Adam.Pausing a moment on this outer edgeWhere the supernal sword-glare cuts in lightThe dark exterior desert,—hast thou strength,Beloved, to look behind us to the gate?Eve.Have I not strength to look up to thy face?Adam.We need be strong: yon spectacle of cloudWhich seals the gate up to the final doom,Is God's seal manifest. There seem to lieA hundred thunders in it, dark and dead;The unmolten lightnings vein it motionless;And, outward from its depth, the self-moved swordSwings slow its awful gnomon of red fireFrom side to side, in pendulous horror slow,Across the stagnant ghastly glare thrown flatOn the intermediate ground from that to this.The angelic hosts, the archangelic pomps,Thrones, dominations, princedoms, rank on rank,Rising sublimely to the feet of God,On either side and overhead the gate,Show like a glittering and sustainèd smokeDrawn to an apex. That their faces shineBetwixt the solemn clasping of their wingsClasped high to a silver point above their heads,—We only guess from hence, and not discern.Eve.Though we were near enough to see them shine,The shadow on thy face were awfuller,To me, at least,—to me—than all their light.Adam.What is this, Eve? thou droppest heavilyIn a heap earthward, and thy body heavesUnder the golden floodings of thine hair!Eve.O Adam, Adam! by that name of Eve—Thine Eve, thy life—which suits me little now,Seeing that I now confess myself thy deathAnd thine undoer, as the snake was mine,—I do adjure thee, put me straight away,Together with my name! Sweet, punish me!O Love, be just! and, ere we pass beyondThe light cast outward by the fiery sword,Into the dark which earth must be to us,Bruise my head with thy foot,—as the curse saidMy seed shall the first tempter's! strike with curse,As God struck in the garden! and ashe,Being satisfied with justice and with wrath,Did roll his thunder gentler at the close,—Thou, peradventure, mayst at last recoilTo some soft need of mercy. Strike, my lord!I, also, after tempting, writhe on the ground,And I would feed on ashes from thine hand,As suits me, O my tempted!Adam.My beloved,Mine Eve and life—I have no other nameFor thee or for the sun than what ye are,My utter life and light! If we have fallen,It is that we have sinned,—we: God is just;And, since his curse doth comprehend us both,It must be that his balance holds the weightsOf first and last sin on a level. What!Shall I who had not virtue to stand straightAmong the hills of Eden, here assumeTo mend the justice of the perfect God,By piling up a curse upon his curse,Against thee—thee?Eve.For so, perchance, thy God,Might take thee into grace for scorning me;Thy wrath against the sinner giving proofOf inward abrogation of the sin:And so, the blessed angels might come downAnd walk with thee as erst,—I think they would,—Because I was not near to make them sadOr soil the rustling of their innocence.Adam.They know me. I am deepest in the guilt,If last in the transgression.Eve.Thou!Adam.If God,Who gave the right and joyaunce of the worldBoth unto thee and me,—gave thee to me,The best gift last, the last sin was the worst,Which sinned against more complement of giftsAnd grace of giving. God! I render backStrong benediction and perpetual praiseFrom mortal feeble lips (as incense-smoke,Out of a little censer, may fill heaven),That thou, in striking my benumbèd handsAnd forcing them to drop all other boonsOf beauty and dominion and delight,—Hast left this well-beloved Eve, this lifeWithin life, this best gift between their palms,In gracious compensation!Eve.Is it thy voice?Or some saluting angel's—calling homeMy feet into the garden?Adam.O my God!I, standing here between the glory and dark,—The glory of thy wrath projected forthFrom Eden's wall, the dark of our distressWhich settles a step off in that drear world—Lift up to thee the hands from whence hath fallenOnly creation's sceptre,—thanking theeThat rather thou hast cast me out withherThan left me lorn of her in Paradise,With angel looks and angel songs aroundTo show the absence of her eyes and voice,And make society full desertnessWithout her use in comfort!Eve.Where is loss?Am I in Eden? can another speakMine own love's tongue?Adam.Because withher, I standUpright, as far as can be in this fall,And look away from heaven which doth accuse,And look away from earth which doth convict,Into her face, and crown my discrowned browOut of her love, and put the thought of herAround me, for an Eden full of birds,And lift her body up—thus—to my heart,And with my lips upon her lips,—thus, thus,—Do quicken and sublimate my mortal breathWhich cannot climb against the grave's steep sidesBut overtops this grief.Eve.I am renewed.My eyes grow with the light which is in thine;The silence of my heart is full of sound.Hold me up—so! Because I comprehendThis human love, I shall not be afraidOf any human death; and yet becauseI know this strength of love, I seem to knowDeath's strength by that same sign. Kiss on my lips,To shut the door close on my rising soul,—Lest it pass outwards in astonishmentAnd leave thee lonely!Adam.Yet thou liest, Eve,Bent heavily on thyself across mine arm,Thy face flat to the sky.Eve.Ay, and the tearsRunning, as it might seem, my life from me,They run so fast and warm. Let me lie so,And weep so, as if in a dream or prayer,Unfastening, clasp by clasp, the hard tight thoughtWhich clipped my heart and showed me evermoreLoathed of thy justice as I loathe the snake,And as the pure ones loathe our sin. To-day,All day, beloved, as we fled acrossThis desolating radiance cast by swordsNot suns,—my lips prayed soundless to myself,Striking against each other—"O Lord God!"('Twas so I prayed) "I ask Thee by my sin,"And by thy curse, and by thy blameless heavens,"Make dreadful haste to hide me from thy face"And from the face of my beloved here"For whom I am no helpmeet, quick away"Into the new dark mystery of death!"I will lie still there, I will make no plaint,"I will not sigh, nor sob, nor speak a word,"Nor struggle to come back beneath the sun"Where peradventure I might sin anew"Against thy mercy and his pleasure. Death,"O death, whatever it be, is good enough"For such as I am: while for Adam here,"No voice shall say again, in heaven or earth,"It is not good for him to be alone."Adam.And was it good for such a prayer to pass,My unkind Eve, betwixt our mutual lives?If I am exiled, must I be bereaved?Eve.'Twas an ill prayer: it shall be prayed no more;And God did use it like a foolishness,Giving no answer. Now my heart has grownToo high and strong for such a foolish prayer,Love makes it strong and since I was the firstIn the transgression, with a steady footI will be first to tread from this sword-glareInto the outer darkness of the waste,—And thus I do it.Adam.Thus I follow thee,As erewhile in the sin.—What sounds! what sounds!I feel a music which comes straight from heaven,As tender as a watering dew.Eve.I thinkThat angels—not those guarding Paradise,—But the love-angels, who came erst to us,And when we said 'God,' fainted unawaresBack from our mortal presence unto God,(As if he drew them inward in a breath)His name being heard of them,—I think that theyWith sliding voices lean from heavenly towers,Invisible but gracious. Hark—how soft!
