Classic and Contemporary Poetry
FRAGMENT OF A POEM ON THE WORLD BEFORE THE FLOOD, by REGINALD HEBER Poet's Biography First Line: There came a spirit down at eventide Last Line: * * * * * Subject(s): Floods | ||||||||
THERE came a spirit down at eventide To the city of Enoch, and the terraced height Of Jared's palace. On his turret top There Jared sate, the king, with lifted face And eyes intent on Heaven, whose sober light Slept on his ample forehead, and the locks Of crisped silver, beautiful in age, And (but that pride had dimm'd, and lust of war, Those reverend features with a darker shade) Of saintly seeming, -- yet no saintly mood, No heavenward musing fix'd that steadfast eye, God's enemy, and tyrant of mankind. To whom that demon herald, from the wing Alighting, spake: "Thus saith the prince of air, Whose star flames brightest in the van of night, Whom gods and heroes worship, all who sweep On sounding wing the arch of nether heaven, Or walk in mail the earth, -- 'Thy prayers are heard, And the rich fragrance of thy sacrifice Hath not been wafted on the winds in vain. Have I not seen thy child, that she is fair? Give me thine Ada, thy beloved one, And she shall be my queen; and from her womb Shall giants spring, to rule the seed of Cain, And sit on Jared's throne!'" Then Jared rose, And spread his hands before the Evil power, And lifted up his voice and laugh'd for joy. "Say to my Lord, Thus saith the king of men, -- Thou art my god, -- thy servant I, my child Is as thine handmaid! -- Nay, abide awhile, To taste the banquet of an earthly hall, And leave behind thy blessing!" But, in mist, And like a vision from a waken'd man, The cloudy messenger dissolved away, There melting where the moonbeam brightest fell. Then Jared turn'd, and from the turret top Call'd on his daughter -- "Haste, my beautiful! Mine Ada, my beloved! bind with flowers Thy coal-black hair, and heap the sacred pile With freshest odours, and provoke the dance With harp and gilded organ, for this night We have found favour in immortal eyes, And the great gods have bless'd us.&rd; Thus he spake, Nor spake unheeded; in the ample hall His daughter heard, where, by the cedar fire, Amidst her maidens, o'er the ivory loom She pass'd the threads of gold. They hush'd the song Which, wafted on the fragrant breeze of night, Swept o'er the city like the ringdove's call; And forth with all her damsels Ada came, As mid the stars the silver mantled moon, In stature thus and form pre-eminent, Fairest of mortal maids. Her father saw That perfect comeliness, and his proud heart In purer bliss expanded. Long he gazed, Nor wonder deem'd that such should win the love Of Genius or of Angel; such the cheek Glossy with purple youth, such the large eye, Whose broad black mirror, through its silken fringe, Glisten'd with softer brightness, as a star That nightly twinkles o'er a mountain well; Such the long locks, whose raven mantle fell Athwart her ivory shoulders, and o'erspread Down to the heel her raiment's filmy fold. She, bending first in meekness, rose to meet Her sire's embrace, than him alone less tall, Whom, since primeval Cain, the sons of men Beheld unrivall'd: then, with rosy smile, "What seeks," she said, "my father? Why remain On thy lone tower, when from the odorous hearth The sparkles rise within, and Ada's hand Hath deck'd thy banquet?" But the king replied, -- "O fairest, happiest, best of mortal maids, My prayer is heard, and from you western star Its lord hath look'd upon thee: as I sate Watching the Heavens, a Heavenly spirit came From him whom chiefest of the host of Heaven Our fathers honour'd, -- whom we nightly serve (Since first Jehovah scorn'd such sacrifice) With frankincense and flowers and oil and corn, Our bloodless offering; him whose secret strength Hath girded us to war, and given the world To bow beneath our sceptre. He hath seen My child, that she is fair, and from her womb Shall giants spring, to rule the seed of Cain, And sit on Jared's throne. What, silent! nay, Kneel not to me; in loud thanksgiving kneel To him whose choice -- Now by the glorious stars She weeps, she turns away! Unhappy child! And lingers yet thy mother's boding lore So deeply in thy soul? Curse on the hour That ever Jared bore a bride away From western Eden! Haven I train'd thy youth Untouch'd by mortal love, by mortal eyes Seen and adored far off, and in the shrine Of solemn majesty reserved, a flower Of guarded paradise, whom men should praise, But angels only gather? Have I toil'd To swell thy greatness, till our brazen chain From furthest Ararat to ocean's stream Hath bound the nations? And when all my vows At length are crown'd, and Heaven with earth conspires To yield thee worship, dost thou then rebel, And hate thy happiness? Bethink thee, maid, Ere