Raph.

Enter RAPHAEL the Archangel.

Spirits!

Whose seat is near the throne,

What do ye here?

Is thus a seraph's duty to be shown,
Now that the hour is near

When earth must be alone?

Return!

Adore and burn

In glorious homage with the elected "seven."
Your place is heaven.

The first and fairest of the sons of God,

How long hath this been law,

That earth by angels must be left untrod?
Earth which oft saw

Jehovah's footsteps not disdain her sod!
The world he loved, and made

For love; and oft have we obey'd
His frequent mission with delighted pinions :
Adoring him in his least works display'd;
Watching this youngest star of his dominions;
And, as the latest birth of his great word,
Eager to keep it worthy of our Lord.
Why is thy brow severe?

And wherefore speak'st thou of destruction near?

(1) [In the original MS. "Michael."-" I return you," says Lord Byron to Mr. M., "the revise, I have softened the part to which Gifford objected, and changed the name of Michael to Raphael, who was an angel of gentler sympathies." -B. Letters, July 6. 1822.]

Raph. Had Samiasa and Azaziel been

In their true place, with the angelic choir,
Written in fire

They would have seen

Jehovah's late decree,

And not enquired their Maker's breath of me:
But ignorance must ever be
A part of sin;

And even the spirits' knowledge shall grow less
As they wax proud within;

For Blindness is the first-born of Excess.

When all good angels left the world, ye stay'd, Stung with strange passions, and debased

By mortal feelings for a mortal maid :

But ye are pardon'd thus far, and replaced With your pure equals. Hence! away! away! Or stay,

And lose eternity by that delay

Aza. And thou! if earth be thus forbidden
In the decree

To us until this moment hidden,
Dost thou not err as we

In being here?

Raph. I came to call ye back to your fit sphere, In the great name and at the word of God. Dear, dearest in themselves, and scarce less dear That which I came to do: till now we trod Together the eternal space; together

Let us still walk the stars. True, earth must die! Her race, return'd into her womb, must wither, And much which she inherits: but oh! why

Cannot this earth be made, or be destroy'd,
Without involving ever some vast void
In the immortal ranks? immortal still
In their immeasurable forfeiture.

Our brother Satan fell; his burning will
Rather than longer worship dared endure !
But who still are pure!

ye

Seraphs! less mighty than that mightiest one,
Think how he was undone !

And think if tempting man can compensate
For heaven desired too late?

Long have I warr'd,

Long must I war

With him who deem'd it hard

To be created, and to acknowledge him
Who midst the cherubim

Made him as suns to a dependent star,
Leaving the archangels at his right hand dim.

I loved him-beautiful he was: oh heaven!
Save his who made, what beauty and what power
Was ever like to Satan's! Would the hour
In which he fell could ever be forgiven!
The wish is impious: but, oh ye!
Yet undestroy'd, be warn'd! Eternity

With him, or with his God, is in your choice: He hath not tempted you; he cannot tempt The angels, from his further snares exempt: But man hath listen'd to his voice, And ye to woman's-beautiful she is, The serpent's voice less subtle than her kiss. The snake but vanquish'd dust; but she will draw A second host from heaven, to break heaven's law.

Yet, yet, oh fly!

Ye cannot die;

But they

Shall pass away,

While shall fill with shrieks the upper sky

ye

For perishable clay,

Whose memory in your immortality

Shall long outlast the sun which gave them day. Think how your essence differeth from theirs In all but suffering! why partake

The agony to which they must be heirs

Born to be plough'd with years, and sown with cares, And reap'd by Death, lord of the human soil? Even had their days been left to toil their path Through time to dust, unshorten'd by God's wrath, Still they are Evil's prey and Sorrow's spoil.

Aho.

Let them fly!

I hear the voice which says that all must die
Sooner than our white-bearded patriarchs died ;
And that on high

An ocean is prepared,

While from below

The deep shall rise to meet heaven's overflow.
Few shall be spared,

It seems; and, of that few, the race of Cain
Must lift their eyes to Adam's God in vain.
Sister since it is so,

And the eternal Lord
In vain would be implored

For the remission of one hour of woe,

Let us resign even what we have adored,

And meet the wave, as we would meet the sword,

If not unmoved, yet undismay'd,

And wailing less for us than those who shall
Survive in mortal or immortal thrall,

And, when the fatal waters are allay'd,
Weep for the myriads who can weep no more.
Fly, seraphs to your own eternal shore,
Where winds nor howl nor waters roar.
Our portion is to die,

And yours to live for ever:

But which is best, a dead eternity,
Or living, is but known to the great Giver.
Obey him, as we shall obey;

I would not keep this life of mine in clay
An hour beyond his will;

Nor see ye lose a portion of his grace,
For all the mercy which Seth's race

Find still.
Fly!

And as your pinions bear ye

back to heaven,

Think that my love still mounts with thee on high,

Samiasa!

And if I look up with a tearless eye,

'Tis that an angel's bride disdains to weep,Farewell! Now rise, inexorable deep!

Anah.

And must we die?

And must I lose thee too,

Oh,

Azaziel ?

my heart! my heart!

Thy prophecies were true!

And yet thou wert so happy too!

The blow, though not unlook'd for, falls as new:

But yet depart !