Adam.Pausing a moment on this outer edgeWhere the supernal sword-glare cuts in lightThe dark exterior desert,—hast thou strength,Beloved, to look behind us to the gate?
Eve.Have I not strength to look up to thy face?
Adam.We need be strong: yon spectacle of cloudWhich seals the gate up to the final doom,Is God's seal manifest. There seem to lieA hundred thunders in it, dark and dead;The unmolten lightnings vein it motionless;And, outward from its depth, the self-moved swordSwings slow its awful gnomon of red fireFrom side to side, in pendulous horror slow,Across the stagnant ghastly glare thrown flatOn the intermediate ground from that to this.The angelic hosts, the archangelic pomps,Thrones, dominations, princedoms, rank on rank,Rising sublimely to the feet of God,On either side and overhead the gate,Show like a glittering and sustainèd smokeDrawn to an apex. That their faces shineBetwixt the solemn clasping of their wingsClasped high to a silver point above their heads,—We only guess from hence, and not discern.
Eve.Though we were near enough to see them shine,The shadow on thy face were awfuller,To me, at least,—to me—than all their light.
Adam.What is this, Eve? thou droppest heavilyIn a heap earthward, and thy body heavesUnder the golden floodings of thine hair!
Eve.O Adam, Adam! by that name of Eve—Thine Eve, thy life—which suits me little now,Seeing that I now confess myself thy deathAnd thine undoer, as the snake was mine,—I do adjure thee, put me straight away,Together with my name! Sweet, punish me!O Love, be just! and, ere we pass beyondThe light cast outward by the fiery sword,Into the dark which earth must be to us,Bruise my head with thy foot,—as the curse saidMy seed shall the first tempter's! strike with curse,As God struck in the garden! and ashe,Being satisfied with justice and with wrath,Did roll his thunder gentler at the close,—Thou, peradventure, mayst at last recoilTo some soft need of mercy. Strike, my lord!I, also, after tempting, writhe on the ground,And I would feed on ashes from thine hand,As suits me, O my tempted!
Adam.My beloved,Mine Eve and life—I have no other nameFor thee or for the sun than what ye are,My utter life and light! If we have fallen,It is that we have sinned,—we: God is just;And, since his curse doth comprehend us both,It must be that his balance holds the weightsOf first and last sin on a level. What!Shall I who had not virtue to stand straightAmong the hills of Eden, here assumeTo mend the justice of the perfect God,By piling up a curse upon his curse,Against thee—thee?
Eve.For so, perchance, thy God,Might take thee into grace for scorning me;Thy wrath against the sinner giving proofOf inward abrogation of the sin:And so, the blessed angels might come downAnd walk with thee as erst,—I think they would,—Because I was not near to make them sadOr soil the rustling of their innocence.
Adam.They know me. I am deepest in the guilt,If last in the transgression.
Eve.Thou!
Adam.If God,Who gave the right and joyaunce of the worldBoth unto thee and me,—gave thee to me,The best gift last, the last sin was the worst,Which sinned against more complement of giftsAnd grace of giving. God! I render backStrong benediction and perpetual praiseFrom mortal feeble lips (as incense-smoke,Out of a little censer, may fill heaven),That thou, in striking my benumbèd handsAnd forcing them to drop all other boonsOf beauty and dominion and delight,—Hast left this well-beloved Eve, this lifeWithin life, this best gift between their palms,In gracious compensation!
Eve.Is it thy voice?Or some saluting angel's—calling homeMy feet into the garden?
Adam.O my God!I, standing here between the glory and dark,—The glory of thy wrath projected forthFrom Eden's wall, the dark of our distressWhich settles a step off in that drear world—Lift up to thee the hands from whence hath fallenOnly creation's sceptre,—thanking theeThat rather thou hast cast me out withherThan left me lorn of her in Paradise,With angel looks and angel songs aroundTo show the absence of her eyes and voice,And make society full desertnessWithout her use in comfort!
Eve.Where is loss?Am I in Eden? can another speakMine own love's tongue?
Adam.Because withher, I standUpright, as far as can be in this fall,And look away from heaven which doth accuse,And look away from earth which doth convict,Into her face, and crown my discrowned browOut of her love, and put the thought of herAround me, for an Eden full of birds,And lift her body up—thus—to my heart,And with my lips upon her lips,—thus, thus,—Do quicken and sublimate my mortal breathWhich cannot climb against the grave's steep sidesBut overtops this grief.
Eve.I am renewed.My eyes grow with the light which is in thine;The silence of my heart is full of sound.Hold me up—so! Because I comprehendThis human love, I shall not be afraidOf any human death; and yet becauseI know this strength of love, I seem to knowDeath's strength by that same sign. Kiss on my lips,To shut the door close on my rising soul,—Lest it pass outwards in astonishmentAnd leave thee lonely!
Adam.Yet thou liest, Eve,Bent heavily on thyself across mine arm,Thy face flat to the sky.
