free-verse2635 lines

A Story Of Doom.

by Jean Ingelow

BOOK I.

Niloiya said to Noah, "What aileth thee,

My master, unto whom is my desire,

The father of my sons?" He answered her,

"Mother of many children, I have heard

The Voice again." "Ah, me!" she saith, "ah, me!

What spake it?" and with that Niloiya sighed.

This when the Master-builder heard, his heart

Was sad in him, the while he sat at home

And rested after toil. The steady rap

O' the shipwright's hammer sounding up the vale

Did seem to mock him; but her distaff down

Niloiya laid, and to the doorplace went,

Parted the purple covering seemly hung

Before it, and let in the crimson light

Of the descending sun. Then looked he forth, -

Looked, and beheld the hollow where the ark

Was a-preparing; where the dew distilled

All night from leaves of old lign aloe-trees,

Upon the gliding river; where the palm,

The almug, and the gophir shot their heads

Into the crimson brede that dyed the world:

And lo! he marked - unwieldy, dark, and huge - The

ship, his glory and his grief, - too vast

For that still river's floating, - building far

From mightier streams, amid the pastoral dells

Of shepherd kings.

Niloiya spake again:

"What said the Voice, thou well-beloved man?"

He, laboring with his thought that troubled him,

Spoke on behalf of God: "Behold," said he,

"A little handful of unlovely dust

He fashioned to a lordly grace, and when

He laughed upon its beauty, it waxed warm,

And with His breath awoke a living soul.

"Shall not the Fashioner command His work?

And who am I, that, if He whisper, 'Rise,

Go forth upon Mine errand,' should reply,

'Lord, God, I love the woman and her sons, - I

love not scorning: I beseech Thee, God,

Have me excused.'"

She answered him, "Tell on."

And he continuing, reasoned with his soul:

"What though I, - like some goodly lama sunk

In meadow grass, eating her way at ease,

Unseen of them that pass, and asking not

A wider prospect than of yellow-flowers

That nod above her head, - should lay me down,

And willingly forget this high behest,

There should be yet no tarrying. Furthermore,

Though I went forth to cry against the doom,

Earth crieth louder, and she draws it down:

It hangeth balanced over us; she crieth,

And it shall fall. O! as for me, my life

Is bitter, looking onward, for I know

That in the fulness of the time shall dawn

That day: my preaching shall not bring forth fruit,

Though for its sake I leave thee. I shall float

Upon the abhorr'd sea, that mankind hate,

With thee and thine."

She answered: "God forbid!

For, sir, though men be evil, yet the deep

They dread, and at the last will surely turn

To Him, and He long-suffering will forgive.

And chide the waters back to their abyss,

To cover the pits where doleful creatures feed.

Sir, I am much afraid: I would not hear

Of riding on the waters: look you, sir,

Better it were to die with you by hand

Of them that hate us, than to live, ah me!

Rolling among the furrows of the unquiet,

Unconsecrate, unfriendly, dreadful sea."

He saith again: "I pray thee, woman, peace,

For thou wilt enter, when that day appears,

The fateful ship."

"My lord," quoth she, "I will.

But O, good sir, be sure of this, be sure

The Master calleth; for the time is long

That thou hast warned the world: thou art but here

Three days; the song of welcoming but now

Is ended. I behold thee, I am glad;

And wilt thou go again? Husband, I say,

Be sure who 't is that calleth; O, be sure,

Be sure. My mother's ghost came up last night,

Whilst I thy beard, held in my hands did kiss,

Leaning anear thee, wakeful through my love,

And watchful of thee till the moon went down.

"She never loved me since I went with thee

To sacrifice among the hills: she smelt

The holy smoke, and could no more divine

Till the new moon. I saw her ghost come up;

It had a snake with a red comb of fire

Twisted about its waist, - the doggish head

Lolled on its shoulder, and so leered at me.

'This woman might be wiser,' quoth the ghost;

'Shall there be husbands for her found below,

When she comes down to us? O, fool! O, fool!

She must not let her man go forth, to leave

Her desolate, and reap the whole world's scorn,

A harvest for himself.' With that they passed."

He said, "My crystal drop of perfectness,

I pity thee; it was an evil ghost:

Thou wilt not heed the counsel?" "I will not,"

Quoth she; "I am loyal to the Highest. Him

I hold by even as thou, and deem Him best.

Sir, am I fairer than when last we met?"

"God add," said he, "unto thy much yet more,

As I do think thou art." "And think you, sir,"

Niloiya saith, "that I have reached the prime?"

He answering, "Nay, not yet." "I would 't were so,"

She plaineth, "for the daughters mock at me:

Her locks forbear to grow, they say, so sore

She pineth for the master. Look you, sir,

They reach but to the knee. But thou art come,

And all goes merrier. Eat, my lord, of all

My supper that I set, and afterward

Tell me, I pray thee, somewhat of thy way;

Else shall I be despised as Adam was,

Who compassed not the learning of his sons,

But, grave and silent, oft would lower his head

And ponder, following of great Isha's feet,

When she would walk with her fair brow upraised,

Scorning the children that she bare to him."

"Ay," quoth the Master; "but they did amiss

When they despised their father: knowest thou that?"

"Sure he was foolisher," Niloiya saith,

"Than any that came after. Furthermore,

He had not heart nor courage for to rule:

He let the mastery fall from his slack hand.

Had not our glorious mother still borne up

His weakness, chid with him, and sat apart,

And listened, when the fit came over him

To talk on his lost garden, he had sunk

Into the slave of slaves."

"Nay, thou must think

How he had dwelt long, God's loved husbandman,

And looked in hope among the tribes for one

To be his fellow, ere great Isha, once

Waking, he found at his left side, and knew

The deep delight of speech." So Noah, and thus

Added, "And therefore was his loss the more;

For though the creatures he had singled out

His favorites, dared for him the fiery sword

And followed after him, - shall bleat of lamb

Console one for the foregone talk of God?

Or in the afternoon, his faithful dog,

Fawning upon him, make his heart forget

At such a time, and such a time, to have heard

What he shall hear no more?

"O, as for him,

It was for this that he full oft would stop,

And, lost in thought, stand and revolve that deed,

Sad muttering, Woman! we reproach thee not;

Though thou didst eat mine immortality;

Earth, be not sorry; I was free to choose.

Wonder not, therefore, if he walked forlorn.

Was not the helpmeet given to raise him up

From his contentment with the lower things?

Was she not somewhat that he could not rule

Beyond the action, that he could not have

By the mere holding, and that still aspired

And drew him after her? So, when deceived

She fell by great desire to rise, he fell

By loss of upward drawing, when she took

An evil tongue to be her counsellor:

'Death is not as the death of lower things,

Rather a glorious change, begrudged of Heaven,

A change to being as gods,' - he from her hand,

Upon reflection, took of death that hour,

And ate it (not the death that she had dared);

He ate it knowing. Then divisions came.

She, like a spirit strayed who lost the way,

Too venturesome, among the farther stars,

And hardly cares, because it hardly hopes

To find the path to heaven; in bitter wise

Did bear to him degenerate seed, and he,

Once having felt her upward drawing, longed,

And yet aspired, and yearned to be restored,

Albeit she drew no more."

"Sir, ye speak well,"

Niloiya saith, "but yet the mother sits

Higher than Adam. He did understand

Discourse of birds and all four-footed things,

But she had knowledge of the many tribes

Of angels and their tongues; their playful ways

And greetings when they met. Was she not wise?

They say she knew much that she never told,

And had a voice that called to her as thou."

"Nay," quoth the Master-shipwright, "who am I

That I should answer? As for me, poor man,

Here is my trouble: 'if there be a Voice,'

At first I cried, 'let me behold the mouth

That uttereth it,' Thereon it held its peace.

But afterward, I, journeying up the hills,

Did hear it hollower than an echo fallen

Across some clear abyss; and I did stop,

And ask of all my company, 'What cheer?

If there be spirits abroad that call to us,

Sirs, hold your peace and hear,' So they gave heed,

And one man said, 'It is the small ground-doves

That peck upon the stony hillocks': one,

'It is the mammoth in yon cedar swamp

That cheweth in his dream': and one, 'My lord,

It is the ghost of him that yesternight

We slew, because he grudged to yield his wife

To thy great father, when he peaceably

Did send to take her,' Then I answered, 'Pass,'

And they went on; and I did lay mine ear

Close to the earth; but there came up therefrom

No sound, nor any speech; I waited long.

And in the saying, 'I will mount my beast

And on,' I was as one that in a trance

Beholdeth what is coming, and I saw

Great waters and a ship; and somewhat spake,

'Lo, this shall be; let him that heareth it,

And seeth it, go forth to warn his kind,

For I will drown the world,'"

Niloiya saith,

"Sir, was that all that ye went forth upon?"

The master, he replieth, "Ay, at first,

That same was all; but many days went by,

While I did reason with my heart and hope

For more, and struggle to remain, and think.

'Let me be certain'; and so think again,

'The counsel is but dark; would I had more!

