Adah.

Surely, 't is well done.

Cain. One altar may suffice; I have no offering. Adah. The fruits of the earth, the early, beautiful Blossom and bud, and bloom of flowers, and fruits; These are a goodly offering to the Lord,

Given with a gentle and a contrite spirit.

Cain. I have toil'd, and till'd, and sweaten in the

sun

According to the curse: — must I do more?
For what should I be gentle? for a war
With all the elements ere they will yield

The bread we eat? For what must I be grateful?

For being dust, and grovelling in the dust,

Till I return to dust? If I am nothing

For nothing shall I be an hypocrite,

And seem well-pleased with pain? For what should I

Be contrite? for my father's sin, already

Expiate with what we all have undergone,
And to be more than expiated by

The ages prophesied, upon our seed.

Little deems our young blooming sleeper, there,

The germs of an eternal misery

To myriads is within him! better 't were

I snatch'd him in his sleep, and dash'd him 'gainst

The rocks, than let him live to

Adah.

Touch not the child

Oh, my God!

my child! thy child! Oh, Cain !

Cain. Fear not! for all the stars, and all the power

Which sways them, I would not accost yon infant

With ruder greeting than a father's kiss.

Adah. Then, why so awful in thy speech?

Cain.

'T were better that he ceased to live, than give
Life to so much of sorrow as he must

Endure, and, harder still, bequeath; but since
That saying jars you, let us only say ·

'T were better that he never had been born.

I said,

Adah. Oh, do not say so! Where were then the joys, The mother's joys of watching, nourishing,

And loving him? Soft! he awakes. Sweet Enoch!

[She goes to the child.

Oh Cain! look on him; see how full of life,
Of strength, of bloom, of beauty, and of joy,
How like to me - how like to thee, when gentle,
For then we are all alike; is 't not so, Cain?
Mother, and sire, and son, our features are
Reflected in each other; as they are

In the clear waters, when they are gentle, and
When thou art gentle. Love us, then, my Cain!
And love thyself for our sakes, for we love thee.
Look! how he laughs and stretches out his arms,
And opens wide his blue eyes upon thine,
To hail his father; while his little form
Flutters as wing'd with joy. Talk not of pain!
The childless cherubs well might envy thee
The pleasures of a parent! Bless him, Cain!
As yet he hath no words to thank thee, but
His heart will, and thine own too.

Bless thee, boy!

Cain.
If that a mortal blessing may avail thee,
To save thee from the serpent's curse!

Adah.

Surely a father's blessing may avert

A reptile's subtlety.

Cain.

Of that I doubt;

But bless him ne'er the less.

It shall.

IV.

SATIRIC.