Eve.Ay, and the tearsRunning, as it might seem, my life from me,They run so fast and warm. Let me lie so,And weep so, as if in a dream or prayer,Unfastening, clasp by clasp, the hard tight thoughtWhich clipped my heart and showed me evermoreLoathed of thy justice as I loathe the snake,And as the pure ones loathe our sin. To-day,All day, beloved, as we fled acrossThis desolating radiance cast by swordsNot suns,—my lips prayed soundless to myself,Striking against each other—"O Lord God!"('Twas so I prayed) "I ask Thee by my sin,"And by thy curse, and by thy blameless heavens,"Make dreadful haste to hide me from thy face"And from the face of my beloved here"For whom I am no helpmeet, quick away"Into the new dark mystery of death!"I will lie still there, I will make no plaint,"I will not sigh, nor sob, nor speak a word,"Nor struggle to come back beneath the sun"Where peradventure I might sin anew"Against thy mercy and his pleasure. Death,"O death, whatever it be, is good enough"For such as I am: while for Adam here,"No voice shall say again, in heaven or earth,"It is not good for him to be alone."
Adam.And was it good for such a prayer to pass,My unkind Eve, betwixt our mutual lives?If I am exiled, must I be bereaved?
Eve.'Twas an ill prayer: it shall be prayed no more;And God did use it like a foolishness,Giving no answer. Now my heart has grownToo high and strong for such a foolish prayer,Love makes it strong and since I was the firstIn the transgression, with a steady footI will be first to tread from this sword-glareInto the outer darkness of the waste,—And thus I do it.
Adam.Thus I follow thee,As erewhile in the sin.—What sounds! what sounds!I feel a music which comes straight from heaven,As tender as a watering dew.
Eve.I thinkThat angels—not those guarding Paradise,—But the love-angels, who came erst to us,And when we said 'God,' fainted unawaresBack from our mortal presence unto God,(As if he drew them inward in a breath)His name being heard of them,—I think that theyWith sliding voices lean from heavenly towers,Invisible but gracious. Hark—how soft!
CHORUS OF INVISIBLE ANGELS.
Faint and tender.
Mortal man and woman,Go upon your travel!Heaven assist the humanSmoothly to unravelAll that web of painWherein ye are holden.Do ye know our voicesChanting down the Golden?Do ye guess our choice is,Being unbeholden,To be hearkened by you yet again?This pure door of opalGod hath shut between us,—Us, his shining people,You, who once have seen usAnd are blinded new!Yet, across the doorway,Past the silence reaching,Farewells evermore may,Blessing in the teaching,Glide from us to you.First Semichorus.Think how erst your Eden,Day on day succeeding,With our presence glowed.We came as if the Heavens were bowedTo a milder music rare.Ye saw us in our solemn treading,Treading down the steps of cloud,While our wings, outspreadingDouble calms of whiteness,Dropped superfluous brightnessDown from stair to stair.Second Semichorus.Or oft, abrupt though tender,While ye gazed on space,We flashed our angel-splendourIn either human face.With mystic lilies in our hands,From the atmospheric bandsBreaking with a sudden grace,We took you unaware!While our feet struck gloriesOutward, smooth and fair,Which we stood on floorwise,Platformed in mid-air.First Semichorus.Or oft, when Heaven-descended,Stood we in our wondering sightIn a mute apocalypseWith dumb vibrations on our lipsFrom hosannas ended,And grand half-vanishingsOf the empyreal thingsWithin our eyes belated,Till the heavenly InfiniteFalling off from the Created,Left our inward contemplationOpened into ministration.Chorus.Then upon our axle turningOf great joy to sympathy,We sang out the morningBroadening up the sky,Or we drewOur music throughThe noontide's hush and heat and shine,Informed with our intense Divine:Interrupted vital notesPalpitating hither, thither,Burning out into the æther,Sensible like fiery motes.Or, whenever twilight driftedThrough the cedar masses,The globèd sun we lifted,Trailing purple, trailing goldOut between the passesOf the mountains manifold,To anthems slowly sung:While he,—aweary, half in swoonFor joy to hear our climbing tuneTranspierce the stars' concentric rings,—The burden of his glory flungIn broken lights upon our wings.
Mortal man and woman,Go upon your travel!Heaven assist the humanSmoothly to unravelAll that web of painWherein ye are holden.Do ye know our voicesChanting down the Golden?Do ye guess our choice is,Being unbeholden,To be hearkened by you yet again?
This pure door of opalGod hath shut between us,—Us, his shining people,You, who once have seen usAnd are blinded new!Yet, across the doorway,Past the silence reaching,Farewells evermore may,Blessing in the teaching,Glide from us to you.
First Semichorus.Think how erst your Eden,Day on day succeeding,With our presence glowed.We came as if the Heavens were bowedTo a milder music rare.Ye saw us in our solemn treading,Treading down the steps of cloud,While our wings, outspreadingDouble calms of whiteness,Dropped superfluous brightnessDown from stair to stair.
Second Semichorus.Or oft, abrupt though tender,While ye gazed on space,We flashed our angel-splendourIn either human face.With mystic lilies in our hands,From the atmospheric bandsBreaking with a sudden grace,We took you unaware!While our feet struck gloriesOutward, smooth and fair,Which we stood on floorwise,Platformed in mid-air.
First Semichorus.Or oft, when Heaven-descended,Stood we in our wondering sightIn a mute apocalypseWith dumb vibrations on our lipsFrom hosannas ended,And grand half-vanishingsOf the empyreal thingsWithin our eyes belated,Till the heavenly InfiniteFalling off from the Created,Left our inward contemplationOpened into ministration.
Chorus.Then upon our axle turningOf great joy to sympathy,We sang out the morningBroadening up the sky,Or we drewOur music throughThe noontide's hush and heat and shine,Informed with our intense Divine:Interrupted vital notesPalpitating hither, thither,Burning out into the æther,Sensible like fiery motes.Or, whenever twilight driftedThrough the cedar masses,The globèd sun we lifted,Trailing purple, trailing goldOut between the passesOf the mountains manifold,To anthems slowly sung:While he,—aweary, half in swoonFor joy to hear our climbing tuneTranspierce the stars' concentric rings,—The burden of his glory flungIn broken lights upon our wings.
[The chant dies away confusedly, andLuciferappears.