When I have more to guide me, I will go,'

And afterward, when reasoned on too much,

It seemed remoter, then I only said,

'O, would I had the same again'; and still

I had it not.

"Then at the last I cried,

'If the unseen be silent, I will speak

And certify my meaning to myself.

Say that He spoke, then He will make that good

Which He hath spoken. Therefore it were best

To go, and do His bidding. All the earth

Shall hear the judgment so, and none may cry

When the doom falls, "Thou God art hard on us;

We knew not Thou wert angry. O! we are lost,

Only for lack of being warned."

"'But say

That He spoke not, and merely it befell

That I being weary had a dream. Why, so

He could not suffer damage; when the time

Was past, and that I threatened had not come,

Men would cry out on me, haply me kill,

For troubling their content. They would not swear,

"God, that did send this man, is proved untrue,"

But rather, "Let him die; he lied to us;

God never sent him." Only Thou, great King,

Knowest if Thou didst speak or no. I leave

The matter here. If Thou wilt speak again,

I go in gladness; if Thou wilt not speak,

Nay, if Thou never didst, I not the less

Shall go, because I have believed, what time

I seemed to hear Thee, and the going stands

With memory of believing,' Then I washed,

And did array me in the sacred gown,

And take a lamb."

"Ay, sir," Niloiya sighed,

"I following, and I knew not anything

Till, the young lamb asleep in thy two arms,

We, moving up among the silent hills,

Paused in a grove to rest; and many slaves

Came near to make obeisance, and to bring

Wood for the sacrifice, and turf and fire.

Then in their hearing thou didst say to me,

'Behold, I know thy good fidelity,

And theirs that are about us; they would guard

The mountain passes, if it were my will

Awhile to leave thee'; and the pygmies laughed

For joy, that thou wouldst trust inferior things;

And put their heads down, as their manner is,

To touch our feet. They laughed, but sore I wept;

Sir, I could weep now; ye did ill to go

If that was all your bidding; I had thought

God drave thee, and thou couldst not choose but go."

Then said the son of Lamech, "Afterward,

When I had left thee, He whom I had served

Met with me in the visions of the night,

To comfort me for that I had withdrawn

From thy dear company. He sware to me

That no man should molest thee, no, nor touch

The bordering of mine outmost field. I say,

When I obeyed, He made His matters plain.

With whom could I have left thee, but with them,

Born in thy mother's house, and bound thy slaves?"

She said, "I love not pygmies; they are naught."

And he, "Who made them pygmies?" Then she pushed

Her veiling hair back from her round, soft eyes,

And answered, wondering, "Sir, my mothers did,

Ye know it." And he drew her near to sit

Beside him on the settle, answering, "Ay."

And they went on to talk as writ below,

If any one shall read:

"Thy mother did,

And they that went before her. Thinkest thou

That they did well?"

"They had been overcome;

And when the angered conquerors drave them out,

Behoved them find some other way to rule, -

They did but use their wits. Hath not man aye

Been cunning in dominion, among beasts

To breed for size or swiftness, or for sake

Of the white wool he loveth, at his choice?

What harm if coveting a race of men

That could but serve, they sought among their thralls,

Such as were low of stature, men and maids;

Ay, and of feeble will and quiet mind?

Did they not spend much gear to gather out

Such as I tell of, and for matching them

One with another for a thousand years?

What harm, then, if there came of it a race,

Inferior in their wits, and in their size,

And well content to serve?"

"'What harm?' thou sayest.

My wife doth ask, 'What harm? '"

"Your pardon, sir.

I do remember that there came one day,

Two of the grave old angels that God made,

When first He invented life (right old they were,

And plain, and venerable); and they said,

Rebuking of my mother as with hers

She sat, 'Ye do not well, you wives of men,

To match your wit against the Maker's will,

And for your benefit to lower the stamp

Of His fair image, which He set at first

Upon man's goodly frame; ye do not well

To treat his likeness even as ye treat

The bird and beast that perish.'"

"Said they aught

To appease the ancients, or to speak them fair?"

"How know I? 'T was a slave that told it me.

My mother was full old when I was born,

And that was in her youth. What think you, sir?

Did not the giants likewise ill?"

"To that

I have no answer ready. If a man,

When each one is against his fellow, rule,

Or unmolested dwell, or unreproved,

Because, for size and strength, he standeth first,

He will thereof be glad; and if he say,

'I will to wife choose me a stately maid,

And leave a goodly offspring'; 'sooth, I think,

He sinneth not; for good to him and his

He would be strong and great. Thy people's fault

Was, that for ill to others, they did plot

To make them weak and small."

"But yet they steal

Or take in war the strongest maids, and such

As are of highest stature; ay, and oft

They fight among themselves for that same cause.

And they are proud against the King of heaven:

They hope in course of ages they shall come

To be as strong as He."

The Master said,

"I will not hear thee talk thereof; my heart

Is sick for all this wicked world. Fair wife,

I am right weary. Call thy slaves to thee,

And bid that they prepare the sleeping place.

O would that I might rest! I fain would rest,

And, no more wandering, tell a thankless world

My never-heeded tale!"

With that she called.

The moon was up, and some few stars were out,

While heavy at the heart he walked abroad

To meditate before his sleep. And yet

Niloiya pondered, "Shall my master go?

And will my master go? What 'vaileth it,

That he doth spend himself, over the waste

A wandering, till he reach outlandish folk,

That mock his warning? O, what 'vaileth it,

That he doth lavish wealth to build yon ark,

Whereat the daughters, when they eat with me,

Laugh? O my heart! I would the Voice were stilled.

Is not he happy? Who, of all the earth,

Obeyed like to me? Have not I learned

From his dear mouth to utter seemly words,

And lay the powers my mother gave me by?

Have I made offerings to the dragon? Nay,

And I am faithful, when he leaveth me

Lonely betwixt the peak'd mountain tops

In this long valley, where no stranger foot

Can come without my will. He shall not go.

Not yet, not yet! But three days - only three -

Beside me, and a muttering on the third,

'I have heard the Voice again.' Be dull, O dull,

Mind and remembrance! Mother, ye did ill;

'T is hard unlawful knowledge not to use.

Why, O dark mother! opened ye the way?"

Yet when he entered, and did lay aside

His costly robe of sacrifice, the robe

Wherein he had been offering, ere the sun

Went down; forgetful of her mother's craft,

She lovely and submiss did mourn to him:

"Thou wilt not go, - I pray thee, do not go,

Till thou hast seen thy children." And he said,

"I will not. I have cried, and have prevailed:

To-morrow it is given me by the Voice

Upon a four days' journey to proceed,

And follow down the river, till its waves

Are swallowed in the sand, where no flesh dwells.

"'There,' quoth the Unrevealed, 'we shall meet,

And I will counsel thee; and thou shalt turn

And rest thee with the mother, and with them

She bare.' Now, therefore, when the morn appears,

Thou fairest among women, call thy slaves,

And bid them yoke the steers, and spread thy car

With robes, the choicest work of cunning hands;

Array thee in thy rich apparel, deck

Thy locks with gold; and while the hollow vale

I thread beside yon river, go thou forth

Atween the mountains to my father's house,

And let thy slaves make all obeisance due,

And take and lay an offering at his feet.

Then light, and cry to him, 'Great king, the son

Of old Methuselah, thy son hath sent

To fetch the growing maids, his children, home.'"

"Sir," quoth the woman, "I will do this thing,

So thou keep faith with me, and yet return.

But will the Voice, think you, forbear to chide,

Nor that Unseen, who calleth, buffet thee,

And drive thee on?"

He saith, "It will keep faith.

Fear not. I have prevailed, for I besought,

And lovingly it answered. I shall rest,

And dwell with thee till after my three sons

Come from the chase." She said, "I let them forth

In fear, for they are young. Their slaves are few.

The giant elephants be cunning folk;

They lie in ambush, and will draw men on

To follow, - then will turn and tread them down."

"Thy father's house unwisely planned," said he,

"To drive them down upon the growing corn

Of them that were their foes; for now, behold,

They suffer while the unwieldy beasts delay

Retirement to their lands, and, meanwhile, pound

The damp, deep meadows, to a pulpy mash;

Or wallowing in the waters foul them; nay,

Tread down the banks, and let them forth to flood

Their cities; or, assailed and falling, shake

The walls, and taint the wind, ere thirty men,

Over the hairy terror piling stones

Or earth, prevail to cover it."

She said,

"Husband, I have been sorry, thinking oft

I would my sons were home; but now so well

Methinks it is with me, that I am fain

To wish they might delay, for thou wilt dwell

With me till after they return, and thou

Hast set thine eyes upon them. Then, - ah, me!

I must sit joyless in my place; bereft,

As trees that suddenly have dropped their leaves,

And dark as nights that have no moon."

She spake:

The hope o' the world did hearken, but reply

Made none. He left his hand on her fair locks

As she lay sobbing; and the quietness

Of night began to comfort her, the fall

Of far-off waters, and the wing'd wind

That went among the trees. The patient hand,

Moreover, that was steady, wrought with her,

Until she said, "What wilt thou? Nay, I know.

