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JAPHET (interrupting them).
The eternal will

Shall deign to expound this dream
Of good and evil; and redeem

Unto himself all times, and things;
And, gather'd under his almighty wings,
Abolish hell!

And to the expiated carth
Restore the beauty of her birth,

Her Eden in an endless paradise, Where man no more can fall as once he fell, And even the very demons shall do well!


And when shall take effect this wondrous spell?


When the Redeemer cometh; first in pain, And then in glory.


Meantime still struggle in the mortal chain,

Till earth wax hoary;

War with yourselves, and hell, and heaven, in vain,

Until the clouds look gory

With the blood recking from each battle plain;

Save the slight remnant of Seth's seed-
The seed of Seth,

Exempt for future sorrow's sake from death
But of the sons of Cain

None shall remain ;
And all his goodly daughters

Must e beneath the desolating waters;
Or, floating upward with their long hair laid
Along the wave, the cruel Heaven upbraid,
Which would not spare

Beings even in death so fair.
It is decreed,

All die!

And to the universal human cry

The universal silence shall succeed!
Fly, brethren, fly!
But still rejoice!
We fell !

They fall!

So perish all

These petty foes of Heaven who shrink from Heli! [The Spirits disappear, soaring upwards

JAPHET (solus).

New times, new climes, new arts, new men; but still God hath proclaim'd the destiny of earth;

The same old tears, old crimes, and oldest ill,. Shall be amongst your race in different forms;

But the same moral storms

Shall oversweep the future, as the waves
In a few hours the glorious giants' graves.'
Chorus of Spirits.

Brethren, rejoice!

Mortal, farewell!

Hark! hark! already we can hear the voice
Of growing ocean's gloomy swell;

The winds, too, plume their piercing wings!
The clouds have nearly fill'd their springs!
The fountains of the great deep shall be broken,
And heaven set wide her windows; while mankind
View, unacknowledged, each tremendous token-
Still, as they were from the beginning, blind.
We hear the sound they cannot hear,
The mustering thunders of the threatening sphere;
Yet a few hours their coming is delay'd;

Their flashing banners, folded still on high.
Yet undisplay'd,

Save to the spirits' all-pervading eye.
Howl! howl! oh earth!

Thy death is nearer than thy recent birth:
Tremble, ye mountains, soon to shrink below
The ocean's overflow!

The wave shall break upon your cliffs; and shells,
The little shells of ocean's least things, be
Deposed where now the eagle's offspring dwells-
How shall he shriek o'er the remorseless sca!
And call his nestlings up with fruitless yell,
Unanswer'd save by the encroaching swell:-
While man shall long in vain for his broad wings,
The wings which could not save:-

Where could he rest them, while the whole space brings
Nought to his eye beyond the deep, his grave?

Brethren, rejoice!

And loudly lift each superhuman voice

All die,

1 "And there were giants in those days, and after; mighty men, which were of old men of repown."—Genesis.


My father's ark of safety hath announced it
The very demons shriek it from their caves;
The scroll of Enoch prophesied it long
In silent books, which, in their silence, say
More to the mind than thunder to the ear:
And yet men listen'd not, nor listen: but
Walk darkling to their doom; which, though so nigh,
Shakes them no more in their dim disbelief,
Than their last cries shall shake the Almighty purpose,
Or deaf obedient ocean, which fulfils it.

No sign yet hangs its banner in the air;
The clouds are few, and of their wonted texture;
The sun will rise upon the earth's last day
As on the fourth day of creation, when
God said unto him, "Shine!" and he broke forth
Into the dawn, which lighted not the yet
Unform'd forefather of mankind-but roused
Before the human orison the earlier
Made and far sweeter voices of the birds,
Which in the open firmament of heaven
Have wings like angels, and like them salute
Heaven first each day before the Adamites!
Their matins now draw nigh-the east is kindling-
And they will sing! and day will break! Both near,
So near the awful close! For these must drop
Their outworn pinions on the deep: and day,
After the bright course of a few brief morrows,-
Ay, day will rise; but upon what? A chaos,
Which was ere day; and which, renew'd, makes tine
Nothing! for, without life, what are the hours?
No more to dust than is eternity
Unto Jehovah, who created both.
Without him, even eternity would be

A void: without man, time, as made for man,
Dies with man, and is swallow'd in that deep
Which has no fountain; as his race will be
Devour'd by that which drowns his infant world.-
What have we here? Shapes of both earth and air?
No-all of heaven, they are so beautiful.