Lucifer.Now may all fruits be pleasant to thy lips,Beautiful Eve! The times have somewhat changedSince thou and I had talk beneath a tree,Albeit ye are not gods yet.Eve.Adam! holdMy right hand strongly! It is Lucifer—And we have love to lose.Adam.I' the name of God,Go apart from us, O thou Lucifer!And leave us to the desert thou hast madeOut of thy treason. Bring no serpent-slimeAthwart this path kept holy to our tears!Or we may curse thee with their bitterness.Lucifer.Curse freely! curses thicken. Why, this EveWho thought me once part worthy of her earAnd somewhat wiser than the other beasts,—Drawing together her large globes of eyes,The light of which is throbbing in and outTheir steadfast continuity of gaze,—Knots her fair eyebrows in so hard a knot,And down from her white heights of womanhoodLooks on me so amazed,—I scarce should fearTo wager such an apple as she pluckedAgainst one riper from the tree of life,That she could curse too—as a woman may—Smooth in the vowels.Eve.So—speak wickedly!I like it best so. Let thy words be wounds,—For, so, I shall not fear thy power to hurt.Trench on the forms of good by open ill—For, so, I shall wax strong and grand with scorn,Scorning myself for ever trusting theeAs far as thinking, ere a snake ate dust,He could speak wisdom.Lucifer.Our new gods, it seems,Deal more in thunders than in courtesies.And, sooth, mine own Olympus, which anonI shall build up to loud-voiced imageryFrom all the wandering visions of the world,May show worse railing than our lady EvePours o'er the rounding of her argent arm.But why should this be? Adam pardoned Eve.Adam.Adam loved Eve. Jehovah pardon both!Eve.Adam forgave Eve—because loving Eve.Lucifer.So, well. Yet Adam was undone of Eve,As both were by the snake. Therefore forgive,In like wise, fellow-temptress, the poor snake—Who stung there, not so poorly![Aside.
Lucifer.Now may all fruits be pleasant to thy lips,Beautiful Eve! The times have somewhat changedSince thou and I had talk beneath a tree,Albeit ye are not gods yet.
Eve.Adam! holdMy right hand strongly! It is Lucifer—And we have love to lose.
Adam.I' the name of God,Go apart from us, O thou Lucifer!And leave us to the desert thou hast madeOut of thy treason. Bring no serpent-slimeAthwart this path kept holy to our tears!Or we may curse thee with their bitterness.
Lucifer.Curse freely! curses thicken. Why, this EveWho thought me once part worthy of her earAnd somewhat wiser than the other beasts,—Drawing together her large globes of eyes,The light of which is throbbing in and outTheir steadfast continuity of gaze,—Knots her fair eyebrows in so hard a knot,And down from her white heights of womanhoodLooks on me so amazed,—I scarce should fearTo wager such an apple as she pluckedAgainst one riper from the tree of life,That she could curse too—as a woman may—Smooth in the vowels.
Eve.So—speak wickedly!I like it best so. Let thy words be wounds,—For, so, I shall not fear thy power to hurt.Trench on the forms of good by open ill—For, so, I shall wax strong and grand with scorn,Scorning myself for ever trusting theeAs far as thinking, ere a snake ate dust,He could speak wisdom.
Lucifer.Our new gods, it seems,Deal more in thunders than in courtesies.And, sooth, mine own Olympus, which anonI shall build up to loud-voiced imageryFrom all the wandering visions of the world,May show worse railing than our lady EvePours o'er the rounding of her argent arm.But why should this be? Adam pardoned Eve.
Adam.Adam loved Eve. Jehovah pardon both!
Eve.Adam forgave Eve—because loving Eve.
Lucifer.So, well. Yet Adam was undone of Eve,As both were by the snake. Therefore forgive,In like wise, fellow-temptress, the poor snake—Who stung there, not so poorly![Aside.
Eve.Hold thy wrath,Beloved Adam! let me answer him;For this time he speaks truth, which we should hear,And asks for mercy, which I most should grant,In like wise, as he tells us—in like wise!And therefore I thee pardon, Lucifer,As freely as the streams of Eden flowedWhen we were happy by them. So, depart;Leave us to walk the remnant of our timeOut mildly in the desert. Do not seekTo harm us any more or scoff at us,Or ere the dust be laid upon our face,To find there the communion of the dustAnd issue of the dust,—Go!Adam.At once, go!Lucifer.Forgive! and go! Ye images of clay,Shrunk somewhat in the mould,—what jest is this?What words are these to use? By what a thoughtConceive ye of me? Yesterday—a snake!To-day—what?Adam.A strong spirit.Eve.A sad spirit.Adam.Perhaps a fallen angel.—Who shall say!Lucifer.Who told thee, Adam?Adam.Thou! The prodigyOf thy vast brows and melancholy eyesWhich comprehend the heights of some great fall.I think that thou hast one day worn a crownUnder the eyes of God.Lucifer.And why of God?Adam.It were no crown else. Verily, I thinkThou'rt fallen far. I had not yesterdaySaid it so surely, but I know to-dayGrief by grief, sin by sin.Lucifer.A crown, by a crown.Adam.Ay, mock me! now I know more than I knew:Now I know that thou art fallen below hopeOf final re-ascent.Lucifer.Because?Adam.BecauseA spirit who expected to see GodThough at the last point of a million years,Could dare no mockery of a ruined manSuch as this Adam.Lucifer.Who is high and bold—Be it said passing!—of a good red clayDiscovered on some top of Lebanon,Or haply of Aornus, beyond sweepOf the black eagle's wing! A furlong lowerHad made a meeker king for Eden. Soh!Is it not possible, by sin and grief(To give the things your names) that spirits should riseInstead of falling?Adam.Most impossible.The Highest being the Holy and the Glad,Whoever rises must approach delightAnd sanctity in the act.Lucifer.Ha, my clay-king!Thou wilt not rule by wisdom very longThe after generations. Earth, methinks,Will disinherit thy philosophyFor a new doctrine suited to thine heirs,And class these present dogmas with the restOf the old-world traditions, Eden fruitsAnd Saurian fossils.Eve.Speak no more with him,Beloved! it is not good to speak with him.Go from us, Lucifer, and speak no more!We have no pardon which thou dost not scorn,Nor any bliss, thou seest, for coveting,Nor innocence for staining. Being bereft,We would be alone.—Go!Lucifer.Ah! ye talk the same,All of you—spirits and clay—go, and depart!In Heaven they said so, and at Eden's gate,And here, reiterant, in the wilderness.None saith, Stay with me, for thy face is fair!None saith, Stay with me, for thy voice is sweet!And yet I was not fashioned out of clay.Look on me, woman! Am I beautiful?Eve.Thou hast a glorious darkness.Lucifer.Nothing more?Eve.I think, no more.Lucifer.False Heart—thou thinkest more!Thou canst not choose but think, as I praise God,Unwillingly but fully, that I standMost absolute in beauty. As yourselvesWere fashioned very good at best, soweSprang very beauteous from the creant WordWhich thrilled behind us, God himself being movedWhen that august work of a perfect shape,His dignities of sovran angel-hood,Swept out into the universe,—divineWith thunderous movements, earnest looks of gods,And silver-solemn clash of cymbal wings.Whereof was I, in motion and in form,A part not poorest. And yet,—yet, perhaps,This beauty which I speak of, is not here,As God's voice is not here, nor even my crown—I do not know. What is this thought or thingWhich I call beauty? Is it thought, or thing?Is it a thought accepted for a thing?Or both? or neither?—a pretext—a word?Its meaning flutters in me like a flameUnder my own breath, my perceptions reelFor evermore around it, and fall off,As if it too were holy.Eve.Which it is.Adam.The essence of all beauty, I call love.The attribute, the evidence, and end,The consummation to the inward sense,Of beauty apprehended from without,I still call love. As form, when colourless,Is nothing to the eye,—that pine-tree there,Without its black and green, being all a blank,—So, without love, is beauty undiscernedIn man or angel. Angel! rather askWhat love is in thee, what love moves to thee,And what collateral love moves on with thee;Then shalt thou know if thou art beautiful.Lucifer.Love! what is love? I lose it. Beauty and loveI darken to the image. Beauty—love!