I therefore answer what thou utterest not.

Thou lovest me well, and not for thine own will

Consentest to depart. What more? Ay, this:

I do avow that He which calleth thee,

Hath right to call; and I do swear, the Voice

Shall have no let of me, to do Its will."

BOOK II

Now ere the sunrise, while the morning star

Hung yet behind the pine bough, woke and prayed

The world's great shipwright, and his soul was glad

Because the Voice was favorable. Now

Began the tap o' the hammer, now ran forth

The slaves preparing food. They therefore ate

In peace together; then Niloiya forth

Behind the milk-white steers went on her way;

And the great Master-builder, down the course

Of the long river, on his errand sped,

And as he went, he thought:

[They do not well

Who, walking up a trodden path, all smooth

With footsteps of their fellows, and made straight

From town to town, will scorn at them that worm

Under the covert of God's eldest trees

(Such as He planted with His hand, and fed

With dew before rain fell, till they stood close

And awful; drank the light up as it dropt,

And kept the dusk of ages at their roots);

They do not well who mock at such, and cry,

"We peaceably, without or fault or fear,

Proceed, and miss not of our end; but these

Are slow and fearful: with uncertain pace,

And ever reasoning of the way, they oft,

After all reasoning, choose the worser course,

And plunged in swamp, or in the matted growth

Nigh smothered struggle, all to reach a goal

Not worth their pains." Nor do they well whose work

Is still to feed and shelter them and theirs,

Get gain, and gathered store it, to think scorn

Of those who work for a world (no wages paid

By a Master hid in light), and sent alone

To face a laughing multitude, whose eyes

Are full of damaging pity, that forbears

To tell the harmless laborer, "Thou art mad."]

And as he went, he thought: "They counsel me,

Ay, with a kind of reason in their talk,

'Consider; call thy soberer thought to aid;

Why to but one man should a message come?

And why, if but to one, to thee? Art thou

Above us, greater, wiser? Had He sent,

He had willed that we should heed. Then since He knoweth

That such as thou, a wise man cannot heed,

He did not send.' My answer, 'Great and wise,

If He had sent with thunder, and a voice

Leaping from heaven, ye must have heard; but so

Ye had been robbed of choice, and, like the beasts,

Yoked to obedience. God makes no men slaves,'

They tell me, 'God is great above thy thought:

He meddles not: and this small world is ours,

These many hundred years we govern it;

Old Adam, after Eden, saw Him not.'

Then I, 'It may be He is gone to knead

More clay. But look, my masters; one of you

Going to warfare, layeth up his gown,

His sickle, or his gold, and thinks no more

Upon it, till young trees have waxen great;

At last, when he returneth, he will seek

His own. And God, shall He not do the like?

And having set new worlds a-rolling, come

And say, "I will betake Me to the earth

That I did make": and having found it vile,

Be sorry. Why should man be free, you wise,

And not the Master?' Then they answer, 'Fool!

A man shall cast a stone into the air

For pastime, or for lack of heed, - but He!

Will He come fingering of His ended work,

Fright it with His approaching face, or snatch

One day the rolling wonder from its ring,

And hold it quivering, as a wanton child

Might take a nestling from its downy bed,

And having satisfied a careless wish,

Go thrust it back into its place again?'

To such I answer, and, that doubt once mine,

I am assured that I do speak aright:

'Sirs, the significance of this your doubt

Lies in the reason of it; ye do grudge

That these your lands should have another Lord;

Ye are not loyal, therefore ye would fain

Your King would bide afar. But if ye looked

For countenance and favor when He came,

Knowing yourselves right worthy, would ye care,

With cautious reasoning, deep and hard, to prove

That He would never come, and would your wrath

Be hot against a prophet? Nay, I wot

That as a flatterer you would look on him, -

Full of sweet words thy mouth is: if He come, -

We think not that He will, - but if He come,

Would it might be to-morrow, or to-night,

Because we look for praise.'"

Now, as he went,

The noontide heats came on, and he grew faint;

But while he sat below an almug-tree,

A slave approached with greeting. "Master, hail!"

He answered, "Hail! what wilt thou?" Then she said,

"The palace of thy fathers standeth nigh."

"I know it," quoth he; and she said again,

"The Elder, learning thou wouldst pass, hath sent

To fetch thee"; then he rose and followed her.

So first they walked beneath a lofty roof

Of living bough and tendril, woven on high

To let no drop of sunshine through, and hung

With gold and purple fruitage, and the white

Thick cups of scented blossom. Underneath,

Soft grew the sward and delicate, and flocks

Of egrets, ay, and many cranes, stood up.

Fanning their wings, to agitate and cool

The noonday air, as men with heed and pains

Had taught them, marshalling and taming them

To bear the wind in, on their moving wings.

So long time as a nimble slave would spend

In milking of her cow, they walked at ease;

Then reached the palace, all of forest trunks,

Brought whole, and set together, made. Therein

Had dwelt old Adam, when his mighty sons

Had finished it, and up to Eden gate

Had journeyed for to fetch him. "Here," they said

"Mother and father, ye may dwell, and here

Forget the garden wholly."

So he came

Under the doorplace, and the women sat,

Each with her finger on her lips; but he,

Having been called, went on, until he reached

The jewelled settle, wrought with cunning work

Of gold and ivory, whereon they wont

To set the Elder. All with sleekest skins,

That striped and spotted creatures of the wood

Had worn, the seat was covered, but thereon

The Elder was not; by the steps thereof,

Upon the floor, whereto his silver beard

Did reach, he sat, and he was in his trance.

Upon the settle many doves were perched,

That set the air a going with their wings:

These opposite, the world's great shipwright stood

To wait the burden; and the Elder spake:

"Will He forget me? Would He might forget!

Old, old! The hope of old Methuselah

Is all in His forgetfulness." With that,

A slave-girl took a cup of wine, and crept

Anear him, saying, "Taste"; and when his lips

Had touched it, lo, he trembled, and he cried,

"Behold, I prophesy."

Then straight they fled

That were about him, and did stand apart

And stop their ears. For he, from time to time,

Was plagued with that same fate to prophesy,

And spake against himself, against his day

And time, in words that all men did abhor.

Therefore, he warning them what time the fit

Came on him, saved them, that they heard it not

So while they fled, he cried: "I saw the God

Reach out of heaven His wonderful right hand.

Lo, lo! He dipped it in the unquiet sea,

And in its curved palm behold the ark,

As in a vast calm lake, came floating on.

Ay, then, His other hand - the cursing hand -

He took and spread between us and the sun.

And all was black; the day was blotted out,

And horrible staggering took the frighted earth.

I heard the water hiss, and then methinks

The crack as of her splitting. Did she take

Their palaces that are my brothers dear,

And huddle them with all their ancientry

Under into her breast? If it was black,

How could this old man see? There was a noise

I' the dark, and He drew back His hand again.

I looked, - It was a dream, - let no man say

It was aught else. There, so - the fit goes by.

Sir, and my daughters, is it eventide? -

Sooner than that, saith old Methuselah,

Let the vulture lay his beak to my green limbs.

What! art Thou envious? - are the sons of men

Too wise to please Thee, and to do Thy will?

Methuselah, he sitteth on the ground,

Clad in his gown of age, the pale white gown,

And goeth not forth to war; his wrinkled hands

He claspeth round his knees: old, very old.

Would he could steal from Thee one secret more -

The secret of Thy youth! O, envious God!

We die. The words of old Methuselah

And his prophecy are ended."

Then the wives,

Beholding how he trembled, and the maids

And children, came anear, saying, "Who art thou

That standest gazing on the Elder? Lo,

Thou dost not well: withdraw; for it was thou

Whose stranger presence troubled him, and brought

The fit of prophecy." And he did turn

To look upon them, and their majesty

And glorious beauty took away his words;

And being pure among the vile, he cast

In his thought a veil of snow-white purity

Over the beauteous throng. "Thou dost not well,"

They said. He answered: "Blossoms o' the world,

Fruitful as fair, never in watered glade,

Where in the youngest grass blue cups push forth,

And the white lily reareth up her head,

And purples cluster, and the saffron flower

Clear as a flame of sacrifice breaks out,

And every cedar bough, made delicate

With climbing roses, drops in white and red, -

Saw I (good angels keep you in their care)

So beautiful a crowd."

With that, they stamped,

Gnashed their white teeth, and turning, fled and spat

Upon the floor. The Elder spake to him,

Yet shaking with the burden, "Who art thou?"

He answered, "I, the man whom thou didst send

To fetch through this thy woodland, do forbear

To tell my name; thou lovest it not, great sire, -

No, nor mine errand. To thy house I spake,

Touching their beauty." "Wherefore didst thou spite,"

Quoth he, "the daughters?" and it seemed he lost

Count of that prophecy, for very age,

And from his thin lips dropt a trembling laugh.

"Wicked old man," quoth he, "this wise old man

I see as 't were not I. Thou bad old man,

What shall be done to thee? for thou didst burn

Their babes, and strew the ashes all about,

To rid the world of His white soldiers. Ay,

Scenting of human sacrifice, they fled.

