'No voice shall say again, in heaven or earth, 'It is not good for him to be alone.' Adam. And was it good for such a prayer to pass, My unkind Eve, betwixt our mutual lives? If I am exiled, must I be bereaved? Eve. 'Twas an ill prayer: it shall be prayed no more; I will be the first to tread from this sword-glare And thus I do it. Adam. Thus I follow thee, As erewhile in the sin. What sounds! what sounds! I feel a music which comes straight from Heaven, As tender as a watering dew. Eve. I think That angels-not those guarding Paradise,- CHORUS OF INVISIBLE ANGELS. Faint and tender. Mortal man and woman, Do ye guess our choice is, To be harkened by you yet again? This pure door of opal God hath shut between us, Us, his shining people, You, who once have seen us And are blinded new! Yet, across the doorway, Past the silence reaching, Farewells evermore may, Blessing in the teaching, Glide from us to you. First semichorus. Think how erst your Eden, With our presence glowed, We came as if the Heavens were bowed To a milder music rare. Ye saw us in our solemn treading, Treading down the steps of cloud, Second semichorus. Or oft, abrupt though tender, With mystic lilies in our hands, Platformed in mid air. First semichorus. Chorus. Or oft, when Heaven-descended, Stood we in your wondering sight In a mute apocalypse! With dumb vibrations on our lips And grand half-vanishings Of the empyreal things Then upon our axle turning VOL. I.-3 We sang out the morning Broadening up the sky. Or we drew Our music through The noontide's hush and heat and shine, Interrupted vital notes Palpitating hither, thither, Or, whenever twilight drifted To anthems slowly sung! [The chant dies away confusedly, and LUCIFER appears. Luc. Now may all fruits be pleasant to thy lips, Beautiful Eve! The times have somewhat changed Since thou and I had talk beneath a tree, Albeit ye are not gods yet. Eve. Adam! hold My right hand strongly. It is Lucifer And we have love to lose. Adam. I' the name of God, Go apart from us, O thou Lucifer! And leave us to the desert thou hast made Out of thy treason. Bring no serpent-slime That she could curse too-as a woman may- Eve. So-speak wickedly! I like it best so. Let thy words be wounds, - For, so, I shall wax strong and grand with scorn, Scorning myself for ever trusting thee As far as thinking, ere a snake ate dust, He could speak wisdom. Deal more in thunders than in courtesies. |