| |
SCENE. The terraced roof of ABSALOM’S house, by night; adorned with vases of flowers, and fragrant shrubs; an awning spread over part of it. TAMAR and HADAD.
Tam. No, no, I well remember—proofs, you said, | |
| Unknown to Moses. | |
| Had. Well, my love, thou knowest | |
| I ’ve been a traveller in various climes; | |
| Trod Ethiopia’s scorching sands, and scaled | 5 |
| The snow-clad mountains; trusted to the deep; | |
| Traversed the fragrant islands of the sea, | |
| And with the Wise conversed of many nations. | |
| Tam. I know thou hast. | |
| Had. Of all mine eyes have seen, | 10 |
| The greatest, wisest, and most wonderful, | |
| Is that dread sage, the Ancient of the Mountain. | |
| Tam. Who? | |
| Had. None knows his lineage, age, or name: his locks | |
| Are like the snows of Caucasus; his eyes | 15 |
| Beam with the wisdom of collected ages. | |
| In green, unbroken years, he sees, ’t is said, | |
| The generations pass, like autumn fruits, | |
| Garnered, consumed, and springing fresh to life, | |
| Again to perish, while he views the sun, | 20 |
| The seasons roll, in rapt serenity, | |
| And high communion with celestial powers. | |
| Some say ’t is Shem, our father, some say Enoch, | |
| And some Melchizedek. | |
| Tam. I ’ve heard a tale | 25 |
| Like this, but ne’er believed it. | |
| Had. I have proved it.— | |
| Through perils dire, dangers most imminent, | |
| Seven days and nights ’midst rocks and wildernesses, | |
| And boreal snows, and never-thawing ice, | 30 |
| Where not a bird, a beast, a living thing, | |
| Save the far-soaring vulture comes, I dared | |
| My desperate way, resolved to know, or perish. | |
| Tam. Rash, rash adventurer! | |
| Had. On the highest peak | 35 |
| Of stormy Caucasus, there blooms a spot | |
| On which perpetual sunbeams play, where flowers | |
| And verdure never die; and there he dwells. | |
| Tam. But didst thou see him? | |
| Had. Never did I view | 40 |
| Such awful majesty: his reverend locks | |
| Hung like a silver mantle to his feet, | |
| His raiment glistered saintly white, his brow | |
| Rose like the gate of Paradise, his mouth | |
| Was musical as its bright guardians’ songs. | 45 |
| Tam. What did he tell thee? Oh! what wisdom fell | |
| From lips so hallowed? | |
| Had. Whether he possess | |
| The Tetragrammaton,—the powerful Name | |
| Inscribed on Moses’ rod, by which he wrought | 50 |
| Unheard of wonders, which constrains the Heavens | |
| To part with blessings, shakes the earth, and rules | |
| The strongest Spirits; or if God hath given | |
| A delegated power, I cannot tell. | |
| But ’t was from him I learned their fate, their fall, | 55 |
| Who, erewhile, wore resplendent crowns in Heaven; | |
| Now, scattered through the earth, the air, the sea. | |
| Them he compels to answer, and from them | |
| Has drawn what Moses, nor no mortal ear, | |
| Has ever heard. | 60 |
| Tam. But did he tell it thee? | |
| Had. He told me much,—more than I dare reveal; | |
| For with a dreadful oath he sealed my lips. | |
| Tam. But canst thou tell me nothing?—Why unfold | |
| So much, if I must hear no more? | 65 |
| Had. You bade | |
| Explain my words, almost reproached me, sweet, | |
| For what by accident escaped me. | |
| Tam. Ah! | |
| A little—something tell me,—sure, not all | 70 |
| Were words inhibited. | |
| Had. Then, promise never, | |
| Never to utter of this conference | |
| A breath to mortal. | |
| Tam. Solemnly I vow. | 75 |
| Had. Even then, ’t is little I can say, compared | |
| With all the marvels he related. | |
| Tam. Come, | |
| I ’m breathless.—Tell me how they sinn’d, how fell. | |
| Had. Their Prince involved them in his ruin. | 80 |
| Tam. What black offence on his devoted head | |
| Drew such dire punishment? | |
| Had. The wish to be | |
| As the All-Perfect. | |
| Tam. Arrogating that | 85 |
| Peculiar to his Maker!—awful crime! | |
| But what their doom? their place of punishment? | |
| Had. Above, about, beneath; earth, sea, and air; | |
| Their habitations various as their minds, | |
| Employments, and desires. | 90 |
| Tam. But are they round us, Hadad?—not confined | |
| In penal chains and darkness? | |
| Had. So he said; | |
| And so your holy books infer. What saith | |
| Your Prophet? what the Prince of Uz? | 95 |
| Tam. I shudder, | |
| Lest some dark Minister be near us now. | |
| Had. You wrong them. They are bright Intelligences, | |
| Robbed of some native splendor, and cast down, | |