Cowards! I heard them winnow their great wings:

They went to tell Him; but they came no more.

The women hate to hear of them, so sore

They grudged their little ones; and yet no way

There was but that. I took it; I did well."

With that he fell to weeping. "Son," said he,

"Long have I hid mine eyes from stalwart men,

For it is hard to lose the majesty

And pride and power of manhood: but to-day,

Stand forth into the light, that I may look

Upon thy strength, and think, EVEN THUS DID I,

IN THE GLORY OF MY YOUTH, MORE LIKE TO GOD

THAN LIKE HIS SOLDIERS, FACE THE VASSAL WORLD."

Then Noah stood forward in his majesty,

Shouldering the golden billhook, wherewithal

He wont to cut his way, when tangled in

The matted hayes. And down the opened roof

Fell slanting beams upon his stately head,

And streamed along his gown, and made to shine

The jewelled sandals on his feet.

And, lo,

The Elder cried aloud: "I prophesy.

Behold, my son is as a fruitful field

When all the lands are waste. The archers drew, -

They drew the bow against him; they were fain

To slay: but he shall live, - my son shall live,

And I shall live by him in the other days.

Behold the prophet of the Most High God:

Hear him. Behold the hope o' the world, what time

She lieth under. Hear him; he shall save

A seed alive, and sow the earth with man.

O, earth! earth! earth! a floating shell of wood

Shall hold the remnant of thy mighty lords

Will this old man be in it? Sir, and you

My daughters, hear him! Lo, this white old man

He sitteth on the ground. (Let be, let be:

Why dost Thou trouble us to make our tongue

Ring with abhorred words?) The prophecy

Of the Elder, and the vision that he saw,

They both are ended."

Then said Noah: "The life

Of this my lord is low for very age:

Why then, with bitter words upon thy tongue,

Father-of Lamech, dost thou anger Him?

Thou canst not strive against Him now." He said:

"Thy feet are toward the valley, where lie bones

Bleaching upon the desert. Did I love

The lithe strong lizards that I yoked and set

To draw my car? and were they not possessed?

Yea, all of them were liars. I loved them well.

What did the Enemy, but on a day

When I behind my talking team went forth,

They sweetly lying, so that all men praised

Their flattering tongues and mild persuasive eyes, -

What did the Enemy but send His slaves,

Angels, to cast down stones upon their heads

And break them? Nay, I could not stir abroad

But havoc came; they never crept or flew

Beyond the shelter that I builded here.

But straight the crowns I had set upon their heads

Were marks for myrmidons that in the clouds

Kept watch to crush them. Can a man forgive

That hath been warred on thus? I will not. Nay,

I swear it, - I, the man Methuselah."

The Master-shipwright, he replied, "'Tis true,

Great loss was that; but they that stood thy friends,

The wicked spirits, spoke upon their tongues,

And cursed the God of heaven. What marvel, sir,

If He was angered?" But the Elder cried,

"They all are dead, - the toward beasts I loved;

My goodly team, my joy, they all are dead;

Their bones lie bleaching in the wilderness:

And I will keep my wrath for evermore

Against the Enemy that slew them. Go,

Thou coward servant of a tyrant King,

Go down the desert of the bones, and ask,

'My King, what bones are these? Methuselah,

The white old man that sitteth on the ground,

Sendeth a message, "Bid them that they live,

And let my lizards run up every path

They wont to take when out of silver pipes,

The pipes that Tubal wrought into my roof,

I blew a sweeter cry than song-bird's throat

Hath ever formed; and while they laid their heads

Submiss upon my threshold, poured away

Music that welled by heartsful out, and made

The throats of men that heard to swell, their breasts

To heave with the joy of grief; yea, caused the lips

To laugh of men asleep.

Return to me

The great wise lizards; ay, and them that flew

My pursuivants before me. Let me yoke

Again that multitude; and here I swear

That they shall draw my car and me thereon

Straight to the ship of doom. So men shall know

My loyalty, that I submit, and Thou

Shalt yet have honor. O mine Enemy,

By me. The speech of old Methuselah."'"

Then Noah made answer, "By the living God,

That is no enemy to men, great sire,

I will not take thy message; hear thou Him.

'Behold (He saith that suffereth thee), behold,

The earth that I made green cries out to Me,

Red with the costly blood of beauteous man.

I am robbed, I am robbed (He saith); they sacrifice

To evil demons of My blameless flocks,

That I did fashion with My hand. Behold,

How goodly was the world! I gave it thee

Fresh from its finishing. What hast thou done?

I will cry out to the waters, Cover it,

And hide it from its Father. Lo, Mine eyes

Turn from it shamed.'"

With that the old man laughed

Full softly. "Ay," quoth he, "a goodly world,

And we have done with it as we did list.

Why did He give it us? Nay, look you, son:

Five score they were that died in yonder waste;

And if He crieth, 'Repent, be reconciled,'

I answer, 'Nay, my lizards'; and again,

If He will trouble me in this mine age,

'Why hast Thou slain my lizards?' Now my speech

Is cut away from all my other words,

Standing alone. The Elder sweareth it,

The man of many days, Methuselah."

Then answered Noah, "My Master, hear it not;

But yet have patience"; and he turned himself,

And down betwixt the ordered trees went forth,

And in the light of evening made his way

Into the waste to meet the Voice of God.

BOOK III.

Above the head of great Methuselah

There lay two demons in the opened roof

Invisible, and gathered up his words;

For when the Elder prophesied, it came

About, that hidden things were shown to them,

And burdens that he spake against his time.

(But never heard them, such as dwelt with him;

Their ears they stopped, and willed to live at ease

In all delight; and perfect in their youth,

And strong, disport them in the perfect world.)

Now these were fettered that they could not fly,

For a certain disobedience they had wrought

Against the ruler of their host; but not

The less they loved their cause; and when the feet

O' the Master-builder were no longer heard,

They, slipping to the sward, right painfully

Did follow, for the one to the other said,

"Behoves our master know of this; and us,

Should he be favorable, he may loose

From these our bonds."

And thus it came to pass,

That while at dead of night the old dragon lay

Coiled in the cavern where he dwelt, the watch

Pacing before it saw in middle air

A boat, that gleamed like fire, and on it came,

And rocked as it drew near, and then it burst

And went to pieces, and there fell therefrom,

Close at the cavern's mouth, two glowing balls.

Now there was drawn a curtain nigh the mouth

Of that deep cave, to testify of wrath.

The dragon had been wroth with some that served,

And chased them from him; and his oracles,

That wont to drop from him, were stopped, and men

Might only pray to him through that fell web

That hung before him. Then did whisper low

Some of the little spirits that bat-like clung

And clustered round the opening. "Lo," they said,

While gazed the watch upon those glowing balls,

"These are like moons eclipsed; but let them lie

Red on the moss, and sear its dewy spires,

Until our lord give leave to draw the web,

And quicken reverence by his presence dread,

For he will know and call to them by name,

And they will change. At present he is sick,

And wills that none disturb him." So they lay,

And there was silence, for the forest tribes

Came never near that cave. Wiser than men,

They fled the serpent hiss that oft by night

Came forth of it, and feared the wan dusk forms

That stalked among the trees, and in the dark

Those whiffs of flame that wandered up the sky

And made the moonlight sickly.

Now, the cave

Was marvellous for beauty, wrought with tools

Into the living rock, for there had worked

All cunning men, to cut on it with signs

And shows, yea, all the manner of mankind.

The fateful apple-tree was there, a bough

Bent with the weight of him that us beguiled;

And lilies of the field did seem to blow

And bud in the storied stone. There Tubal sat,

Who from his harp delivered music, sweet

As any in the spheres. Yea, more;

Earth's latest wonder, on the walls appeared,

Unfinished, workmen clustering on its ribs;

And farther back, within the rock hewn out,

Angelic figures stood, that impious hands

Had fashioned; many golden lamps they held

By golden chains depending, and their eyes

All tended in a reverend quietude

Toward the couch whereon the dragon lay.

The floor was beaten gold; the curly lengths

Of his last coils lay on it, hid from sight

With a coverlet made stiff with crusting gems,

Fire opals shooting, rubies, fierce bright eyes

Of diamonds, or the pale green emerald,

That changed their lustre when he breathed.

His head

Feathered with crimson combs, and all his neck,

And half-shut fans of his admired wings,

That in their scaly splendor put to shame

Or gold or stone, lay on his ivory couch

And shivered; for the dragon suffered pain:

He suffered and he feared. It was his doom,

The tempter, that he never should depart

From the bright creature that in Paradise

He for his evil purpose erst possessed,

Until it died. Thus only, spirit of might

And chiefest spirit of ill, could he be free.

