Wherefore will ye die?'
"Turn then, O turn, while yet the enemyUntamed of man fatefully moans afar;For if ye will not turn, the doom is near.Then shall the crested wave make sport, and beatYou mighty at your doors. Will ye be wroth?Will ye forbid it? Monsters of the deepShall suckle in your palaces their young,And swim atween your hangings, all of themCostly with broidered work, and rare with goldAnd white and scarlet (there did ye oppress,—There did ye make you vile); but ye shall lieMeekly, and storm and wind shall rage above,And urge the weltering wave.
"'Yet,' saith thy God,'Son,' ay, to each of you He saith, 'O son,Made in My image, beautiful and strong,Why wilt thou die? Thy Father loves thee well.Repent and turn thee from thine evil ways,O son! and no more dare the wrath of love.Live for thy Father's sake that formed thee.Why wilt thou die?' Here will I make an end."
Now ever on his dais the dragon lay,Feigning to sleep; and all the mighty onesWere wroth, and chided, some against the woe,And some at whom the sorcerer they had named,—Some at their fellows, for the younger sort,—As men the less acquaint with deeds of blood,And given to learning and the arts of peace(Their fathers having crushed rebellion outBefore their time)—lent favorable ears.They said, "A man, or false or fanatic,May claim good audience if he fill our earsWith what is strange: and we would hear again."
The Leader said, "An audience hath been given.The man hath spoken, and his words are naught;A feeble threatener, with a foolish threat,And it is not our manner that we sitBeyond the noonday"; then they grandly rose,A stalwart crowd, and with their Leader movedTo the tones of harping, and the beat of shawms,And the noise of pipes, away. But some were leftAbout the Master; and the feigning snakeCouched on his dais.Then one to Japhet said,One called "the Cedar-Tree," "Dost thou, too, thinkTo reign upon our lands when we lie drowned?"And Japhet said, "I think not, nor desire,Nor in my heart consent, but that ye swearAllegiance to the God, and live." He cried,To one surnamed "the Pine,"—"Brother, behoovesThat deep we cut our names in yonder crag.Else when this youth returns, his sons may askOur names, and he may answer, 'Matters not,For my part I forget them.'"Japhet said,"They might do worse than that, they might denyThat such as you have ever been." With thatThey answered, "No, thou dost not think it, no!"And Japhet, being chafed, replied in heat,"And wherefore? if ye say of what is sworn,'He will not do it,' shall it be more hardFor future men, if any talk on it,To say, 'He did not do it'?" They replied,With laughter, "Lo you! he is stout with us.And yet he cowered before the poor old snake.Sirrah, when you are saved, we pray you nowTo bear our might in mind,—do, sirrah, do;And likewise tell your sons, '"The Cedar Tree"Was a good giant, for he struck me not,Though he was young and full of sport, and thoughI taunted him.'"With that they also passed.But there remained who with the shipwright spoke:"How wilt thou certify to us thy truth?"And he related to them all his waysFrom the beginning: of the Voice that called;Moreover, how the ship of doom was built.
And one made answer, "Shall the mighty GodTalk with a man of wooden beams and bars?No, thou mad preacher, no. If He, Eterne,Be ordering of His far infinitudes,And darkness cloud a world, it is but chance,As if the shadow of His hand had fallenOn one that He forgot, and troubled it."Then said the Master, "Yet,—who told thee so?"
And from his daïs the feigning serpent hissed:"Preacher, the light within, it was that shined,And told him so. The pious will have dreadHim to declare such as ye rashly told.The course of God is one. It likes not usTo think of Him as being acquaint with change:It were beneath Him. Nay, the finished earthIs left to her great masters. They must rule;They do; and I have set myself between,—A visible thing for worship, sith His face(For He is hard) He showeth not to men.Yea, I have set myself 'twixt God and man,To be interpreter, and teach mankindA pious lesson by my piety,He loveth not, nor hateth, nor desires,—It were beneath Him."And the Master said,"Thou liest. Thou wouldst lie away the world,If He, whom thou hast dared speak against,Would suffer it." "I may not chide with thee,"It answered, "NOW; but if there come such timeAs thou hast prophesied, as I now reignIn all men's sight, shall my dominion thenReach to be mighty in their souls. Thou tooShalt feel it, prophet." And he lowered his head.