Eve.Hold thy wrath,Beloved Adam! let me answer him;For this time he speaks truth, which we should hear,And asks for mercy, which I most should grant,In like wise, as he tells us—in like wise!And therefore I thee pardon, Lucifer,As freely as the streams of Eden flowedWhen we were happy by them. So, depart;Leave us to walk the remnant of our timeOut mildly in the desert. Do not seekTo harm us any more or scoff at us,Or ere the dust be laid upon our face,To find there the communion of the dustAnd issue of the dust,—Go!
Adam.At once, go!
Lucifer.Forgive! and go! Ye images of clay,Shrunk somewhat in the mould,—what jest is this?What words are these to use? By what a thoughtConceive ye of me? Yesterday—a snake!To-day—what?
Adam.A strong spirit.
Eve.A sad spirit.
Adam.Perhaps a fallen angel.—Who shall say!
Lucifer.Who told thee, Adam?
Adam.Thou! The prodigyOf thy vast brows and melancholy eyesWhich comprehend the heights of some great fall.I think that thou hast one day worn a crownUnder the eyes of God.
Lucifer.And why of God?
Adam.It were no crown else. Verily, I thinkThou'rt fallen far. I had not yesterdaySaid it so surely, but I know to-dayGrief by grief, sin by sin.
Lucifer.A crown, by a crown.
Adam.Ay, mock me! now I know more than I knew:Now I know that thou art fallen below hopeOf final re-ascent.
Lucifer.Because?
Adam.BecauseA spirit who expected to see GodThough at the last point of a million years,Could dare no mockery of a ruined manSuch as this Adam.
Lucifer.Who is high and bold—Be it said passing!—of a good red clayDiscovered on some top of Lebanon,Or haply of Aornus, beyond sweepOf the black eagle's wing! A furlong lowerHad made a meeker king for Eden. Soh!Is it not possible, by sin and grief(To give the things your names) that spirits should riseInstead of falling?
Adam.Most impossible.The Highest being the Holy and the Glad,Whoever rises must approach delightAnd sanctity in the act.
Lucifer.Ha, my clay-king!Thou wilt not rule by wisdom very longThe after generations. Earth, methinks,Will disinherit thy philosophyFor a new doctrine suited to thine heirs,And class these present dogmas with the restOf the old-world traditions, Eden fruitsAnd Saurian fossils.
Eve.Speak no more with him,Beloved! it is not good to speak with him.Go from us, Lucifer, and speak no more!We have no pardon which thou dost not scorn,Nor any bliss, thou seest, for coveting,Nor innocence for staining. Being bereft,We would be alone.—Go!
Lucifer.Ah! ye talk the same,All of you—spirits and clay—go, and depart!In Heaven they said so, and at Eden's gate,And here, reiterant, in the wilderness.None saith, Stay with me, for thy face is fair!None saith, Stay with me, for thy voice is sweet!And yet I was not fashioned out of clay.Look on me, woman! Am I beautiful?
Eve.Thou hast a glorious darkness.
Lucifer.Nothing more?
Eve.I think, no more.
Lucifer.False Heart—thou thinkest more!Thou canst not choose but think, as I praise God,Unwillingly but fully, that I standMost absolute in beauty. As yourselvesWere fashioned very good at best, soweSprang very beauteous from the creant WordWhich thrilled behind us, God himself being movedWhen that august work of a perfect shape,His dignities of sovran angel-hood,Swept out into the universe,—divineWith thunderous movements, earnest looks of gods,And silver-solemn clash of cymbal wings.Whereof was I, in motion and in form,A part not poorest. And yet,—yet, perhaps,This beauty which I speak of, is not here,As God's voice is not here, nor even my crown—I do not know. What is this thought or thingWhich I call beauty? Is it thought, or thing?Is it a thought accepted for a thing?Or both? or neither?—a pretext—a word?Its meaning flutters in me like a flameUnder my own breath, my perceptions reelFor evermore around it, and fall off,As if it too were holy.
Eve.Which it is.
Adam.The essence of all beauty, I call love.The attribute, the evidence, and end,The consummation to the inward sense,Of beauty apprehended from without,I still call love. As form, when colourless,Is nothing to the eye,—that pine-tree there,Without its black and green, being all a blank,—So, without love, is beauty undiscernedIn man or angel. Angel! rather askWhat love is in thee, what love moves to thee,And what collateral love moves on with thee;Then shalt thou know if thou art beautiful.