But with its nature wed, as souls of men

Are wedded to their clay, he took the dread

Of death and dying, and the coward heart

Of the beast, and craven terrors of the end

Sank him that habited within it to dread

Disunion. He, a dark dominion erst

Rebellious, lay and trembled, for the flesh

Daunted his immaterial. He was sick

And sorry. Great ones of the earth had sent

Their chief musicians for to comfort him,

Chanting his praise, the friend of man, the god

That gave them knowledge, at so great a price

And costly. Yea, the riches of the mine,

And glorious broidered work, and woven gold,

And all things wisely made, they at his feet

Laid daily; for they said, "This mighty one,

All the world wonders after him. He lieth

Sick in his dwelling; he hath long foregone

(To do us good) dominion, and a throne,

And his brave warfare with the Enemy,

So much he pitieth us that were denied

The gain and gladness of this knowledge. Now

Shall he be certified of gratitude,

And smell the sacrifice that most he loves."

The night was dark, but every lamp gave forth

A tender, lustrous beam. His beauteous wings

The dragon fluttered, cursed awhile, then turned

And moaned with lamentable voice, "I thirst,

Give me to drink." Thereon stepped out in haste,

From inner chambers, lovely ministrants,

Young boys, with radiant locks and peaceful eyes,

And poured out liquor from their cups, to cool

His parched tongue, and kneeling held it nigh

In jewelled basins sparkling; and he lapped,

And was appeased, and said, "I will not hide

Longer, my much desired face from men.

Draw back the web of separation." Then

With cries of gratulation ran they forth,

And flung it wide, and all the watch fell low,

Each on his face, as drunk with sudden joy.

Thus marked he, glowing on the branched moss,

Those red rare moons, and let his serpent eyes

Consider them full subtly, "What be these?"

Enquiring: and the little spirits said,

"As we for thy protection (having heard

That wrathful sons of darkness walk, to-night,

Such as do oft ill use us), clustered here,

We marked a boat a-fire that sailed the skies,

And furrowed up like spray a billowy cloud,

And, lo, it went to pieces, scattering down

A rain of sparks and these two angry moons."

Then said the dragon, "Let my guard, and you,

Attendant hosts, recede"; and they went back,

And formed about the cave a widening ring,

Then halting, stood afar; and from the cave

The snaky wonder spoke, with hissing tongue,

"If ye were Tartis and Deleisonon,

Be Tartis and Deleisonon once more."

Then egg-like cracked the glowing balls, and forth

Started black angels, trampling hard to free

Their fettered feet from out the smoking shell.

And he said, "Tartis and Deleisonon,

Your lord I am: draw nigh." "Thou art our lord,"

They answered, and with fettered limbs full low

They bent, and made obeisance. Furthermore,

"O fiery flying serpent, after whom

The nations go, let thy dominion last,"

They said, "forever." And the serpent said,

"It shall: unfold your errand." They replied,

One speaking for a space, and afterward

His fellow taking up the word with fear

And panting, "We were set to watch the mouth

Of great Methuselah. There came to him

The son of Lamech two days since. My lord,

They prophesied, the Elder prophesied,

Unwitting, of the flood of waters, - ay,

A vision was before him, and the lands

Lay under water drowned: he saw the ark, -

It floated in the Enemy's right hand."

Lord of the lost, the son of Lamech fled

Into the wilderness to meet His voice

That reigneth; and we, diligent to hear

Aught that might serve thee, followed, but, forbid

To enter, lay upon its boundary cliff,

And wished for morning.

"When the dawn was red,

We sought the man, we marked him; and he prayed, -

Kneeling, he prayed in the valley, and he said - "

"Nay," quoth the serpent, "spare me, what devout

He fawning grovelled to the All-powerful;

But if of what shall hap he aught let fall,

Speak that." They answered, "He did pray as one

That looketh to outlive mankind, - and more,

We are certified by all his scattered words,

That HE will take from men their length of days,

And cut them off like grass in its first flower:

From henceforth this shall be."

That when he heard,

The dragon made to the night his moan.

"And more,"

They said, "that He above would have men know

That He doth love them, whoso will repent,

To that man he is favorable, yea,

Will be his loving Lord."

The dragon cried,

"The last is worse than all. O, man, thy heart

Is stout against His wrath. But will He love?

I heard it rumored in the heavens of old,

(And doth He love?) Thou wilt not, canst not, stand

Against the love of God. Dominion fails;

I see it float from me, that long have worn

Fetters of flesh to win it. Love of God!

I cry against thee; thou art worse than all."

They answered, "Be not moved, admired chief

And trusted of mankind"; and they went on,

And fed him with the prophecies that fell

From the Master-shipwright in his prayer.

But prone

He lay, for he was sick: at every word

Prophetic cowering. As a bruising blow,

It fell upon his head and daunted him,

Until they ended, saying, "Prince, behold,

Thy servants have revealed the whole."

Thereon

He out of snaky lips did hiss forth thanks.

Then said he, "Tartis and Deleisonon,

Receive your wages." So their fetters fell;

And they retiring, lauded him, and cried,

"King, reign forever." Then he mourned, "Amen."

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 eyes

Thou countest all too clean to open on?"

But still it hovered, and the quietness

Of holy heaven was on the drooping lids;

And not as one that answereth, it let fall

The music from its mouth, but like to one

That doth not hear, or, hearing, doth not heed.

"A message: 'I have heard thee, while remote

I went My rounds among the unfinished stars.'

A message: 'I have left thee to thy ways,

And mastered all thy vileness, for thy hate

I have made to serve the ends of My great love.

Hereafter will I chain thee down. To-day

One thing thou art forbidden; now thou knowest

The name thereof: I told it thee in heaven,

When thou wert sitting at My feet. Forbear

To 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 weight

Of 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 harps

Toned in My holy hollow. Now thine ears

Are 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 mist

Came 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 place

In 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 out

A 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 scars

That seamed what rested of a goodly face;

He wore his vizor up, and all his words

Were hollower than an echo from the hills:

He was hight Make. And, lo, his fellow-fiend

Came after, holding down his dastard head,

Like one ashamed: now this for craft was great;

The dragon honored him. A third sat down

Among them, covering with his wasted hand

Somewhat that pained his breast.

And when the fit

Of 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 cave

Was 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 words

Go thus: give way, be peaceable, lie still

And strive not, else the world that we have won

He 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 up

Astray, 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 skies

Farther 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 Him

This goodly world and goodly race of man.

Not all are doomed; hereafter it may be

That we find place on it again. But if,

Too zealous to preserve it, and the men

Our servants, we oppose Him, He may come

And choosing rather to undo His work

Than strive with it for aye, make so an end."

He sighing paused. Lo, then the serpent hissed

In impotent rage, "Depart! and how depart!

Can flesh be carried down where spirits wonn?

Or I, most miserable, hold my life

Over the airless, bottomless gulf, and bide

The buffetings of yonder shoreless sea?

O death, thou terrible doom: O death, thou dread

Of 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 days

When 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 withdrawn

From haunting of His gates, and shouting up

Defiance. Wherefore doth He hunt me out

From this small world, this little one, that I

Have been content to take unto myself,

I here being loved and worshipped? He knoweth

How much I have foregone; and must He stoop

To 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 take

Their length of days whereby they perfect it?

So shall He scatter all that I have stored,

And get them by degrading them. I know

That in the end it is appointed me

To fade. I will not fade before the time."

A spirit rose, the third, a spirit ashamed

And subtle, and his face he turned aside:

"Whereas," said he, "we strive against both power

And love, behoves us that we strive aright.

Now some of old my comrades, yesterday

I met, as they did journey to appear

In the Presence; and I said, 'My master lieth

Sick yonder, otherwise (for no decree

There stands against it) he would also come

And 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 take

And 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 eyes

Upon the spirit, and hissed; and sick with shame,

It bowed itself together, and went back

With 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 perceive

That 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 hearts

O' the giants; for He loveth them, and looks

Full 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 heard

Whispers 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 forth

The women, the abhorr'd 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 me

An army, and triumphant draw me on

In the golden car ye wot of, and with shouts,

I would not that ye hinder them. Ah, then

Will I make hard their hearts, and grieve Him sore,

That loves them, O, by much too well to wet

Their stately heads, and soil those locks of strength

Under the fateful brine. Then afterward,

While He doth reason vainly with them, I

Will 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 leave

To sacrifice their kind, so Thou my name

Wilt 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 messenger

Have I this day been warned. There is a deed

I may not tell of, lest the people add

Scorn to a Coming Greatness to their faults.

Why this? Who careth when about to slay,

And slay indeed, how well they have deserved

Death, whom he slayeth? Therefore yet is hid

A meaning of some mercy that will rob

The nether world. Now look to it, - 'Twere vain

Albeit this deluge He would send indeed,

That we expect the harvest; He would yet

Be the Master-reaper; for I heard it said,

Them that be young and know Him not, and them

That are bound and may not build, yea, more, their wives,

Whom, suffering not to hear the doom, they keep

Joyous behind the curtains, every one

With maidens nourished in the house, and babes

And 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 heard

Him whisper it. Have I put on this flesh

To 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."

BOOK IV.

Now while these evil ones took counsel strange,

The son of Lamech journeyed home; and, lo!