Then quoth the Leader of the young men: "Sir,We scorn you not; speak further; yet our thoughtFirst answer. Not but by a miracleCan this thing be. The fashion of the worldWe heretofore have never known to change;And will God change it now?"He then replied:"What is thy thought? THERE is NO MIRACLE?There is a great one, which thou hast not read.And never shalt escape. Thyself, O man,Thou art the miracle. Lo, if thou sayest,'I am one, and fashioned like the gracious world,Red clay is all my make, myself, my whole,And not my habitation,' then thy sleepShall give thee wings to play among the raysO' the morning. If thy thought be, 'I am one,—A spirit among spirits,—and the worldA dream my spirit dreameth of, my dreamBeing all,' the dominating mountains strongShall not for that forbear to take thy breath,And rage with all their winds, and beat thee back,And beat thee down when thou wouldst set thy feetUpon their awful crests. Ay, thou thyself,Being in the world and of the world, thyselfHast breathed in breath from Him that made the world.Thou dost inherit, as thy Maker's son,That which He is, and that which He hath made:Thou art thy Father's copy of Himself,—THOU art thy FATHER'S MIRACLE.BeholdHe buildeth up the stars in companies;He made for them a law. To man He said,'Freely I give thee freedom.' What remains?O, it remains, if thou, the image of God,Wilt reason well, that thou shalt know His ways;But first thou must be loyal,—love, O man,Thy Father,—hearken when He pleads with thee,For there is something left of Him e'en now,—A witness for thy Father in thy soul,Albeit thy better state thou hast foregone.
"Now, then, be still, and think not in thy soul,'The rivers in their course forever run,And turn not from it. He is like to themWho made them,' Think the rather, 'With my footI have turned the rivers from their ancient way,To water grasses that were fading. What!Is God my Father as the river wave,That yet descendeth, like the lesser thingHe made, and not like me, a living son,That changed the watercourse to suit his will?'
"Man is the miracle in nature. GodIs the ONE MIRACLE to man. Behold,'There is a God,' thou sayest. Thou sayest well:In that thou sayest all. To Be is moreOf wonderful, than being, to have wrought,Or reigned, or rested.Hold then there, content;Learn that to love is the one way to know,Or God or man: it is not love receivedThat maketh man to know the inner lifeOf them that love him; his own love bestowedShall do it. Love thy Father, and no moreHis doings shall be strange. Thou shalt not fretAt any counsel, then, that He will send,—No, nor rebel, albeit He have with theeGreat reservations. Know, to Be is moreThan to have acted; yea, or after restAnd patience, to have risen and been wroth,Broken the sequence of an ordered earth,And troubled nations."Then the dragon sighed."Poor fanatic," quoth he, "thou speakest well.Would I were like thee, for thy faith is strong,Albeit thy senses wander. Yea, good sooth,My masters, let us not despise, but learnFresh loyalty from this poor loyal soul.Let us go forth—(myself will also goTo head you)—and do sacrifice; for that,We know, is pleasing to the mighty God:But as for building many arks of wood,O majesties! when He shall counsel youHIMSELF, then build. What say you, shall it beAn hundred oxen,—fat, well liking, white?An hundred? why, a thousand were not muchTo such as you." Then Noah lift up his armsTo heaven, and cried, "Thou aged shape of sin,The Lord rebuke thee."
Then one ran, crying, while Niloiya wrought,"The Master cometh!" and she went withinTo adorn herself for meeting him. And ShemWent forth and talked with Japhet in the field,And said, "Is it well, my brother?" He replied,"Well! and, I pray you, is it well at home?"
But Shem made answer, "Can a house be well,If he that should command it bides afar?Yet well is thee, because a fair free maidIs found to wed thee; and they bring her inThis day at sundown. Therefore is much hasteTo cover thick with costly webs the floor,And pluck and cover thick the same with leavesOf all sweet herbs,—I warrant, ye shall hearNo footfall where she treadeth; and the seatsAre ready, spread with robes; the tables setWith golden baskets, red pomegranates shredTo fill them; and the rubied censers smoke,Heaped up with ambergris and cinnamon,And frankincense and cedar."Japhet said,"I will betroth her to me straight"; and went(Yet labored he with sore disquietude)To gather grapes, and reap and bind the sheafFor his betrothal. And his brother spake,"Where is our father? doth he preach to-day?"And Japhet answered, "Yea. He said to me,'Go forward; I will follow when the folkBy yonder mountain-hold I shall have warned.'"
And Shem replied, "How thinkest thou?—thine earsHave heard him oft." He answered, "I do thinkThese be the last days of this old fair world."