Lucifer.Love! what is love? I lose it. Beauty and loveI darken to the image. Beauty—love!
[He fades away, while a low music sounds.
Adam.Thou art pale, Eve.Eve.The precipice of illDown this colossal nature, dizzies me:And, hark! the starry harmony remoteSeems measuring the heights from whence he fell.Adam.Think that we have not fallen so! By the hopeAnd aspiration, by the love and faith,We do exceed the stature of this angel.Eve.Happier we are than he is, by the death.Adam.Or rather, by the life of the Lord God!How dim the angel grows, as if that blastOf music swept him back into the dark.
Adam.Thou art pale, Eve.
Eve.The precipice of illDown this colossal nature, dizzies me:And, hark! the starry harmony remoteSeems measuring the heights from whence he fell.
Adam.Think that we have not fallen so! By the hopeAnd aspiration, by the love and faith,We do exceed the stature of this angel.
Eve.Happier we are than he is, by the death.
Adam.Or rather, by the life of the Lord God!How dim the angel grows, as if that blastOf music swept him back into the dark.
[The music is stronger, gathering itself into uncertain articulation
Eve.It throbs in on us like a plaintive heart,Pressing, with slow pulsations, vibrative,Its gradual sweetness through the yielding air,To such expression as the stars may use,Most starry-sweet and strange! With every noteThat grows more loud, the angel grows more dim,Receding in proportion to approach,Until he stand afar,—a shade.Adam.Now, words.
Eve.It throbs in on us like a plaintive heart,Pressing, with slow pulsations, vibrative,Its gradual sweetness through the yielding air,To such expression as the stars may use,Most starry-sweet and strange! With every noteThat grows more loud, the angel grows more dim,Receding in proportion to approach,Until he stand afar,—a shade.
Adam.Now, words.
SONG OF THE MORNING STAR TO LUCIFER.
He fades utterly away and vanishes, as it proceeds.
Mine orbèd image sinksBack from thee, back from thee,As thou art fallen, methinks,Back from me, back from me.O my light-bearer,Could another fairerLack to thee, lack to thee?Ah, ah, Heosphoros!I loved thee with the fiery love of starsWho love by burning, and by loving move,Too near the throned Jehovah not to love.Ah, ah, Heosphoros!Their brows flash fast on me from gliding cars,Pale-passioned for my loss.Ah, ah, Heosphoros!Mine orbèd heats drop coldDown from thee, down from thee,As fell thy grace of oldDown from me, down from me,O my light-bearer,Is another fairerWon to thee, won to thee?Ah, ah, Heosphoros,Great love preceded loss,Known to thee, known to thee.Ah, ah!Thou, breathing thy communicable graceOf life into my light,Mine astral faces, from thine angel face,Hast inly fed,And flooded me with radiance overmuchFrom thy pure height.Ah, ah!Thou, with calm, floating pinions both ways spread,Erect, irradiated,Didst sting my wheel of gloryOn, on before theeAlong the Godlight by a quickening touch!Ha, ha!Around, around the firmamental oceanI swam expanding with delirious fire!Around, around, around, in blind desireTo be drawn upward to the Infinite—Ha, ha!Until, the motion flinging out the motionTo a keen whirl of passion and avidity,To a dim whirl of languor and delight,I wound in gyrant orbits smooth and whiteWith that intense rapidity.Around, around,I wound and interwound,While all the cyclic heavens about me spun.Stars, planets, suns, and moons dilated broad,Then flashed together into a single sun,And wound, and wound in one:And as they wound I wound,—around, around,In a great fire I almost took for God.Ha, ha, Heosphoros!Thine angel glory sinksDown from me, down from me—My beauty falls, methinks,Down from thee, down from thee!O my light-bearer,O my path-preparer,Gone from me, gone from me!Ah, ah, Heosphoros!I cannot kindle underneath the browOf this new angel here, who is not thou.All things are altered since that time ago,—And if I shine at eve, I shall not know.I am strange—I am slow.Ah, ah, Heosphoros!Henceforward, human eyes of lovers beThe only sweetest sight that I shall see,With tears between the looks raised up to me.Ah, ah!When, having wept all night, at break of dayAbove the folded hills they shall surveyMy light, a little trembling, in the grey.Ah, ah!And gazing on me, such shall comprehend,Through all my piteous pomp at morn or evenAnd melancholy leaning out of heaven,That love, their own divine, may change or end,That love may close in loss!Ah, ah, Heosphoros!
Mine orbèd image sinksBack from thee, back from thee,As thou art fallen, methinks,Back from me, back from me.O my light-bearer,Could another fairerLack to thee, lack to thee?Ah, ah, Heosphoros!I loved thee with the fiery love of starsWho love by burning, and by loving move,Too near the throned Jehovah not to love.Ah, ah, Heosphoros!Their brows flash fast on me from gliding cars,Pale-passioned for my loss.Ah, ah, Heosphoros!
Mine orbèd heats drop coldDown from thee, down from thee,As fell thy grace of oldDown from me, down from me,O my light-bearer,Is another fairerWon to thee, won to thee?Ah, ah, Heosphoros,Great love preceded loss,Known to thee, known to thee.Ah, ah!Thou, breathing thy communicable graceOf life into my light,Mine astral faces, from thine angel face,Hast inly fed,And flooded me with radiance overmuchFrom thy pure height.Ah, ah!Thou, with calm, floating pinions both ways spread,Erect, irradiated,Didst sting my wheel of gloryOn, on before theeAlong the Godlight by a quickening touch!Ha, ha!Around, around the firmamental oceanI swam expanding with delirious fire!Around, around, around, in blind desireTo be drawn upward to the Infinite—Ha, ha!
Until, the motion flinging out the motionTo a keen whirl of passion and avidity,To a dim whirl of languor and delight,I wound in gyrant orbits smooth and whiteWith that intense rapidity.Around, around,I wound and interwound,While all the cyclic heavens about me spun.Stars, planets, suns, and moons dilated broad,Then flashed together into a single sun,And wound, and wound in one:And as they wound I wound,—around, around,In a great fire I almost took for God.Ha, ha, Heosphoros!
