Adah.
He's gone, let us go forth;
I hear our little Enoch cry within our bower.

Cain. Ah! little knows he what he weeps for ! And I who have shed blood cannot shed tears! But the four rivers would not cleanse my soul.* Think'st thou my boy will bear to look on me? Adah. If I thought that he would not, I wouldCain [interrupting her).

No, No more of threats: we have had too many of Go to our children; I will follow thee. [them:

Adah. I will not leave thee lonely with the dead; Let us depart together.

The first grave yet dug for mortality.

But who hath dug that grave? Oh, earth! Oh, earth!

For all the fruits thou hast render'd to me, I
Give thee back this.-Now for the wilderness!

[Adah stoops down and kisses the body of Abel.
Adah. A dreary and an early doom, my brother,
Has been thy lot! Of all who mourn for thee,
I alone must not weep. My office is
Henceforth to dry up tears, and not to shed them
But yet, of all who mourn, none mourn like me,
Not only for thyself, but him who slew thee.
Now, Cain! I will divide thy burden with thee.
Cain. Eastward from Eden will we take our way:
'Tis the inost desolate, and suits my steps.
Adah. Lead! thou shalt be my guide, and may
our God

Be thine! Now let us carry forth our children.
Cain. And he who lieth there was childless. I
Have dried the fountain of a gentle race,
Which might have graced his recent marriage
couch,

And might have temper'd this stern blood of mine,
Uniting with our children Abel's offspring!
O Abel!

Adah. Peace be with him!
Cain.

But with me!

[Exeunt.

And it came to pass

From thy sphere!

Whatever star contain thy glory;

In the eternal depths of heaven
Albeit thou watchest with the seven,'
Though through space infinite and hoary
Before thy bright wings worlds be driven,
Yet hear!

Oh! think of her who holds thee dear!
And though she nothing is to thee,

Yet think that thou art all to her.

Thou canst not tell-and never be
Such pangs decreed to aught save me-
The bitterness of tears.
Eternity is in thine ears,
Unborn, undying beauty in thine eyes;
With me thou canst not sympathize,

Except in love, and there thou must
Acknowledge that more loving dust
Ne'er wept beneath the skies.

Thou walk'st thy many worlds, thou seest
The face of Him who made thee great,

As He hath made me of the least

Of those cast out from Eden's gate:
Yet, Seraph dear!
Oh, hear!

For thou hast loved me, and I would not die
Until I know what I must die in knowing,

The archangels, said to be seven in number, and to occupy the eighth rank in the celestial hierarchy.

That thou forgett'st in thine eternity

Her whose heart death could not keep from o'er. flowing

For thee, immortal essence as thou art!

Great is their love who love in sin and fear;

And such, I feel, are waging in my heart

A war unworthy; to an Adamite

Forgive, my Seraph! that such thoughts appear, For sorrow is our element;

Delight

An Eden kept afar from sight,

Though sometimes with our visions blent,
The hour is near

Which tells me we are not abandoned quite-
Appear! appear!

Seraph!

My own Azaziel! be but here,

And leave the stars to their own light.

Aho.

Samiasa!
Wheresoe'er

Thou rulest in the upper air

Or warring with the spirits who may dare
Dispute with Him

Who made all empires, empire; or recalling Some wandering star, which shoots through the abyss,

Whose tenants dying, while their world is falling, Share the dim destiny of clay in this;

Or joining with the inferior cherubim,
Thou deignest to partake their hymn-
Samiasa!

I call thee, I await thee, and I love thee,
Many may worship thee, that will I not:
If that thy spirit down to mine may move thee,
Descend and share my lot!

Though I be form'd of clay,

And thou of beams

More bright than those of day
On Eden's streams,
Thine immortality cannot repay
With love more warm than mine
My love. There is a ray

In me, which, though forbidden yet to shine,
I feel was lighted at thy God's and thine.
It may be hidden long: death and decay
Our mother Eve bequeath'd us--but my heart
Defies it; though this life must pass away,
Is that a cause for thee and me to part?
Thou art immortal-so am I : I feel-

I feel my immortality o'ersweep
All pains, all tears, all time, all fears, and peal,
Like the eternal thunders of the deep,
Into my ears this truth-Thou liv'st for ever!'
But if it be in joy

I know not, nor would know;
That secret rests with the Almighty Giver,
Who folds in clouds the fonts of bliss and woe.
But thee and me He never can destroy:
Change us He may, but not o'erwhelm; we are
Of as eternal essence, and must war
With Him if He will war with us: with thee

I can share all things, even immortal sorrow; For thou hast ventured to share life with me, And shall I shrink from thine eternity?

Haste

On Ararat's late secret crest, A mild and many-coloured bow, The reninant of their flashing path, Now shines! and now behold! it hath Return'd to night, as rippling foam, Which the leviathan hath lash'd From his unfathomable home, When sporting on the face of the calm deep, Subsides soon after he again hath dash'd Down, down, to where the ocean's fountains sleep. Aho. They have touch'd earth -Samiasa! Anah.

My Azaziel ! [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Enter Irad and Japhet.

Deprived of that which makes my misery.
Irad. I take thy taunt as part of thy distemper,
And would not feel as thou dost for more shekels
Than all our father's herd would bring if weigh'd
Against the metal of the sons of Cain-
The yellow dust they try to barter with us,
As if such useless and discolour'd trash,
The refuse of the earth, could be received
For milk, and wool, and flesh, and fruits, and all
Our flocks and wilderness afford.-Go, Japhet,
Sigh to the stars, as wolves howl to the moon-
I must back to my rest.
Faph.