Then he did tell him of the giant folk:How they, than he, were taller by the head;How one must stride that will ascend the stepsThat lead to their wide halls; and how they drave,With manful shouts, the mammoth to the north;And how the talking dragon lied and fawned,They seated proudly on their ivory thrones,And scorning him: and of their peakéd hoods,And garments wrought upon, each with the taleOf him that wore it,—all his manful deeds(Yea, and about their skirts were effigiesOf kings that they had slain; and some, whose swordsMany had pierced, wore vestures all of red,To signify much blood): and of their prideHe told, but of the vision in the tentHe told him not.And when they reached the house,Niloiya met them, and to Japhet cried,"All hail, right fortunate! Lo, I have foundA maid. And now thou hast done well to reapThe late ripe corn." So he went in with her,And she did talk with him right motherly:"It hath been fully told me how ye loathedTo wed thy father's slave; yea, she herself,Did she not all declare to me?"He said,"Yet is thy damsel fair, and wise of heart.""Yea," quoth his mother; "she made clear to meHow ye did weep, my son, and ye did vow,'I will not take her!' Now it was not IThat wrought to have it so." And he replied,"I know it." Quoth the mother, "It is well;For that same cause is laughter in my heart.""But she is sweet of language," Japhet said."Ay," quoth Niloiya, "and thy wife no lessWhom thou shalt wed anon,—forsooth, anon,—It is a lucky hour. Thou wilt?" He said,"I will." And Japhet laid the slender sheafFrom off his shoulder, and he said, "Behold,My father!" Then Niloiya turned herself,And lo! the shipwright stood. "All hail!" quoth she.And bowed herself, and kissed him on the mouth;But while she spake with him, sorely he sighed;And she did hang about his neck the robeOf feasting, and she poured upon his handsClear water, and anointed him, and setBefore him bread.And Japhet said to him,"My father, my belovéd, wilt thou yetBe sad because of scorning? Eat this day;For as an angel in their eyes thou artWho stand before thee." But he answered, "Peace!Thy words are wide."And when Niloiya heard,She said, "Is this a time for mirth of heartAnd wine? Behold, I thought to wed my son,Even this Japhet; but is this a time,When sad is he to whom is my desire,And lying under sorrow as from God?"
He answered, "Yea, it is a time of times;Bring in the maid." Niloiya said, "The maidThat first I spoke on, shall not Japhet wed;It likes not her, nor yet it likes not me.But I have found another; yea, good sooth,The damsel will not tarry, she will comeWith all her slaves by sundown."And she said,"Comfort thy heart, and eat: moreover, knowHow that thy great work even to-day is done.Sir, thy great ship is finished, and the folk(For I, according to thy will, have paidAll that was left us to them for their wage,)Have brought, as to a storehouse, flour of wheat,Honey and oil,—much victual; yea, and fruits,Curtains and household gear. And, sir, they sayIt is thy will to take it for thy holdOur fastness and abode." He answered, "Yea,Else wherefore was it built?" She said, "Good sir,I pray you make us not the whole earth's scorn.And now, to-morrow in thy father's houseIs a great feast, and weddings are toward;Let be the ship, till after, for thy wordsHave ever been, 'If God shall send a flood,There will I dwell'; I pray you therefore waitAt least till He DOTH send it."And he turned,And answered nothing. Now the sun was lowWhile yet she spake; and Japhet came to themIn goodly raiment, and upon his armThe garment of betrothal. And with thatA noise, and then brake in a woman slaveAnd Amarant. This, with folding of her hands,Did say full meekly, "If I do offend,Yet have not I been willing to offend;For now this woman will not be deniedHerself to tell her errand."And they sat.Then spoke the woman, "If I do offend,Pray you forgive the bondslave, for her tongueIs for her mistress. 'Lo!' my mistress saith,'Put off thy bravery, bridegroom; fold away,Mother, thy webs of pride, thy costly robesWoven of many colors. We have heardThy master. Lo, to-day right evil thingsHe prophesied to us, that were his friends;Therefore, my answer:—God do so to me;Yea, God do so to me, more also, moreThan He did threaten, if my damsel's footEver draw nigh thy door.'"And when she heard,Niloiya sat amazed, in grief of soul.But Japhet came unto the slave, where lowShe bowed herself for fear. He said, "Depart;Say to thy mistress, 'It is well.'" With thatShe turned herself, and she made haste to flee,Lest any, for those evil words she brought,Would smite her. But the bondmaid of the houseLift up her hand and said, "If I offend,It was not of my heart: thy damsel knewNaught of this matter." And he held to herHis hand and touched her, and said, "Amarant!"And when she looked upon him, she did takeAnd spread before her face her radiant locks,Trembling. And Japhet said, "Lift up thy face,O fairest of the daughters, thy fair face;For, lo! the bridegroom standeth with the robeOf thy betrothal! "—and he took her locksIn his two hands to part them from her brow,And laid them on her shoulders; and he said,"Sweet are the blushes of thy face," and putThe robe upon her, having said, "Behold,I have repented me; and oft by night,In the waste wilderness, while all things slept,I thought upon thy words, for they were sweet.
