No, not to save all earth, were earth in peril! Our race hath always dwelt apart from thine From the beginning, and shall do so ever. 661 Japh. I did not speak to thee, Aholibamah! Too much of the forefather whom thou vauntest Has come down in that haughty blood which springs From him who shed the first, and that a brother's! But thou, my Anah! let me call thee mine, Albeit thou art not; 't is a word I cannot Part with, although I must from thee. My Anah ! Thou who dost rather make me dream that Abel 669 Had left a daughter, whose pure pious race Survived in thee, so much unlike thou art The rest of the stern Cainites, save in beauty, For all of them are fairest in their favour Aho. (interrupting him). And wouldst thou have her like our father's foe In mind, in soul? If I partook thy thought, And dream'd that aught of Abel was in her! Get thee hence, son of Noah; thou makest strife. Japh. Offspring of Cain, thy father did so! Aho. But Shaken my sister? Are we not the loved Of seraphs? and if we were not, must we Cling to a son of Noah for our lives? Rather than thus But the enthusiast dreams The worst of dreams, the fantasies engender'd By hopeless love and heated vigils. Who Shall shake these solid mountains, this firm earth, And bid those clouds and waters take a shape Distinct from that which we and all our sires Our doom is sorrow: not to us alone, From his once archangelic throne And thou, Azaziel! No- For me. Away! nor weep! May'st suffer more, not weeping: then forget 940 Her, whom the surges of the all-strangling deep Can bring no pang like this. Fly! fly! Being gone, 't will be less difficult to die. Japh. Oh say not so! Father! and thou, archangel, thou! Surely celestial mercy lurks below That pure severe serenity of brow: Let them not meet this sea without a shore, Save in our ark, or let me be no more! Noah. Peace, child of passion, peace! 950 If not within thy heart, yet with thy tongue Do God no wrong! Live as he wills it- die, when he ordains, plaint. Japh. Ay, father! but when they are gone, And we are alone, Floating upon the azure desert, and The depth beneath us hides our own dear land, And dearer, silent friends and brethren, all Buried in its immeasurable breast, Who, who, our tears, our shrieks, shall then command? Can we in desolation's peace have rest? But they are numerous now as are the waves Whose drops shall be less thick than would their graves, Were graves permitted to the seed of Cain. Noah. Silence, vain boy! each word of thine 's a crime. Angel! forgive this stripling's fond despair. Raph. Seraphs! these mortals speak in passion: Ye! 980 Who are, or should be, passionless and pure, May now return with me. Sam. It may not be: We have chosen, and will endure. Raph. Say'st thou ? Aza. He hath said it, and I say, Amen! Raph. Again! Then from this hour, Shorn as ye are of all celestial power, Farewell! 989 Japh. Alas! where shall they dwell? Hark, hark! Deep sounds, and deeper still, Are howling from the mountain's bosom: There's not a breath of wind upon the hill, Yet quivers every leaf, and drops each blossom: Earth groans as if beneath a heavy load. He riseth, but his better light is gone; And a black circle, bound His glaring disk around, 1000 Proclaims earth's last of summer days hath shone ! The clouds return into the hues of night, Save where their brazen-colour'd edges streak |