Thine angel glory sinksDown from me, down from me—My beauty falls, methinks,Down from thee, down from thee!O my light-bearer,O my path-preparer,Gone from me, gone from me!Ah, ah, Heosphoros!I cannot kindle underneath the browOf this new angel here, who is not thou.All things are altered since that time ago,—And if I shine at eve, I shall not know.I am strange—I am slow.Ah, ah, Heosphoros!Henceforward, human eyes of lovers beThe only sweetest sight that I shall see,With tears between the looks raised up to me.Ah, ah!When, having wept all night, at break of dayAbove the folded hills they shall surveyMy light, a little trembling, in the grey.Ah, ah!And gazing on me, such shall comprehend,Through all my piteous pomp at morn or evenAnd melancholy leaning out of heaven,That love, their own divine, may change or end,That love may close in loss!Ah, ah, Heosphoros!
Scene.—Farther on. A wild open country seen vaguely in the approaching night.
Adam.How doth the wide and melancholy earthGather her hills around us, grey and ghast,And stare with blank significance of lossRight in our faces! Is the wind up?Eve.Nay.Adam.And yet the cedars and the junipersRock slowly through the mist, without a sound,And shapes which have no certainty of shapeDrift duskly in and out between the pines,And loom along the edges of the hills,And lie flat, curdling in the open ground—Shadows without a body, which contractAnd lengthen as we gaze on them.Eve.O lifeWhich is not man's nor angel's! What is this?Adam.No cause for fear. The circle of God's lifeContains all life beside.Eve.I think the earthIs crazed with curse, and wanders from the senseOf those first laws affixed to form and spaceOr ever she knew sin.Adam.We will not fear;We were brave sinning.Eve.Yea, I plucked the fruitWith eyes upturned to heaven and seeing thereOur god-thrones, as the tempter said,—not GOD.My heart, which beat then, sinks. The sun hath sunkOut of sight with our Eden.Adam.Night is near.Eve.And God's curse, nearest. Let us travel backAnd stand within the sword-glare till we die,Believing it is better to meet deathThan suffer desolation.Adam.Nay, beloved!We must not pluck death from the Maker's hand,As erst we plucked the apple: we must waitUntil he gives death as he gave us life,Nor murmur faintly o'er the primal giftBecause we spoilt its sweetness with our sin.Eve.Ah, ah! dost thou discern what I behold?Adam.I see all. How the spirits in thine eyesFrom their dilated orbits bound beforeTo meet the spectral Dread!Eve.I am afraid—Ah, ah! the twilight bristles wild with shapesOf intermittent motion, aspect vagueAnd mystic bearings, which o'ercreep the earth,Keeping slow time with horrors in the blood.How near they reach ... and far! How grey they move—Treading upon the darkness without feet,And fluttering on the darkness without wings!Some run like dogs, with noses to the ground;Some keep one path, like sheep; some rock like trees;Some glide like a fallen leaf, and some flow onCopious as rivers.Adam.Some spring up like fire;And some coil ...Eve.Ah, ah! dost thou pause to sayLike what?—coil like the serpent, when he fellFrom all the emerald splendour of his heightAnd writhed, and could not climb against the curse,Not a ring's length. I am afraid—afraid—I think it is God's will to make me afraid,—Permittingtheseto haunt us in the placeOf his belovèd angels—gone from usBecause we are not pure. Dear Pity of God,That didst permit the angels to go homeAnd live no more with us who are not pure,Saveustoo from a loathly company—Almost as loathly in our eyes, perhaps,Asweare in the purest! Pity us—Us too! nor shut us in the dark, awayFrom verity and from stability,Or what we name such through the precedenceOf earth's adjusted uses,—leave us notTo doubt betwixt our senses and our souls,Which are the more distraught and full of painAnd weak of apprehension!Adam.Courage, Sweet!The mystic shapes ebb back from us, and dropWith slow concentric movement, each on each,—Expressing wider spaces,—and collapsedIn lines more definite for imageryAnd clearer for relation, till the throngOf shapeless spectra merge into a fewDistinguishable phantasms vague and grandWhich sweep out and around us vastilyAnd hold us in a circle and a calm.Eve.Strange phantasms of pale shadow! there are twelve.Thou who didst name all lives, hast names for these?Adam.Methinks this is the zodiac of the earth,Which rounds us with a visionary dread,Responding with twelve shadowy signs of earth,In fantasque apposition and approach,To those celestial, constellated twelveWhich palpitate adown the silent nightsUnder the pressure of the hand of GodStretched wide in benediction. At this hour,Not a star pricketh the flat gloom of heaven:But, girdling close our nether wilderness,The zodiac-figures of the earth loom slow,—Drawn out, as suiteth with the place and time,In twelve colossal shades instead of stars,Through which the ecliptic line of mysteryStrikes bleakly with an unrelenting scope,Foreshowing life and death.Eve.By dream or sense,Do we see this?Adam.Our spirits have climbed highBy reason of the passion of our grief,And, from the top of sense, looked over senseTo the significance and heart of thingsRather than things themselves.Eve.And the dim twelve....Adam.Are dim exponents of the creature-lifeAs earth contains it. Gaze on them, beloved!By stricter apprehension of the sight,Suggestions of the creatures shall assuageThe terror of the shadows,—what is knownSubduing the unknown and taming itFrom all prodigious dread. That phantasm, there,Presents a lion, albeit twenty timesAs large as any lion—with a roarSet soundless in his vibratory jaws,And a strange horror stirring in his mane.And, there, a pendulous shadow seems to weigh—Good against ill, perchance; and there, a crabPuts coldly out its gradual shadow-claws,Like a slow blot that spreads,—till all the ground,Crawled over by it, seems to crawl itself.A bull stands hornèd here with gibbous glooms;And a ram likewise: and a scorpion writhesIts tail in ghastly slime and stings the dark.This way a goat leaps with wild blank of beard;And here, fantastic fishes duskly float,Using the calm for waters, while their finsThrob out quick rhythms along the shallow air.While images more human——Eve.How he stands,That phantasm of a man—who is notthou!Two phantasms of two men!Adam.One that sustains,And one that strives,—resuming, so, the endsOf manhood's curse of labour.[B]Dost thou seeThat phantasm of a woman?Eve.I have seen;But look off to those small humanities[C]Which draw me tenderly across my fear,—Lesser and fainter than my womanhood,Or yet thy manhood—with strange innocenceSet in the misty lines of head and hand.They lean together! I would gaze on themLonger and longer, till my watching eyes,As the stars do in watching anything,Should light them forward from their outline vagueTo clear configuration.