If I could rest.

And so would I,

Irad. Faph. No, Irad; I will to the cavern, whose Mouth, they say, opens from the internal world, To let the inner spirits of the earth

Thou wilt not to our tents then?

Forth when they walk its surface.
Irad.

What wouldst thou there?

Faph.

Wherefore so!

Soothe further my sad spirit

Of my mind overworn. The earth's grown wicked,
And many signs and portents have proclaim'd
A change at hand, and an o'erwhelming doom
To perishable beings. Oh, my Anah!

When the dread hour denounced shall open wide
The fountains of the deep, how mightest thou
Have lain within this bosom, folded from
The elements-this bosom, which in vain
Hath beat for thee, and then will beat more vainly,
While thine-O God! at least remit to her
Thy wrath! for she is pure amidst the failing
As a star in the clouds, which cannot quench,
Although they obscure it for an hour. My Anah!
How would I have adored thee, but thou wouldst
not!

And still would I redeem thee-see thee live
When Ocean is Earth's grave, and, unopposed
By rock or shallow, the leviathan,

Lord of the shoreless sea and watery world,
Shall wonder at his boundlessness of realm.

[Exit Japhet.

He went forth,

Enter Noah and Shem.
Noah. Where is thy brother Japhet?
Shem.
According to his wont, to meet with Irad,
He said; but, as I fear, to bend his steps
Towards Anah's tents, round which he hovers
nightly,

Like a dove round and round its pillaged nest;
Or else he walks the wild up to the cavern
Which opens to the heart of Ararat.

Noah. What doth he there? It is an evil spot
Upon an earth all evil: for things worse
Than even wicked men resort there: he
Still loves this daughter of a fated race,
Although he could not wed her if she loved him,
And that she doth not. Oh, the unhappy hearts
Of men that one of my blood, knowing well
The destiny and evil of these days,
And that the hour approacheth, should indulge
In such forbidden yearnings! Lead the way;
He must be sought for !

All evil things are powerless on the man
Selected by Jehovah.-Let us on.

Shem. To the tents of the father of the sisters?
Noah. No; to the cavern of the Caucasus.
[Exeunt Noah and Shem,

SCENE III.-The mountains.-A cavern and the rocks of Caucasus.

Faph. [solus.] Ye wilds, that look eternal! and thou cave,

Which seem'st unfathomable ! and ye mountains,
So varied and so terrible in beauty!
Here, in your rugged majesty of rocks,

And toppling trees that twine their roots with stone
In perpendicular places, where the foot
Of man would tremble, could he reach them-yes,
Ye look eternal! Yet in a few days,

Before the mass of waters; and yon cave,
Which seems to lead into a lower world,

Shall have its depth search'd by the sweeping wave,

And dolphins gambol in the lion's den:

And man-Oh, men! my fellow beings! who
Shall weep above your universal grave,

Save I? Who shall be left to weep? My kinsmen,
Alas! what am I better than ye are,

That I must live beyond ye? Where shall be
The pleasant places where I thought of Anah
While I had hope; or the more savage haunts,
Scarce less beloved, where I despair'd for her!
And can it be !-Shall yon exulting peak,
Whose glittering top is like a distant star,
Lie low beneath the boiling of the deep?
No more to have the morning sun break forth,
And scatter back the mists in floating folds
From its tremendous brow? no more to have
Day's broad orb drop behind its head at even,
Leaving it with a crown of many hues?
No more to be the beacon of the world,
For angels to alight cn, as the spot

Nearest the stars? And can those words' no more
Be meant for thee, for all things, save for us,
And the predestined creeping things reserved
By my sire to Jehovah's bidding? May
He preserve them, and I not have the power
To snatch the loveliest of earth's daughters from
A doom which even some serpent, with his mate,
Shall 'scape, to save his kind to be prolong'd,
To hiss and sting through some emerging world,
Reeking and dank from out the slime, whose ooze
Shall slumber o'er the wreck of this, until
The salt morass subside into a sphere
Beneath the sun, and be the monument,
The sole and undistinguish'd sepulchre,
Of yet quick myriads of all life? How much
Breath will be still'd at once! All-beauteous world!
So young, so mark'd out for destruction, I
With a cleft heart look on thee day by day.
And night by night, thy number'd days and nights:
I cannot save thee, cannot save even her
Whose love had made me love thee more; but as
A portion of thy dust, I cannot think
Upon thy coming doom without a feeling
Such as-O God! and canst thou-He pauses.
[A rushing sound from the cavern is heard,
and shouts of laughter-afterwards a
Spirit passes.

We, we shall view the deep's salt sources poured, Until one element shall do the work

Of all in chaos; until they,

The creatures proud of their poor clay, Shall perish, and their bleached bones shall lurk In caves, in dens, in clefts of mountains, where The deep shall follow to their latest lair; Where even the brutes, in their despair, Shall cease to prey on man and on each other,

And the striped tiger shall lie down to die
Beside the lamb, as though he were his brother;
Till all things shall be as they were,
Silent and uncreated, save the sky;
While a brief truce

Is made with Death, who shall forbear
The little remnant of the past creation,

To generate new nations for his use:
This remnant, floating o'er the undulation
Of the subsiding deluge, from its slime,