A company came down, and struck the track

As he did enter it. There rode in front

Two horsemen, young and noble, and behind

Were following slaves with tent gear; others led

Strong horses, others bare the instruments

O' the chase, and in the rear dull camels lagged,

Sighing, for they were burdened, and they loved

The 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 mien

Was 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 you

Through many seasons. Pray you let us not;

We fain would greet our mother." And they made

Obeisance 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 spake

To him that led the last, "There are but two

Of 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 up

Along the track. Afore the noonday meal

The young men, even our masters, bathed; (there grows

A clump of cedars by the bend of yon

Clear river) - there did Japhet, after meat,

Being right weary, lay him down and sleep.

There, with a company of slaves and some

Few camels, ye shall find him."

And the man

The father of these three, did let him pass,

And struggle and give battle to his heart,

Standing as motionless as pillar set

To guide a wanderer in a pathless waste;

But all his strength went from him, and he strove

Vainly to trample out and trample down

The misery of his love unsatisfied, -

Unutterable love flung in his face.

Then he broke out in passionate words, that cried

Against his lot, "I have lost my own, and won

None 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 face

Was on the ground; but, having wept, he rose

Full hastily, and urged his way to find

The river; and in hollow of his hand

Raised up the water to his brow: "This son,

This other son of mine," he said, "shall see

No tears upon my face." And he looked on,

Beheld the camels, and a group of slaves

Sitting apart from some one fast asleep,

Where they had spread out webs of broidery work

Under a cedar-tree; and he came on,

And when they made obeisance he declared

His name, and said, "I will beside my son

Sit till he wakeneth." So Japhet lay

A-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 languidly

Lay 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 think

That all the sweetness of his goodly face

Is copied from his soul. How beautiful

Are children to their fathers! Son, my heart

Is greatly glad because of thee; my life

Shall lack of no completeness in the days

To come. If I forget the joy of youth,

In thee shall I be comforted; ay, see

My 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 face

The darkness of his eyes; but not a word

The Master-shipwright said, - his lips were sealed;

He was not ready, for he feared to see

This 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 words

His countenance changed. The son of Lamech said,

"Why art thou sad? What have I done to thee?"

And Japhet answered, "O, methought I fled

In the wilderness before a maddened beast,

And you came up and slew it; and I thought

You 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 own

On 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 desir'd 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 known

And loved him well; truly, I see not why,

But I would rather serve him than go free

With my two brethren." And he said to him,

"Father!" - who answered, "I am here, my son."

And Japhet said, "I pray you, sir, attend

To this my answer: let me go with you,

For, now I think on it, I do not love

The chase, nor managing the steed, nor yet

The 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; He

Shall answer it. But I would speak to thee

Now of the days to come. Know thou, most dear

To this thy father, that the drenched world,

When risen clean washed from water, shall receive

From thee her lordliest governors, from thee

Daughters of noblest soul."

So Japhet said,

"Sir, I am young, but of my mother straight

I will go ask a wife, that this may be.

I pray you, therefore, as the manner is

Of fathers, give me land that I may reap

Corn for sustaining of my wife, and bruise

The 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 belov'd sake. If this then be

As thou (I hear) hast said, and earth doth bear

The last of her wheat harvests, and make ripe

The latest of her grapes; yet hear me, sir,

None of the daughters shall be given to me

If 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 away

Upon the side o' the north, where green the field

Lies every season through, and where the dews

Of 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, behold

The cedars where thou sleepedst! There are vines;

And up the rise is growing wheat. I give

(For all, alas! is mine), - I give thee both

For dowry, and my blessing."

And he said,

"Sir, you are good, and therefore the Most High

Shall bless me also. Sir, I love you well."

BOOK V.

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 wed

So 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, saith

The 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 lands

Are parted, and the goodliest share is mine.

And lo! my brethren are betrothed; their maids

Are with thee in the house. Then why not mine?

Didst thou not diligently search for these

Among the noblest born of all the earth,

And bring them up? My sisters, dwell they not

With women that bespake them for their sons?

Now, therefore, let a wife be found for me,

Fair as the day, and gentle to my will

As thou art to my father's." When she heard,

Niloiya sighed, and answered, "It is well."

And Japhet went out from her presence.

Then

Quoth 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 soul

Is sad: my lord hath walked afar so long,

That some despise thee; yea, our servants fail

Lately to bring their stint of corn and wood.

And, sir, thy household slaves do steal away

To thy great father, and our lands lie waste, -

None till them: therefore think the women scorn

To give me, - whatsoever gems I send,

And goodly raiment, - (yea, I seek afar,

And sue with all desire and humbleness

Through 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, dutiful

And fair; thy father gave them for my slaves, -

Children of them whom he brought captive forth

From their own heritage." And she replied,

Right scornfully: "Shall Japhet wed a slave?"

Then said the Master: "He shall wed: look thou

To 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 way

Until thou wilt betroth him. Therefore, haste,

Beautiful woman, loved of me and mine,

To bring a maiden, and to say, 'Behold

A wife for Japhet.'" Then she answered, "Sir,

It shall be done."

And forth Niloiya sped.

She gathered all her jewels, - all she held

Of costly or of rich, - and went and spake

With 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 hope

That made her sick, it was so faint; and then

She 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 world

Ye think to rock, what matters if a wife

Be 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 wrought

The daughters of the captives; but there wrought

One 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 took

And spread her broidered robe before her face.

Niloiya spoke thus: "I am come to woe,

And thou to honor." Saying this, she wept

Passionate tears; and all the damsel's soul

Was full of yearning wonder, and her robe

Slipped from her hand, and her right innocent face

Was seen betwixt her locks of tawny hair

That dropped about her knees, and her two eyes,

Blue as the much-loved flower that rims the beck,

Looked sweetly on Niloiya; but she knew

No 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, sought

A wife for Japhet, and no wife is found."

And yet again she wept with grief of heart,

Saying, "Ah me, miserable! I must give

A wife: the Master willeth it: a wife,

Ah me! unto the high-born. He will scorn

His 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 taught

Thy 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, - now

I know it well: but O, the bitterness

For him!" And ending thus, the damsel rose,

For Japhet entered. And she bowed herself

Meekly and made obeisance, but her blood

Ran cold about her heart, for all his face

Was 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, sat

And could not speak. O! cruel seemed his fate, -

So cruel her that told it, so unkind.

His breast was full of wounded love and wrath

Wrestling together; and his eyes flashed out

Indignant lights, as all amazed he took

The 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 held

With 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 off

The damsel, and he said, "I thank thee, slave;

For never have I stricken yet or child

Or 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 loath'd wife,

Hated of Japhet's soul." And after, long,

With face between his hands, he sat, his thoughts

Sullen 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 saw

The slave, and she was sitting at his feet;

And he, so greatly wondering that she dared

The disobedience, looked her in the face

Less angry than afraid, for pale she was

As 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 him

The 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 strange

Grave 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 naught

To 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 drew

Her eyes down slowly from the shaded sky

Of even, and she said, "My master's son,

Japhet"; and Japhet said, "I am not wroth

With 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 heart

Of Japhet, then, be merry. Go to him

And 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 you

To that same outland country. Also, sir,

My damsel hath not worked as yet the robe

Of her betrothal'; now, then, sith he loves,

He will not say thee nay. Herein for awhile

Is respite, and thy mother far and near

Will seek again: it may be she will find

A 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 bide

And serve." He answered, "O, thy speech is good;

Now therefore (since my mother gave me thee),

I will reward it; I will find for thee

A goodly husband, and will make him free

Thee also."

Then she started from his feet,

And, red with shame and anger, flashed on him

The passion of her eyes; and put her hands

With catching of the breath to her fair throat,

And stood in her defiance lost to fear,

Like some fair hind in desperate danger turned

And 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 sweet

Of 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 pitiful

To me, a slave." And Japhet wondered much

At 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 way

Of 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 sits

Before 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 speak

Concerning matters that a woman rules;

But hath thy mother brought a damsel home,

And let her see thy face, then all is one

As ye were wed." He answered, "Even so,

It matters nothing; therefore hear me, sir:

The damsel being mine, I am content

To 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."

BOOK VI.

Night. Now a tent was pitched, and Japhet sat

In the door and watched, for on a litter lay

The father of his love. And he was sick

To death; but daily he would rouse him up,

And stare upon the light, and ever say,

"On, let us journey"; but it came to pass

That night, across their path a river ran,

And they who served the father and the son

Had pitched the tents beside it, and had made

A fire, to scare away the savagery

That roamed in that great forest, for their way

Had led among the trees of God.

