The serpent's voice less subtile than her kiss,
The snake but vanquish'd dust; but she will draw
A second host from heaven, to break heaven's law.
Yet, yet, oh fly!

Ye cannot die,
But they

Shall pass away,

While ye shall fill with shrieks the upper sky

For perishable clay,

Whose memory in your immortality

.

Shall long outlast the sun which gave them day. Think how your essence differeth from theirs

In all but suffering! Why partake

The agony to which they must be heirs

Born to be plough'd with years, and sown with cares,
And reap'd by Death, lord of the human soil?
Even had their days been left to toil their path
Through time to dust, unshorten'd by God's wrath,
Still they are Evil's prey and Sorrow's spoil.

I hear the voice which says that all must die,
Sooner than our white bearded Patriarch's died;
And that on high

An ocean is prepared,
While from below

The deep shall rise to meet heaven's overflow.

Few shall be spared,

It seems; and, of that few, the race of Cain
Must lift their eyes to Adam's God in vain.
Sister! since it is so,

And the eternal Lord

In vain would be implored

For the remission of one hour of wo,

Let us resign even what we bave adored,

And meet the wave, as we would meet the sword,

If not unmoved, yet undismay'd,
And wailing less for us than those who shall
Survive in mortal or immortal thrall,

And, when the fatal waters are allay'd,
Weep for the myriads who can weep no more.
Fly, Seraphs! to your own eternal shore,
Where winds nor howl nor waters roar.
Our portion is to die,

And yours to live forever:

But which is best, a dead eternity,
Or living, is but known to the great Giver:
Obey him, as we shall obey;

1 would not keep this life of mine in clay
An hour beyond his will;

Nor see ye lose a portion of his grace,
For all the mercy which Seth's race

Find still.
Fly!

And as your pinions bear ye back to heaven, Think that my love still mounts with thee on high, Samiasa!

And if I look up with a tearless eye,

'Tis that an angel's bride disdains to weep-
Farewell! Now rise, inexorable Deep!
And must we die?

Anah.

And must I lose thee too,
Azaziel?

Oh, my heart! my heart!

Thy prophecies were true,

And yet thou wert so happy too!

The blow, though not unlook'd for, falls as new; But yet depart!

Ah, why?

Yet let me not retain thee-fly!

My pangs can be but brief; but thine would be
Eternal, if repulsed from heaven for me.

Too much already hast thou deign'd
To one of Adam's race!

Our doom is sorrow: not to us alone,
But to the spirits who have not disdained
To love us, cometh anguish with disgrace.
The first who taught us knowledge hath been hurled
From his once archangelic throne

Into some unknown world:

And thou, Azaziel! No

Thou shalt not suffer wo

For me.

Away! nor weep!

Thou canst not weep; but yet

Mayst suffer more, not weeping: then forget Her, whom the surges of the all-strangling Deep Can bring no pang like this. Fly! Fly! Being gone, 'twill be less difficult to die. Japh. Oh say not so!

Father! and thou, archangel, thou! Surely celestial Mercy lurks below That pure severe serenity of brow:

Let them not meet this sea without a shore,
Save in our ark, or let me be no more!

Noah. Peace, child of passion, peace!
If not within thy heart, yet with thy tongue
Do God no wrong!

Live as he wills it-die, when he ordains,
A righteous death, unlike the seed of Cain's.
Cease, or be sorrowful in silence; cease
To weary Heaven's ear with thy selfish plaint.
Would'st thou have God commit a sin for thee?
Such would it be

To alter his intent

For a mere mortal sorrow.

Be a man!

And bear what Adam's race must bear, and can.
Japh. Ay, father! but when they are goue,
And we are all alone,

Floating upon the azure desert, and

The depth beneath us hides our own dear land,
And dearer, silent friends and brethren, all
Buried in its immeasurable breast,

Who, who, our tears, our shrieks, shall then command?
Can we in desolation's peace have rest?
Oh God! be thou a God, and spare

Yet while 'tis time!

Renew not Adam's fall:

Mankind were then but twain,

But they are numerous now as are the waves

And the tremendous rain,

Whose drops shall be less thick than would their graves, Were graves permitted to the seed of Cain. [crime!

Noah. Silence, vain boy! each word of thine's a Angel! forgive this stripling's fond despair.

Raph. Seraphs! these mortals speak in passion: Ye! Who are, or should be, passionless and pure,

Then from this hour,

Shorn as ye are of all celestial power,

And aliens from your God,

Farewell!

Japh. Alas! where shall they dwell? Hark, bark! Deep sounds, and deeper still,

Are howling from the mountain's bosom:
There's not a breath of wind upon the hill,
Yet quivers every leaf, and drops each blossom:
Earth groans as if beneath a heavy load.
Noah. Hark, hark! the sea-birds cry!
In clouds they overspread the lurid sky
And hover round the mountain, where before
Never a white wing, wetted by the wave,

Yet dared to soar,

Even when the waters waxed too fierce to brave. Soon it shall be their only shore,

He riseth, but his better light is gone;

And a black circle, bound

His glaring disk around,

Proclaims earth's last of summer days hath shone!
The clouds return into the hues of night,

Save where their brazen-coloured edges streak
The verge where brighter morns were wont to break.
Noah. And lo! yon flash of light,

The distant thunder's harbinger, appears!

It cometh! hence, away,
Leave to the elements their evil prey!
Hence to where our all-hallowed ark uprears
Its safe and wreckless sides.

Japh. Oh, father, stay!

Leave not my Anah to the swallowing tides!

Noah. Must we not leave all life to such? Begone!

How dar'st thou look on that prophetic sky,
And seek to save what all things now condemn,