| ’T is true, from Heaven; but not deformed, and foul, | 100 |
| Revengeful, malice-working Fiends, as fools | |
| Suppose. They dwell, like Princes, in the clouds; | |
| Sun their bright pinions in the middle sky; | |
| Or arch their palaces beneath the hills, | |
| With stones inestimable studded so, | 105 |
| That sun or stars were useless there. | |
| Tam. Good heavens! | |
| Had. He bade me look on rugged Caucasus, | |
| Crag piled on crag beyond the utmost ken | |
| Naked, and wild, as if creation’s ruins | 110 |
| Were heaped in one immeasurable chain | |
| Of barren mountains, beaten by the storms | |
| Of everlasting winter. But within | |
| Are glorious palaces, and domes of light, | |
| Irradiate halls, and crystal colonnades, | 115 |
| Blazing with lustre past the noontide beam, | |
| Or, with a milder beauty, mimicking | |
| The mystic signs of changeful Mazzaroth. | |
| Tam. Unheard of wonders! | |
| Had. There they dwell, and muse, | 120 |
| And wander; Beings beautiful, immortal, | |
| Minds vast as heaven, capacious as the sky; | |
| Whose thoughts connect past, present, and to come, | |
| And glow with light intense, imperishable. | |
| So in the sparry chambers of the Sea | 125 |
| And Air-Pavilions, upper Tabernacles, | |
| They study Nature’s secrets, and enjoy | |
| No poor dominion. | |
| Tam. Are they beautiful, | |
| And powerful far beyond the human race? | 130 |
| Had. Man’s feeble heart cannot conceive it. When | |
| The Sage described them, fiery eloquence | |
| Broke from his lips, his bosom heaved, his eyes | |
| Grew bright and mystical; moved by the theme, | |
| Like one who feels a deity within. | 135 |
| Tam. Wondrous!—What intercourse have they with men? | |
| Had. Sometimes they deign to intermix with man, | |
| But oft with woman. | |
| Tam. Ha! with woman? | |
| Had. She | 140 |
| Attracts them with her gentler virtues, soft, | |
| And beautiful, and heavenly, like themselves. | |
| They have been known to love her with a passion | |
| Stronger than human. | |
| Tam. That surpasses all | 145 |
| You yet have told me. | |
| Had. This the Sage affirms; | |
| And Moses, darkly. | |
| Tam. How do they appear?— | |
| How love?— | 150 |
| Had. Sometimes ’t is spiritual, signified | |
| By beatific dreams, or more distinct | |
| And glorious apparition.—They have stooped | |
| To animate a human form, and love | |
| Like mortals. | 155 |
| Tam. Frightful to be so beloved!— | |
| Frightful! who could endure the horrid thought? | |
| Had. [After a pause.] But why contemn a Spirit’s love? so high, | |
| So glorious, if he haply deigned?— | |
| Tam. Forswear | 160 |
| My Maker! love a Demon! | |
| Had. No—Oh, no,— | |
| My thoughts but wandered—Oft, alas! they wander. | |
| Tam. Why dost thou speak so sadly now?—And lo! | |
| Thine eyes are fixed again upon Arcturus. | 165 |
| Thus ever, when thy drooping spirits ebb, | |
| Thou gazest on that star. Hath it the power | |
| To cause or cure thy melancholy mood?— [He appears lost in thought. | |
| Tell me,—ascrib’st thou influence to the stars? | |
| Had. [Starting.] The stars!—What know’st thou of the stars? | 170 |
| Tam. I know that they were made to rule the night. | |
| Had. Like palace lamps! Thou echoest well thy grandsire!— | |
| Woman! The stars are living, glorious, | |
| Amazing, infinite!— | |
| Tam. Speak not so wildly. | 175 |
| I know them numberless, resplendent, set | |
| As symbols of the countless, countless years | |
| That make eternity. | |
| Had. Thou speak’st the word— | |
| O, had ye proved—like those Great Sufferers,— | 180 |
| Shot, once for all, the gulf,—felt myriad ages | |
| Only the prelude,—could ye scan the void | |
| With eyes as searching as its torments,— | |
| Then—then—mightst thou pronounce it feelingly! | |
| Tam. What ails thee, Hadad?—Draw me not so close. | 185 |
| Had. Tamar! I need thy love—more than thy love— | |
| Tam. Thy cheek is wet with tears—Nay, let us part— | |
| ’T is late. I cannot, must not linger.— [Breaks from him, and exit. | |
| Had. Loved and abhorred!—Still, still accursed!— [He paces, twice or thrice, up and down with passionate gestures; then turns his face to the sky, and stands a moment in silence. | |
| O! where, | 190 |
| In the illimitable space, in what | |
| Profound of untried misery, when all | |
| His worlds, his rolling orbs of light, that fill | |
| With life and beauty yonder infinite, | |
| Their radiant journey run, forever set, | 195 |
| Where, where, in what abyss shall I be groaning? [Exit. | |
| |