"For this I make thee free. And now thyselfArt loveliest in mine eyes; I look, and lo!Thou art of beauty more than any thoughtI had concerning thee. Let, then, this robe,Wrought on with imagery of fruitful bough,And graceful leaf, and birds with tender eyes,Cover the ripples of thy tawny hair."So when she held her peace, he brought her nighTo hear the speech of wedlock; ay, he tookThe golden cup of wine to drink with her,And laid the sheaf upon her arms. He said,"Like as my fathers in the older daysLed home the daughters whom they chose, do I;Like as they said, 'Mine honor have I setUpon thy head!' do I. Eat of my bread,Rule in my house, be mistress of my slaves,And mother of my children."And he broughtThe damsel to his father, saying, "BeholdMy wife! I have betrothed her to myself;I pray you, kiss her." And the Master did:He said, "Be mother of a multitude,And let them to their father even soBe found, as he is found to me."With thatShe answered, "Let this woman, sir, find graceAnd favor in your sight."And Japhet said,"Sweet mother, I have wed the maid ye choseAnd brought me first. I leave her in thy hand;Have care on her, till I shall come againAnd ask her of thee." So they went apart,He and his father to the marriage feast.
The prayer of Noah. The man went forth by nightAnd listened; and the earth was dark and still,And he was driven of his great distressInto the forest; but the birds of nightSang sweetly; and he fell upon his face,And cried, "God, God! Thy billows and Thy wavesHave swallowed up my soul.
"Where is my God?For I have somewhat yet to plead with Thee;For I have walked the strands of Thy great deep,Heard the dull thunder of its rage afar,And its dread moaning. O, the field is sweet,—Spare it. The delicate woods make white their treesWith blossom,—spare them. Life is sweet; beholdThere is much cattle, and the wild and tame,Father, do feed in quiet,—spare them.
"God!Where is my God? The long wave doth not rearHer ghostly crest to lick the forest up,And like a chief in battle fall,—not yet.The lightnings pour not down, from ragged holesIn heaven, the torment of their forkéd tongues,And, like fell serpents, dart and sting,—not yet.The winds awake not, with their awful wingsTo winnow, even as chaff, from out their track,All that withstandeth, and bring down the prideOf all things strong and all things high—
"Not yet.O, let it not be yet. Where is my God?How am I saved, if I and mine be savedAlone? I am not saved, for I have lovedMy country and my kin. Must I, Thy thrall,Over their lands be lord when they are gone?I would not: spare them. Mighty. Spare Thyself,For Thou dost love them greatly,—and if not …"
Another praying unremote, a VoiceCalm as the solitude between wide stars.
"Where is my God, who loveth this lost world,—Lost from its place and name, but won for Thee?Where is my multitude, my multitude,That I shall gather?" And white smoke went upFrom incense that was burning, but there gleamedNo light of fire, save dimly to revealThe whiteness rising, as the prayer of himThat mourned. "My God, appear for me, appear;Give me my multitude, for it is mine.The bitterness of death I have not feared,To-morrow shall Thy courts, O God, be full.Then shall the captive from his bonds go free,Then shall the thrall find rest, that knew not restFrom labor and from blows. The sorrowful—That said of joy, 'What is it?' and of songs,'We have not heard them'—shall be glad and sing;Then shall the little ones that knew not Thee,And such as heard not of Thee, see Thy face,And seeing, dwell content."The prayer of Noah.He cried out in the darkness, "Hear, O God,Hear HIM: hear this one; through the gates of death,If life be all past praying for, O giveTo Thy great multitude a way to peace;Give them to HIM.
"But yet," said he, "O yet,If there be respite for the terrible,The proud, yea, such as scorn Thee,—and if not….Let not mine eyes behold their fall."He cried,"Forgive. I have not done Thy work, Great Judge,With a perfect heart; I have but half believed,While in accustomed language I have warned;And now there is no more to do, no placeFor my repentance, yea, no hour remainsFor doing of that work again. O, lost,Lost world!" And while he prayed, the daylight dawned.
And Noah went up into the ship, and satBefore the Lord. And all was still; and nowIn that great quietness the sun came up,And there were marks across it, as it wereThe shadow of a Hand upon the sun,—Three fingers dark and dread, and afterwardThere rose a white, thick mist, that peacefullyFolded the fair earth in her funeral shroud,The earth that gave no token, save that nowThere fell a little trembling under foot.
And Noah went down, and took and hid his faceBehind his mantle, saying, "I have madeGreat preparation, and it may be yet,Beside my house, whom I did charge to comeThis day to meet me, there may enter inMany that yesternight thought scorn of allMy bidding." And because the fog was thick,He said, "Forbid it, Heaven, if such there be,That they should miss the way." And even thenThere was a noise of weeping and lament;The words of them that were affrighted, yea,And cried for grief of heart. There came to himThe mother and her children, and they cried,"Speak, father, what is this? What hast thou done?"And when he lifted up his face, he sawJaphet, his well-belovéd, where he stoodApart; and Amarant leaned upon his breast,And hid her face, for she was sore afraid;And lo! the robes of her betrothal gleamedWhite in the deadly gloom.And at his feetThe wives of his two other sons did kneel,And wring their hands.