yet thine answer, not to be recall'd, Hath pass'd those ivory gates -- bethink thee well. Who shall recount the blessings which our gods Have richly lavish'd on the seed of Cain? And who, if stung by thine ingratitude, Can meet their vengeance?" Then the maiden rose, And folding on her breast her ivory arms, "Father," she said, "thou deem'st thy warrior gods Are mighty, -- One above is mightier: Name Him, they tremble. Kind thou call'st them; Lavish of blessings. Is that blessedness To sin with them? to hold a hideous rule, Water'd with widows' tears and blood of men, O'er those who curse our name? Thy bands went forth And brought back captives from the palmy side Of far Euphrates. One thou gavest me, A woman for mine handmaid: I have heard Her mournful songs as, in the strangers' land She wept and plied the loom. I questioned her: Oh, what a tale she told! And are they good, -- The god whose work these are! They are not good, -- And, if not good, not gods. But there is One, I know, I feel, a good, a Holy One, The God who fills my heart, when, with glad tears, I think upon my mother; when I strive To be like her, like her to soothe thy cares With perfect tenderness. O father, king, Most honour'd, most beloved, than Him alone Who gives us all less worshipp'd! at thy feet I lowly cast me down; I clasp thy knees, And in her name who most of womankind Thy soul hath bless'd, by whose bed of death In short-lived penitence thy sorrow vow'd To serve her God alone, -- forgive me now If I resemble her!" But in fierce wrath The king replied, -- "And know'st thou not, weak girl, Thy God hath cast us off? hath scorn'd of old Our father's offering, driven us from His face, And mark'd us for destruction? Can thy prayer Pierce through the curse of Cain -- thy duty please That terrible One, whose angels are not free From sin before Him?" Then the maiden spake: "Alas! I know mine own unworthiness, Our hapless race I know. Yet God is good; Yet is He merciful; the sire of Cain Forgiveness found, and Cain himself, though steep'd In brother's blood, had found it, if his pride Had not disdain'd the needful sacrifice, And turned to other masters. One shall be, In after times, my mother wont to tell, Whose blood shall help the guilty. When my soul Is sick to death, this comfort lingers here, This hope survives within me; for His sake, Whose name I know not, God will hear my prayer, And though He slay me, I will trust in Him." Here Ada ceased, for from her father's eye The fire flash'd fast, and on his curling lip The white foam trembled. "Gone," he cried, "all gone! My heart's desire, the labour of my youth, Mine age's solace gone! Degenerate child, Enemy of our gods, chief enemy To thine own glory! What forbids my foot To spurn thy life out, or this dreadful hand To cast thee from the tower a sacrifice To those whom thou hast scorn'd? Accursed be thou Of Him thou seek'st in vain! accursed He, Whose hated worship hath enticed thy feet From the bright altars of the host of Heaven! I curse him -- mark me well -- I curse Him, Ada! And, lo! He smiteth not!" But Ada bow'd Her head to earth, and hid her face, and wept In agony of prayer. "Yea," cried the king, "Yea, let Him smite me now, for what hath life Left worth the keeping? Yet, I thank the stars, Vengeance may yet be mine! Look up and hear Thy monarch, not thy father! Till this hour I have spared thy mother's people; they have pray'd And hymn'd, and have blasphemed the prince of air; And, as thou saidest, they have cursed my reign; And I have spared them! But no longer -- no! Thyself hast lit the fire, nor Lucifer Shall longer tax my sword for tardy zeal, And thou shalt live to see it!" From his path He spurn'd his prostrate child, and groaning, wrapt The mantle round his face, and pass'd away Unheard of her whom, stretch'd in seeming death, Her maidens tended. Oh, that, in this hour Her soul had fled indeed, nor waked again To keener suffering! Yet shall man refuse The bitter cup whose dregs are blessedness? Or shall we hate the friendly hand which guides To nobler triumph through severer woe? Thus Ada murmur'd, thus within her spake (In answer to such impious murmurings) A spirit not her own. Stretch'd on her couch She silent lay. The maidens had retired Observant of her rest. Her nurse alone, Shaking and muttering with a parent's fear, Knelt by her side, and watch'd her painful breath, And the wild horror of her fixed eye, And long'd to hear her voice. "Peninnah! thou! My mother, is it thou?" the princess cried; And that old woman kiss'd her feet and wept In rapturous fondness. "Oh my child! my child! The blessing of thy mother's mighty God Rest on thine innocent head, and 'quite thy love For those kind accents. All, my lovely one, All may be well. Thy father doats on