Luc. So, well. Yet Adam was undone of Eve, As both were by the snake. Therefore forgive, In like wise, fellow-temptress, the poor snake—— Who stung there not so poorly!

Eve.

[Aside.

Hold thy wrath, Beloved Adam! let me answer him;

For this time he speaks truth, which we should hear,
And asks for mercy, which I most should grant,

In like wise, as he tells us-in like wise!
And therefore I thee pardon, Lucifer,
As freely as the streams of Eden flowed
When we were happy by them.

So, depart;

Leave us to walk the remnant of our time
Out mildly in the desert. Do not seek
To harm us any more or scoff at us

Or ere the dust be laid upon our face

To find there the communion of the dust
And issue of the dust.-Go.

Adam.

At once, go.

Luc. Forgive! and go! Ye images of clay,

Shrunk somewhat in the mould,—what jest is this? What words are these to use? By what a thought Conceive ye of me? Yesterday—a snake!

To-day-what?

Adam.

Eve.

A strong spirit.

A sad spirit.

Adam. Perhaps a fallen angel.-Who shall say! Luc. Who told thee, Adam?

Adam.

Thou! The prodigy

Of thy vast brows and melancholy eyes

Which comprehend the heights of some great fall.
I think that thou hast one day worn a crown

Under the eyes of God.

Luc.

And why of God?

Adam. It were no crown else. Verily I think Thou'rt fallen far. I had not yesterday

Said it so surely, but I know to-day

Grief by grief, sin by sin!

Luc.

A crown, by a crown.

Adam. Ay, mock me! now I know more than I

A spirit who expected to see God

Though at the last point of a million years,
Could dare no mockery of a ruined man

Such as this Adam.

Luc.

Who is high and bold—

Be it said passing!—of a good red clay
Discovered on some top of Lebanon,

Or haply of Aornus, beyond sweep

Of the black eagle's wing! A furlong lower
Had made a meeker king for Eden.

Is it not possible, by sin and grief

Soh!

(To give the things your names) that spirits should rise Instead of falling?

Adam.

Most impossible.

The Highest being the Holy and the Glad,
Whoever rises must approach delight

And sanctity in the act.

Ha, my clay-king!

Luc.
Thou wilt not rule by wisdom very long
The after generations. Earth, methinks,
Will disinherit thy philosophy

For a new doctrine suited to thine heirs,
And class these present dogmas with the rest

Of the old-world traditions, Eden fruits

And Saurian fossils.

Eve.

Speak no more with him

Beloved! it is not good to speak with him.

Go from us, Lucifer, and speak no more!

We have no pardon which thou dost not scorn,
Nor any bless, thou seest, for coveting,

Nor innocence for staining. Being bereft,
We would be alone.-Go.

Ah! ye talk the same,

Luc.
All of you-spirits and clay-go, and depart!
In Heaven they said so; and at Eden's gate,-
And here, reiterant, in the wilderness.

None saith, Stay with me, for thy face is fair!
None saith, Stay with me, for thy voice is sweet!
And yet I was not fashioned out of clay.
Look on me, woman! Am I beautiful?
Eve. Thou hast a glorious darkness.
Luc.

Eve. I think, no more.

Luc.

Nothing more?

False Heart-thou thinkest more!

Thou canst not choose but think, as I praise God,

Unwillingly but fully, that I stand

Most absolute in beauty. As yourselves

Were fashioned very good at best, so we

Sprang very beauteous from the creant Word

Which thrilled behind us, God Himself being moved
When that august work of a perfect shape

His dignities of sovran angel-hood
Swept out into the Universe,-divine

With thunderous movements, earnest looks of gods,
And silver-solemn clash of cymbal wings!

Whereof was I, in motion and in form,
A part not poorest. And yet,-yet, perhaps,

This beauty which I speak of, is not here,

As God's voice is not here, nor even my crown—
I do not know. What is this thought or thing
Which I call beauty? is it thought, or thing?
Is it a thought accepted for a thing?
Or both? or neither?-a pretext-a word?
Its meaning flutters in me like a flame
Under my own breath: my perceptions reel
For evermore around it, and fall off,
As if it too were holy.

Eve.

Which it is.

Adam. The essence of all beauty, I call love.
The attribute, the evidence, and end,
The consummation to the inward sense,
Of beauty apprehended from without,

I still call love. As form, when colourless,
Is nothing to the eye,-that pine-tree there,
Without its black and green, being all a blank,—
So, without love, is beauty undiscerned

In man or angel. Angel! rather ask
What love is in thee, what love moves to thee,
And what collateral love moves on with thee;
Then shalt thou know if thou art beautiful.

Luc. Love! what is love? I lose it. Beauty and love I darken to the image. Beauty-love!

[He fades away, while a low music sounds.

Adam. Thou art pale, Eve.

Eve.

The precipice of ill

Down this colossal nature, dizzies me

And hark! the starry harmony remote

Seems measuring the heights from whence he fell. Adam. Think that we have not fallen so. By the hope

And aspiration, by the love and faith,

We do exceed the stature of this angel.

Eve. Happier we are than he is, by the death. Adam. Or rather, by the life of the Lord God! How dim the angel grows, as if that blast

Of music swept him back into the dark.

[The music is stronger, gathering itself into uncertain
articulation.

Eve. It throbs in on us like a plaintive heart,
Pressing, with slow pulsations, vibrative,
Its gradual sweetness through the yielding air,
To such expressions as the stars may use,

Most starry-sweet and strange! With every note
That grows more loud, the angel grows more dim,
Receding in proportion to approach,

Until he stand afar,—a shade.

Adam.

Now,

words.

SONG OF THE MORNING STAR TO LUCIFER.

He fades utterly away and vanishes, as it proceeds.

Mine orbed image sinks

Back from thee, back from thee,

As thou art fallen, methinks,

Back from me, back from me.

O my light-bearer,

Could another fairer

Lack to thee, lack to thee?

Ah, ah, Heosphoros !

I loved thee with the fiery love of stars
Who love by burning, and by loving move,
Too near the throned Jehovah not to love.
Ah, ah, Heosphoros !