1 The Book of Enoch, preserved by the Ethiopians, is said by them to be anterior to the flood.

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My Anah!

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.
Thou who dost rather make me dream that Abel
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-

AHOLIBAMAH (interrupting him).

And wouldst thou have her like our father's foe
In mind, and soul? If I partook thy thought,
And dream'd that aught of Abel was in her !-
Get thee hence, son of Noah; thou mak'st strife.

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Whate'er our God decrees,
The God of Seth as Cain, I must obey,
And will endeavour patiently to obey;
But could I dare to pray in this dread ho
Of universal vengeance (if such should be,、
It would not be to live, alone exempt
Of all my house. My sister! Oh, my sister!
What were the world, or other worlds, or all
The brightest future without the sweet past-
Thy love-my father's-all the life, and all
The things which sprung up with me, like the stars,
Making my dim existence radiant with

Soft lights which were not mine? Aholibamah!
Oh! if there should be mercy-seek it, find it:
I abhor death, because that thou must die.


What! hath this dreamer, with his father's ark,
The bugbear he hath built to scare the world,
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 wors of dreams, the phantasies engender'd
By hopeless love and heated vigils. Who
Shall shake these solid mountains, this firm earth,

And bid those clouds and w sters take a shape Distinct from that which we and all our sires Have seen them wear on their eternal way? Who shall do this?


He whose one word produced them


Who heard that word?


The universe, which leap'd To life before it. Ah! smilest thou still in scorn? Turn to thy seraphs; if they attest it not, They are none.


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Not ye in all your glory can redeem

What He who made you glorious hath condemn'd.
Were your immortal mission safety, 't would
Be gencral, not for two, though beautiful,
And beautiful they are, but not the less


Oh father! say it not.


Son! son!

If that thou wouldst avoid their doom, forget That they exist; they soon shall cease to be, While thou shalt be the sire of a new world, And better.


Let me die with this, and them!


Thou shouldst for such a thought, but shalt not; He Who can, redeems thee.


And why him and thee, More than what he, thy son, prefers to both?


Ask Him who made thee greater than myself
And mine, but not less subject to his own
Almightiness. And lo! his mildest and
I-east to be tempted messenger appears!

Enter RAPHAEL the Archangel.



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?

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?


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 inquired 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!


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?


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 ye who still are pure!

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 sun 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,

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In all but suffering! Why partake
The agony to which they must be heirs-
Born to be plough'd with tears, 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.


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.


And as your pinions bear ye back to heaven, Think that my love still mounts with thee on high,


And if I look up with a tearless eye,

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


And must we die?

And must I lose thee too,


Oh, 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!

Ah, why?

Yet let me not retain thee-fly!

My pangs can be but brief: but thine would be
Eternal, if repulsed from heaven for me.

Too much already hast thou deign'd
To one of Adam's race!
Our doom is sorrow! not to us alone,
But to the spirits who have not disdain'd
To love us, cometh anguish with disgrace.

The first who taught us knowledge hath been hurl'd
From his once archangelic throne
Into some unknown world:

And thou, Azaziel! No-
Thou shalt not suffer woe
For me. Away! nor weep!
Thou canst not weep; but yet

May'st suffer more, not weeping: then forget 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.


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!


Peace, child of passion, peace!

If not within thy heart yet with thy tongue
Do God no wrong!

Live as he wills it-die, when he ordains,
A righteous death, unlike the seed of Cain's.
Cease, or be sorrowful in silence; cease
To weary Heaven's ear with thy selfish plaint.
Wouldst thou have God commit a sin for thee?
Such would it be

To alter his intent

For a mere mortal sorrow. Be a man!
And bear what Adam's race must bear, and can.


Ay, father! but when they are gone,

And we are all 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?

Oh, God! be thou a god, and spare
Yet while 't is time!

Renow not Adam's fall:

Mankind were then but twain,

But they are numerous now as are the waves
And the tremendous rain,

Whose drops shall be less thick than would their grave.
Were graves permitted to the seed of Cain.

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