Adam.How doth the wide and melancholy earthGather her hills around us, grey and ghast,And stare with blank significance of lossRight in our faces! Is the wind up?
Eve.Nay.
Adam.And yet the cedars and the junipersRock slowly through the mist, without a sound,And shapes which have no certainty of shapeDrift duskly in and out between the pines,And loom along the edges of the hills,And lie flat, curdling in the open ground—Shadows without a body, which contractAnd lengthen as we gaze on them.
Eve.O lifeWhich is not man's nor angel's! What is this?
Adam.No cause for fear. The circle of God's lifeContains all life beside.
Eve.I think the earthIs crazed with curse, and wanders from the senseOf those first laws affixed to form and spaceOr ever she knew sin.
Adam.We will not fear;We were brave sinning.
Eve.Yea, I plucked the fruitWith eyes upturned to heaven and seeing thereOur god-thrones, as the tempter said,—not GOD.My heart, which beat then, sinks. The sun hath sunkOut of sight with our Eden.
Adam.Night is near.
Eve.And God's curse, nearest. Let us travel backAnd stand within the sword-glare till we die,Believing it is better to meet deathThan suffer desolation.
Adam.Nay, beloved!We must not pluck death from the Maker's hand,As erst we plucked the apple: we must waitUntil he gives death as he gave us life,Nor murmur faintly o'er the primal giftBecause we spoilt its sweetness with our sin.
Eve.Ah, ah! dost thou discern what I behold?
Adam.I see all. How the spirits in thine eyesFrom their dilated orbits bound beforeTo meet the spectral Dread!
Eve.I am afraid—Ah, ah! the twilight bristles wild with shapesOf intermittent motion, aspect vagueAnd mystic bearings, which o'ercreep the earth,Keeping slow time with horrors in the blood.How near they reach ... and far! How grey they move—Treading upon the darkness without feet,And fluttering on the darkness without wings!Some run like dogs, with noses to the ground;Some keep one path, like sheep; some rock like trees;Some glide like a fallen leaf, and some flow onCopious as rivers.
Adam.Some spring up like fire;And some coil ...
Eve.Ah, ah! dost thou pause to sayLike what?—coil like the serpent, when he fellFrom all the emerald splendour of his heightAnd writhed, and could not climb against the curse,Not a ring's length. I am afraid—afraid—I think it is God's will to make me afraid,—Permittingtheseto haunt us in the placeOf his belovèd angels—gone from usBecause we are not pure. Dear Pity of God,That didst permit the angels to go homeAnd live no more with us who are not pure,Saveustoo from a loathly company—Almost as loathly in our eyes, perhaps,Asweare in the purest! Pity us—Us too! nor shut us in the dark, awayFrom verity and from stability,Or what we name such through the precedenceOf earth's adjusted uses,—leave us notTo doubt betwixt our senses and our souls,Which are the more distraught and full of painAnd weak of apprehension!
Adam.Courage, Sweet!The mystic shapes ebb back from us, and dropWith slow concentric movement, each on each,—Expressing wider spaces,—and collapsedIn lines more definite for imageryAnd clearer for relation, till the throngOf shapeless spectra merge into a fewDistinguishable phantasms vague and grandWhich sweep out and around us vastilyAnd hold us in a circle and a calm.
Eve.Strange phantasms of pale shadow! there are twelve.Thou who didst name all lives, hast names for these?
Adam.Methinks this is the zodiac of the earth,Which rounds us with a visionary dread,Responding with twelve shadowy signs of earth,In fantasque apposition and approach,To those celestial, constellated twelveWhich palpitate adown the silent nightsUnder the pressure of the hand of GodStretched wide in benediction. At this hour,Not a star pricketh the flat gloom of heaven:But, girdling close our nether wilderness,The zodiac-figures of the earth loom slow,—Drawn out, as suiteth with the place and time,In twelve colossal shades instead of stars,Through which the ecliptic line of mysteryStrikes bleakly with an unrelenting scope,Foreshowing life and death.
Eve.By dream or sense,Do we see this?
Adam.Our spirits have climbed highBy reason of the passion of our grief,And, from the top of sense, looked over senseTo the significance and heart of thingsRather than things themselves.
Eve.And the dim twelve....
Adam.Are dim exponents of the creature-lifeAs earth contains it. Gaze on them, beloved!By stricter apprehension of the sight,Suggestions of the creatures shall assuageThe terror of the shadows,—what is knownSubduing the unknown and taming itFrom all prodigious dread. That phantasm, there,Presents a lion, albeit twenty timesAs large as any lion—with a roarSet soundless in his vibratory jaws,And a strange horror stirring in his mane.And, there, a pendulous shadow seems to weigh—Good against ill, perchance; and there, a crabPuts coldly out its gradual shadow-claws,Like a slow blot that spreads,—till all the ground,Crawled over by it, seems to crawl itself.A bull stands hornèd here with gibbous glooms;And a ram likewise: and a scorpion writhesIts tail in ghastly slime and stings the dark.This way a goat leaps with wild blank of beard;And here, fantastic fishes duskly float,Using the calm for waters, while their finsThrob out quick rhythms along the shallow air.While images more human——
Eve.How he stands,That phantasm of a man—who is notthou!Two phantasms of two men!
Adam.One that sustains,And one that strives,—resuming, so, the endsOf manhood's curse of labour.[B]Dost thou seeThat phantasm of a woman?
Eve.I have seen;But look off to those small humanities[C]Which draw me tenderly across my fear,—Lesser and fainter than my womanhood,Or yet thy manhood—with strange innocenceSet in the misty lines of head and hand.They lean together! I would gaze on themLonger and longer, till my watching eyes,As the stars do in watching anything,Should light them forward from their outline vagueTo clear configuration.
[TwoSpirits,of Organic and Inorganic Nature, arise from the ground.