thee; And, when his wrath is spent, his love, be sure, Will grant thee all thy will. Oh lamps of Heaven! Can ye behold her thus nor pity her! Is this your love, ye gods!" -- "Name not the gods," The princess cried, "the wretched gods of Cain; My mother's God be mine; they are no gods Whose fleshly fancy dotes on mortal clay, Whose love is ruin! Thinkest thou this night I have first withstood their tempting? first have proved Their utter weakness?" -- "Have the angels, then, Visited thee of old?" the nurse inquired, "Or hath thy father told thee of their love And thou hast kept it from me?" As she spake A bright and bitter glance of lofty scorn Shot from the virgin's eyes. A mantling blush Of hallow'd courage darken'd on her cheek; She waved her arm as one whose kingly state Repels intrusion from his privacy, And answer'd, with a calm but painful smile: "They are beside us now! Nay quake not thus, I fear them not; yet they are terrible -- But they are past, resist them and they flee, And all is peace again: yet have I groan'd Beneath such visitation, till my faith In Him I serve hath almost pass'd away." With that she rose, and wrapt in silent thought, Gazed through the portal long, -- then paced awhile The marble pavement, now from side to side Tossing her restless arms, now clasping close Her hands in supplication, lifting now Her eloquent eyes to Heaven, -- then sought again Her lowly couch, and, by the nurse's side, Resumed the wondrous tale. "Oh friend," she cried, "And only mother now, you silver moon Has twenty times renew'd her course in Heaven, Since, as my bosom o'er its girlish zone With painful tightness rose, I bade thee change Th' imprisoning cincture. Canst thou yet recall Thy playful words of praise, -- thy prophecies Of one to loose ere long that golden clasp, A royal bridegroom? Strange to me, thy words Sunk in my soul, and busy fancy strove To picture forth that unknown visitant, His form and bearing. Musing thus, and lost In troubled contemplation, o'er my soul A heavy slumber fell: I sank not down; I saw, I heard, I moved; the spell was laid Within me, and from forth my secret heart A stranger's accents came: 'Oh! blessed maid! Most beautiful, most honour'd! not for thee Be mortal marriage, nor the feeble love Of those whose beauty is a mortal dream, Whose age a shadow. What is man, whose day, In the poor circuit of a thousand years, Reverts again to dust? Thee, maiden! thee The gods have seen: the never-dying stars Gaze on thy loveliness, and thou shalt reign A new Astarte. Bind thy flowing hair, Brace on thy sandals, seek the myrtle grove West of the city, and the cavern well, Whose clear black waters from their silent spring Ripple with ceaseless stir: thy lover there Waits thee in secret, and thy soul shall learn The raptures of a god! But cast away That peevish bauble which thy mother gave, Her hated talisman.' That word recall'd My straggling senses, and her dying prayer Pass'd through my soul like fire; the tempter fell Abash'd before it, and a living voice Of most true consolation o'er me came, 'Nor love nor fear them, Ada; love not them Who hate thy mother's memory; fear not them Who fear thy mother's God; for this she gave, Prophetic of this hour, that graven gold, Which bears the title of the Eternal One, And binds thee to His service: guard it well, And guard the faith it teaches; safer so Than girt around by brazen walls, and gates Of seven-fold cedar.' Since that hour, my heart Hath kept its covenant, nor shrunk beneath The spirits of evil; yet, not so repell'd, They watch me in my walks, spy out my ways, And still with nightly whispers vex my soul, To seek the myrtle thicket. Bolder now, They speak of duty -- of a father's will, Now first unkind -- a father's kingly power, Tremendous when opposed. My God, they say, Bids me revere my parent: will He guard A rebel daughter? Wiser to comply, Ere force compels me to my happiness, And to my lover yield that sacrifice Which else my foe may seize. Oh God! great God! Of whom I am, and whom I serve alone, Be Thou my strength in weakness -- Thou my guide, And save me from this hour!" Thus, as she spake, With naked feet and silent, in the cloud Of a long mantle wrapt, as one who shuns The busy eyes and babbling tongues of men, A warrior enter'd; o'er his helm The casque was drawn * * * * * * * * | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HIGH TIDE AT [OR, ON THE COAST OF] LINCOLNSHIRE by JEAN INGELOW THE SURF by JURGIS BALTRUSHAITIS UNDER THE WHARF by IDA COLE BARTLATT THE COMET by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES THE SECRET OF THE WATERFALL by WILLIAM ROSE BENET TO LADY AUSTEN, WRITTEN IN RAINY WEATHER by WILLIAM COWPER EVENING HYMN by REGINALD HEBER |
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