No! though the serpent's sting should pierce me thorough,
And thou thyself wert like the serpent, coil
Around me still! and I will smile

And curse thee not; but hold
Thee in as warm a fold

As-but descend; and prove
A mortal's love

For an immortal.

If the skies contain

More joy than thou canst give and take, remain !
Anah. Sister! sister! I view them winging

Their bright way through the parted night.
Aho. The clouds from off their pinions flinging
As though they bore to-morrow's light.
Anah. But if our father see the sight!

Aho. He would but deem it was the moon
Rising unto some sorcerer's tune

An hour too soon.

Anah. They come! he comes!-Azaziel !
Aho.

To meet them! Oh! for wings to bear
My spirit, while they hover there,

To Samiasa's breast!

Anah. Lo! they have kindled all the west,

Like a returning sunset;-lo!

On Ararat's late secret crest

A mild and many-colour'd bow,
The remnant of their flashing path,
Now shines! and now, behold! it hath
Returned to night, as rippling foam,

Which the leviathan hath lash'd

From his unfathomable home,

When sporting on the face of the calm deep,

Haste

Subsides soon after he again hath dash'd

Down, down, to where the ocean's fountains sleep.
Aho. They have touch'd earth! Samiasa!

Anah.

My Azaziel!

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Enter IRAD and JAPHET.

Irad. Despond not: wherefore wilt thou wander thus

To add thy silence to the silent night,

And lift thy tearful eye unto the stars?
They cannot aid thee.

Japh.
But they soothe me-now
Perhaps she looks upon them as I look.
Methinks a being that is beautiful
Becometh more so as it looks on beauty,
The eternal beauty of undying things.
Oh, Anah!

Irad.

Japh.

But she loves thee not.

Alas!

Irad. And proud Aholibamah spurns me also.

Japh. I feel for thee too.

Irad.

Let her keep her pride,

Mine hath enabled me to bear her scorn;

It may be, time too will avenge it.

Japh.

Find joy in such a thought?

Irad.

Canst thou

Nor joy, nor sorrow.

I loved her well; I would have loved her better,
Had love been met with love: as 'tis, I leave her
To brighter destinies, if so she deems them.

Irad.

That I know not; but her air,

If not her words, tells me she loves another.

Japh. Ay, but not Anah: she but loves her God. Irad. Whate'er she loveth, so she loves thee not, What can it profit thee?

Yes.

Or think'st thou lov'st not, art thou happier?

For being happy,

Deprived of that which makes my misery.

Irad. I take thy taunt as part of thy distemper,
And would not feel as thou dost, for more shekels
Than all our father's herds would bring if weigh'd
Against the metal of the sons of Cain-

The yellow dust they try to barter with us,
As if such useless and discolour'd trash,
The refuse of the earth, could be received
For milk, and wool, and flesh, and fruits, and all
Our flocks and wilderness afford.-Go, Japhet,
Sigh to the stars as wolves howl to the moon—
I must back to my rest.

Japh.

If I could rest.

And so would I

Irad.

Thou wilt not to our tents then?

Japh. No, Irad; I will to the cavern, whose Mouth they say opens from the internal world To let the inner spirits of the earth

Forth when they walk its surface.

With gloom as sad: it is a hopeless spot,

And I am hopeless.

Irad.

But 'tis dangerous;

Strange sounds and sights have peopled it with terrors.

I must go with thee.

Japh.

Irad, no; believe me

I feel no evil thought, and fear no evil.

Irad. But evil things will be thy foe the more

As not being of them: turn thy steps aside,

Or let mine be with thine.

Japh. (solus). Peace! I have sought it where it should be found,

In love with love too, which perhaps deserved it;
And, in its stead, a heaviness of heart-
A weakness of the spirit-listless days,
And nights inexorable to sweet sleep-

Have come upon me. Peace! what peace? the calm
Of desolation, and the stillness of

The untrodden forest, only broken by

The sweeping tempest through its groaning boughs;
Such is the sullen or the fitful state

Of my mind overworn. The earth's grown wicked,
And many signs and portents have proclaim'd
A change at hand, and an o'erwhelming doom
To perishable beings. Oh, my Anah!

When the dread hour denounced shall open wide
The fountains of the deep, how mightest thou
Have lain within this bosom, folded from
The elements; this bosom, which in vain

Hath beat for thee, and then will beat more vainly,
While thine-Oh, God! at least remit to her
Thy wrath! for she is pure amidst the failing
As a star in the clouds, which cannot quench,
Although they obscure it for an hour. My Anah!
How would I have adored thee, but thou wouldst not;
And still would I redeem thee-see thee live
When Ocean is Earth's grave, and, unopposed
By rock or shallow, the leviathan,

Lord of the shoreless sea and watery world,
Shall wonder at his boundlessness of realm.

[Exit JAPHET.

Enter NOAH and SHEM.

Noah. Where is thy brother Japhet?
Shem.
According to his wont, to meet with Irad,
He said; but, as I fear, to bend his steps

He went forth,

Towards Anah's tents, round which he hovers nightly
Like a dove round and round its pillaged nest;
Or else he walks the wild up to the cavern

Which opens to the heart of Ararat.

Noah. What doth he there? It is an evil spot

Upon an earth all evil; for things worse
Than even wicked men resort there: he

Still loves this daughter of a fated race,