Till many a meaner meal had slowly given
The young destroyer strength to vanquish even
His restless rival in destruction, Man.
Meanwhile, on lesser victims he began
To test his power; and, in a cold spring night,
Two weanling lambs first perished from his bite.
The bleatings of their dam at break of day
Drew to the spot where her dead lambkins lay
The other beasts. They, understanding not,
In wistful silence round that fatal spot
Stood eyeing the dead lambs with looks forlorn.
Adam, who was upon the march that morn,
Missing his body-guard, turned back to see
What they were doing; and there also he
Saw the two frozen lambkins lying dead,
But understood not. At the last he said,
Since the lambs cannot move, methinks 'twere best That I should carry them."
So on his breast He laid their little bodies, and again Set forward, followed o'er the frosty plain By his bewildered flocks. And, in dismay, They held their peace. That was a silent day. At night he laid the dead lambs on the grass. That night still colder than the other was, And when the morning broke, there were two more Dead lambs to carry. Adam took the four, And in his arms he bore them, no great way, Till eventide. That was a sorrowful day.
But, ere the next, two other lambkins died,
Frostbitten in the dark.
To carry them, all six.
Then Adam tried
But the poor sheep
Said, "Nay, we thank thee, Adam. Let them sleep!
And, if they wake, they could not walk, for, see,
Their little legs are stiffen'd. Let them be!"
So Adam left the lambs. And all the herd
Follow'd him in sorrowing, and not a word
Was spoken. Never until then had they
Their own forsaken. That was the worst day.
Eve said to Adam, as they went along, “Adam, last night the cold was bitter strong. Warm fleeces to keep out the freezing wind Have those six lambkins thou hast left behind; But they will never need them any more. Go, fetch them here, and I will make, before This day be done, stout garments for us both, Lest we, too, wake no more." Said Adam, loth To do her bidding, "Why dost thou suppose Our lambs will nevermore have need of those Warm fleeces? They are sleeping." But Eve said, "They are not sleeping, Adam. They are dead." "Dead? What is that?" "I know not. But I know
That they no more can feel the north wind blow,
Nor the sun burn. They cannot hear the bleat
Of their own mothers; cannot suffer heat,
Or cold, or thirst, or hunger, weariness,
Or want, again." "How dost thou know all this?"
Ask'd Adam. And Eve whispered in his ear, "The Serpent told me." "Is the Serpent here? If here he be, why hath he," Adam cried,
"No good gift brought me?" Adam's wife replied, "The best of gifts, if rightly understood,
He brings thee, and that gift is counsel good.
The Serpent is a prudent beast, and right;
For we were miserably cold last night,
And may to-night be colder; and hard by
Those dead lambs in their woolly fleeces lie,
Yet need them not as we do. They are dead.
Go fetch them hither."
Next morning to the beasts' surprise,
Adam and Eve appear'd before their eyes
In woollen fleeces warmly garmented.
"How wonderful is Man, who can make wool
As good as sheep's wool, and more beautiful!"
Only the Fox, who sniff'd and grinn'd, had guessed
Man's unacknowledged theft; and to the rest
He sneer'd," How wonderful is Woman's whim!
See, Adam's wife hath made a sheep of him!"
ROBERT, EARL OF LYTTON
Then with his children, clothed in skins of brutes,
Dishevelled, livid, rushing through the storm,
Cain fled before Jehovah. As night fell,
The dark man reached a mount in a great plain,
And his tired wife and sons, out of breath,
Said: "Let us lie down on the earth and sleep."
Cain, sleeping not, dreamed at the mountain foot.
He saw an Eye, a great Eye, in the night,
Open, and staring at him in the gloom.
"I am too near," he said, and tremblingly woke up
His sleeping sons again, and his tired wife,
And fled through space and darkness. Thirty days.
He went, and thirty nights, nor looked behind;
Pale, silent, watchful, shaking at each sound;
No rest, no sleep, till he attained the strand.
Where the sea washes that which since was Asshur.
"Here pause," he said, " for this place is secure;
Here we may rest, for this is the world's end."
And he sat down; when, lo! in the sad sky,
The selfsame Eye on the horizon's verge,
And the wretch shook as in an ague fit.
"Hide me!" he cried, and all his watchful sons, Their fingers on their lip, stared at their sire.
Cain said to Jabal (father of them that dwell
In tents): "Spread here the curtains of thy tent;"
And they spread wide the floating canvas roof,
And made it fast, and fixed it down with lead.
"You see naught now," said Zillah then, fair child,
The daughter of his eldest, sweet as day.
But Cain replied, "That Eye, I see it still."
And Jubal cried (the father of all those
That handle harp and organ): "I will build
A sanctuary;" and he made a wall of bronze,
And set his sire behind it. But Cain moaned,
That Eye is glaring at me ever."
"Then must we make a circle vast of towers,
So terrible that nothing dare draw near;
Build we a city with a citadel;
Build we a city high, and close it fast."
Then Tubal-Cain (instructor of all them
That work in brass and iron) built a tower,
Enormous, superhuman. While he wrought,
His fiery brothers from the plain around
Hunted the sons of Enoch and of Seth;
They plucked the eyes out of whoever passed,
And hurled their arrows even to the stars.
They set strong granite for the canvas wall,
And every block was clamped with iron chains.
The walls were thick as mountains. On the door
They graved: "Let not God enter here." This
done,
And having finished to cement and build,
In a stone tower they set him in the midst.
"Is the Eye gone?" quoth Zillah, tremblingly.
But Cain replied, "Nay, it is even there."
|