The moon

Shone on the river, like a silver road

To lead them over; but when Japhet looked,

He said, "We shall not cross it. I shall lay

This well-belov'd head low in the leaves, -

Not on the farther side." From time to time,

The water-snakes would stir its glassy flow

With curling undulations, and would lay

Their 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 cared

Little; and in the dark, that was not dark,

But dimness of confused incertitude,

Would move a-near all silently, and gaze

And breathe, and shape itself, a man'd thing

With eyes; and still he cared not, and the form

Would falter, then recede, and melt again

Into the farther shade. And Japhet said:

"How long? The moon hath grown again in heaven,

After her caving twice, since we did leave

The threshold of our home; and now what 'vails

That far on tumbled mountain snow we toiled,

Hungry, and weary, all the day; by night

Waked with a dreadful trembling underneath,

To look, while every cone smoked, and there ran

Red brooks adown, that licked the forest up,

While in the pale white ashes wading on

We saw no stars? - what 'vails if afterward,

Astonished with great silence, we did move

Over 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-haired

Would 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 'vails

That in the dread deep forest we have fought

With following packs of wolves? These men of might,

Even the giants, shall not hear the doom

My 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 sat

Beside the litter; and he set his eyes

To see it, and saw not; but only marked

Where, 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 same

Which walked beside us once when he did pray."

And Japhet hid his face between his hands

For fear, and grief of heart, and weariness

Of watching; and he slumbered not, but mourned

To himself, a little moment, as it seemed,

For sake of his loved father: then he lift

His eyes, and day had dawned. Right suddenly

The moon withheld her silver, and she hung

Frail 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 world

And all the water blushed and bloomed. The stars

Were gone, and golden shafts came up, and touched

The feathered heads of palms, and green was born

Under the rosy cloud, and purples flew

Like veils across the mountains; and he saw,

Winding athwart them, bathed in blissful peace,

And the sacredness of morn, the battlements

And out-posts of the giants; and there ran

On 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 lodged

That night within the gates, and had decreed,

"I will (or ever I come) that ye drive out

The 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 drink

The 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 hands

They dipped between the lilies, or with robes

Full of ripe fruitage, sat and peeled and ate,

Weeping; or comforting their little ones,

And lulling them with sorrowful long hymns

Among the palms.

So went the earlier morn.

Then came a messenger, while Japhet sat

Mournfully, and he said, "The men of might

Are willing; let thy master, youth, appear."

And Japhet said, "So be it"; and he thought,

"Now will I trust in God"; and he went in

And 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 clad

As ready for the journey, and his feet

Were sandalled, and his staff was at his side;

And Japhet took the gown of sacrifice

And spread it on him, and he laid his crown

Upon his knees, and he went forth, and lift

His hand to heaven, and cried, "My father's God!"

But neither whisper came nor echo fell

When he did listen. Therefore he went on:

"Behold, I have a thing to say to thee.

My father charged thy servant, 'Let not ruth

Prevail with thee, to turn and bear me hence,

For God appointed me my task, to preach

Before the mighty.' I must do my part

(O! let it not displease thee), for he said

But yesternight, 'When they shall send for me,

Take me before them.' And I sware to him.

I pray thee, therefore, count his life and mine

Precious; for I that sware, I will perform."

Then cried he to his people, "Let us hence:

Take up the litter." And they set their feet

Toward the raft whereby men crossed that flood.

And while they journeyed, lo, the giants sat

Within the fairest hall where all were fair,

Each on his carven throne, o'er-canopied

With work of women. And the dragon lay

In a place of honor; and with subtlety

He 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, submiss

He testified great humbleness, and cried,

"A cruel God, forsooth! but nay, O nay,

I will not think it of Him, that He meant

To 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 we

Should be afraid? What is this goodly doom?"

And Satan laughed upon him. "Lo," said he,

"Thou art not fully grown, and every one

I 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 days

How that for piety I am much famed.

I am exceeding pious: if I lie,

As hath been whispered, it is but for sake

Of God, and that ye should not think Him hard,

For I am all for God. Now some have thought

that He hath also (and it, may be so

Or 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-day

One cometh, yea, an harmless man, a fool,

Who boasts he hath a message from our God,

And lest that you, for bravery of heart

And stoutness, being angered with his prate,

Should lift a hand, and kill him, I am here."

Then spoke the Leader, "How now, snake? Thy words

Ring 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 blood

Makes 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 sore

At mine infirmities, which God in vain

I supplicate to heal) ye had not caused

My 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 content

Unless alone He reigneth, looks to bend

O 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 piety

And 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 mind

Concerning him ye wot of, thus to think

The message is not like what I have learned

By 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 came

And slew him, that should make an empty world,

But not a bettor nation."

This replied,

"Truth, dragon, yet He is not bound to mean

A better nation; may be, He designs,

If none will turn again, a punishment

Upon an evil one."

And Satan cried,

"Alas! my heart being full of love for men,

I cannot choose but think of God as like

To me; and yet my piety concludes,

Since He will have your fear, that love alone

Sufficeth not, and I admire, and say,

'Give me, O friends, your love, and give to God

Your 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."

BOOK VII.

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 set

A litter on the floor.

The Master lay

Upon 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 place

The jewelled dragon; and the dragon laughed,

And subtly peered at him, till Japhet shook

With 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 beautiful

As thou: draw near." It hissed, and Japhet felt

Horrible drawings, and cried out in fear,

"Father! O help, the serpent draweth me!"

And struggled and grew faint, as in the toils

A netted bird. But still his father lay

Unconscious, and the mighty did not speak,

But half in fear and half for wonderment

Beheld. And yet again the dragon laughed,

And leered at him and hissed; and Japhet strove

Vainly to take away his spell-set eyes,

And moved to go to him, till piercingly

Crying out, "God! forbid it, God in heaven!"

The dragon lowered his head, and shut his eyes

As 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, distressfully

Upon 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 head

Of Noah the hair was lifted, and there played

A somewhat, as it were a light, upon

His breast; then fell a darkness, and men heard

A whisper as of one that spake. With that,

The daunted mighty ones kept silent watch

Until the wind had ceased and darkness fled.

When it grew light, there curled a cloud of smoke

From 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 man

That is a shipwright. I was born afar

To 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 feed

With captives whom ye slew not in the war,

But saved alive, and living throw to them

Daily. Your wives may answer that, whose babes

Their firstborn ye do take and offer up

To this abhorred snake, while yet the milk

Is in their innocent mouths, - your maiden babes

Tender. Your slaves may answer that, - the gangs

Whose eyes ye did put out to make them work

By night unwitting (yea, by multitudes

They work upon the wheel in chains). Your friends

May answer that, - (their bleach'd 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 leave

To tell of more, the time would be so long

To do it, and your time, O mighty ones,

Is short), - but rather say, 'We sinners know

Why the Judge standeth at the door,' and turn

While yet there may be respite, and repent.

"'Or else,' saith He that form'd 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 stir

With 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 yet

The little ones do languish; and the slave

Lifts up to Me his chain. I therefore, I

Will 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 enemy

Untamed of man fatefully moans afar;

For if ye will not turn, the doom is near.

Then shall the crested wave make sport, and beat

You mighty at your doors. Will ye be wroth?

Will ye forbid it? Monsters of the deep

Shall suckle in your palaces their young,

And swim atween your hangings, all of them

Costly with broidered work, and rare with gold

And white and scarlet (there did ye oppress, -

There did ye make you vile); but ye shall lie

Meekly, 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 ones

Were 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 out

Before their time) - lent favorable ears.

They said, "A man, or false or fanatic,

May claim good audience if he fill our ears

With 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 sit

Beyond the noonday"; then they grandly rose,

A stalwart crowd, and with their Leader moved

To the tones of harping, and the beat of shawms,

And the noise of pipes, away. But some were left

About the Master; and the feigning snake

Couched on his dais.

Then one to Japhet said,

One called "the Cedar-Tree," "Dost thou, too, think

To reign upon our lands when we lie drowned?"

And Japhet said, "I think not, nor desire,

Nor in my heart consent, but that ye swear

Allegiance to the God, and live." He cried,

To one surnamed "the Pine," - "Brother, behooves

That deep we cut our names in yonder crag.

Else when this youth returns, his sons may ask

Our names, and he may answer, 'Matters not,

For my part I forget them.'"

Japhet said,

"They might do worse than that, they might deny

That such as you have ever been." With that

They 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 hard

For 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 now

To 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 though

I 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 ways

From the beginning: of the Voice that called;

Moreover, how the ship of doom was built.

And one made answer, "Shall the mighty God

Talk 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 fallen

On one that He forgot, and troubled it."

Then said the Master, "Yet, - who told thee so?"

And from his da's the feigning serpent hissed:

"Preacher, the light within, it was that shined,

And told him so. The pious will have dread

Him to declare such as ye rashly told.

The course of God is one. It likes not us

To think of Him as being acquaint with change:

It were beneath Him. Nay, the finished earth

Is 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 mankind

A 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 time

As thou hast prophesied, as I now reign

In all men's sight, shall my dominion then

Reach to be mighty in their souls. Thou too

Shalt 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 thought

First answer. Not but by a miracle

Can this thing be. The fashion of the world

We 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 sleep

Shall give thee wings to play among the rays

O' the morning. If thy thought be, 'I am one, -

A spirit among spirits, - and the world

A dream my spirit dreameth of, my dream

Being all,' the dominating mountains strong

Shall 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 feet

Upon their awful crests. Ay, thou thyself,

Being in the world and of the world, thyself

Hast 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.

Behold

He 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 them

Who made them,' Think the rather, 'With my foot

I 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 thing

He made, and not like me, a living son,

That changed the watercourse to suit his will?'

"Man is the miracle in nature. God

Is the ONE MIRACLE to man. Behold,

'There is a God,' thou sayest. Thou sayest well:

In that thou sayest all. To Be is more

Of 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 received

That maketh man to know the inner life

Of them that love him; his own love bestowed

Shall do it. Love thy Father, and no more

His doings shall be strange. Thou shalt not fret

At any counsel, then, that He will send, -

No, nor rebel, albeit He have with thee

Great reservations. Know, to Be is more

Than to have acted; yea, or after rest

And 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 learn

Fresh loyalty from this poor loyal soul.

Let us go forth - (myself will also go

To 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 you

HIMSELF, then build. What say you, shall it be

An hundred oxen, - fat, well liking, white?

An hundred? why, a thousand were not much

To such as you." Then Noah lift up his arms

To heaven, and cried, "Thou aged shape of sin,

The Lord rebuke thee."

BOOK VIII.

Then one ran, crying, while Niloiya wrought,

"The Master cometh!" and she went within

To adorn herself for meeting him. And Shem

Went 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 maid

Is found to wed thee; and they bring her in

This day at sundown. Therefore is much haste

To cover thick with costly webs the floor,

And pluck and cover thick the same with leaves

Of all sweet herbs, - I warrant, ye shall hear

No footfall where she treadeth; and the seats

Are ready, spread with robes; the tables set

With golden baskets, red pomegranates shred

To 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 sheaf

For 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 folk

By yonder mountain-hold I shall have warned.'"

And Shem replied, "How thinkest thou? - thine ears

Have heard him oft." He answered, "I do think

These 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 steps

That 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 peak'd hoods,

And garments wrought upon, each with the tale

Of him that wore it, - all his manful deeds

(Yea, and about their skirts were effigies

Of kings that they had slain; and some, whose swords

Many had pierced, wore vestures all of red,

To signify much blood): and of their pride

He told, but of the vision in the tent

He told him not.

And when they reached the house,

Niloiya met them, and to Japhet cried,

"All hail, right fortunate! Lo, I have found

A maid. And now thou hast done well to reap

The 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 loathed

To 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 me

How ye did weep, my son, and ye did vow,

'I will not take her!' Now it was not I

That 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 less

Whom thou shalt wed anon, - forsooth, anon, -

It is a lucky hour. Thou wilt?" He said,

"I will." And Japhet laid the slender sheaf

From 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 robe

Of feasting, and she poured upon his hands

Clear water, and anointed him, and set

Before him bread.

And Japhet said to him,

"My father, my belov'd, wilt thou yet

Be sad because of scorning? Eat this day;

For as an angel in their eyes thou art

Who stand before thee." But he answered, "Peace!

Thy words are wide."

And when Niloiya heard,

She said, "Is this a time for mirth of heart

And 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 maid

That 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 come

With all her slaves by sundown."

And she said,

"Comfort thy heart, and eat: moreover, know

How 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 paid

All 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 say

It is thy will to take it for thy hold

Our 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 house

Is a great feast, and weddings are toward;

Let be the ship, till after, for thy words

Have ever been, 'If God shall send a flood,

There will I dwell'; I pray you therefore wait

At least till He DOTH send it."

And he turned,

And answered nothing. Now the sun was low

While yet she spake; and Japhet came to them

In goodly raiment, and upon his arm

The garment of betrothal. And with that

A noise, and then brake in a woman slave

And 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 denied

Herself to tell her errand."

And they sat.

Then spoke the woman, "If I do offend,

Pray you forgive the bondslave, for her tongue

Is for her mistress. 'Lo!' my mistress saith,

'Put off thy bravery, bridegroom; fold away,

Mother, thy webs of pride, thy costly robes

Woven of many colors. We have heard

Thy master. Lo, to-day right evil things

He prophesied to us, that were his friends;

Therefore, my answer: - God do so to me;

Yea, God do so to me, more also, more

Than He did threaten, if my damsel's foot

Ever draw nigh thy door.'"

And when she heard,

Niloiya sat amazed, in grief of soul.

But Japhet came unto the slave, where low

She bowed herself for fear. He said, "Depart;

Say to thy mistress, 'It is well.'" With that

She turned herself, and she made haste to flee,

Lest any, for those evil words she brought,

Would smite her. But the bondmaid of the house

Lift up her hand and said, "If I offend,

It was not of my heart: thy damsel knew

Naught of this matter." And he held to her

His hand and touched her, and said, "Amarant!"

And when she looked upon him, she did take

And 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 robe

Of thy betrothal! " - and he took her locks

In 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 put

The 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 thyself

Art loveliest in mine eyes; I look, and lo!

Thou art of beauty more than any thought

I 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 nigh

To hear the speech of wedlock; ay, he took

The golden cup of wine to drink with her,

And laid the sheaf upon her arms. He said,

"Like as my fathers in the older days

Led home the daughters whom they chose, do I;

Like as they said, 'Mine honor have I set

Upon thy head!' do I. Eat of my bread,

Rule in my house, be mistress of my slaves,

And mother of my children."

And he brought

The damsel to his father, saying, "Behold

My 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 so

Be found, as he is found to me."

With that

She answered, "Let this woman, sir, find grace

And favor in your sight."

And Japhet said,

"Sweet mother, I have wed the maid ye chose

And brought me first. I leave her in thy hand;

Have care on her, till I shall come again

And ask her of thee." So they went apart,

He and his father to the marriage feast.

BOOK IX.

The prayer of Noah. The man went forth by night

And listened; and the earth was dark and still,

And he was driven of his great distress

Into the forest; but the birds of night

Sang sweetly; and he fell upon his face,

And cried, "God, God! Thy billows and Thy waves

Have 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 trees

With blossom, - spare them. Life is sweet; behold

There 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 rear

Her ghostly crest to lick the forest up,

And like a chief in battle fall, - not yet.

The lightnings pour not down, from ragged holes

In heaven, the torment of their fork'd tongues,

And, like fell serpents, dart and sting, - not yet.

The winds awake not, with their awful wings

To winnow, even as chaff, from out their track,

All that withstandeth, and bring down the pride

Of 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 saved

Alone? I am not saved, for I have loved

My 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 Voice

Calm 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 up

From incense that was burning, but there gleamed

No light of fire, save dimly to reveal

The whiteness rising, as the prayer of him

That 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 rest

From 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 give

To 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 place

For my repentance, yea, no hour remains

For doing of that work again. O, lost,

Lost world!" And while he prayed, the daylight dawned.

And Noah went up into the ship, and sat

Before the Lord. And all was still; and now

In that great quietness the sun came up,

And there were marks across it, as it were

The shadow of a Hand upon the sun, -

Three fingers dark and dread, and afterward

There rose a white, thick mist, that peacefully

Folded the fair earth in her funeral shroud,

The earth that gave no token, save that now

There fell a little trembling under foot.

And Noah went down, and took and hid his face

Behind his mantle, saying, "I have made

Great preparation, and it may be yet,

Beside my house, whom I did charge to come

This day to meet me, there may enter in

Many that yesternight thought scorn of all

My bidding." And because the fog was thick,

He said, "Forbid it, Heaven, if such there be,

That they should miss the way." And even then

There was a noise of weeping and lament;

The words of them that were affrighted, yea,

And cried for grief of heart. There came to him

The mother and her children, and they cried,

"Speak, father, what is this? What hast thou done?"

And when he lifted up his face, he saw

Japhet, his well-belov'd, where he stood

Apart; and Amarant leaned upon his breast,

And hid her face, for she was sore afraid;

And lo! the robes of her betrothal gleamed

White in the deadly gloom.

And at his feet

The wives of his two other sons did kneel,

And wring their hands.

One cried, "O, speak to us;

We are affrighted; we have dreamed a dream,

Each to herself. For me, I saw in mine

The grave old angels, like to shepherds, walk,

Much cattle following them. Thy daughter looked,

And they did enter here."

The other lay

And moaned, "Alas! O father, for my dream

Was evil: lo, I heard when it was dark,

I heard two wicked ones contend for me.

One said, 'And wherefore should this woman live,

When only for her children, and for her,

Is woe and degradation?' Then he laughed,

The other crying, 'Let alone, O prince;

Hinder her not to live and bear much seed,

Because I hate her.'"

But he said, "Rise up,

Daughters of Noah, for I have learned no words

To comfort you." Then spake her lord to her,

"Peace! or I swear that for thy dream, myself

Will hate thee also."

And Niloiya said,

"My sons, if one of you will hear my words,

Go now, look out, and tell me of the day,

How fares it?"

And the fateful darkness grew.

But Shem went up to do his mother's will;

And all was one as though the frighted earth

Quivered and fell a-trembling; then they hid

Their faces every one, till he returned,

And spake not. "Nay," they cried, "what hast thou seen?

O, is it come to this?" He answered them,

"The door is shut."