BOOK VI.

Night. Now a tent was pitched, and Japhet sat

In the door and watched, for on a litter lay

The father of his love. And he was sick

To death; but daily he would rouse him up,

And stare upon the light, and ever say,

“On, let us journey”; but it came to pass

That night, across their path a river ran,

And they who served the father and the son

Had pitched the tents beside it, and had made

A fire, to scare away the savagery

That roamed in that great forest, for their way

Had led among the trees of God.

The moon

Shone on the river, like a silver road

To lead them over; but when Japhet looked,

He said, “We shall not cross it. I shall lay

This well-belovéd head low in the leaves,—

Not on the farther side.” From time to time,

The water-snakes would stir its glassy flow

With curling undulations, and would lay

Their heads along the bank, and, subtle-eyed,

Consider those long spirting flames, that danced,

When some red log would break and crumble down;

And show his dark despondent eyes, that watched,

Wearily, even Japhet's. But he cared

Little; and in the dark, that was not dark,

But dimness of confused incertitude,

Would move a-near all silently, and gaze

And breathe, and shape itself, a manéd thing

With eyes; and still he cared not, and the form

Would falter, then recede, and melt again

Into the farther shade. And Japhet said:

“How long? The moon hath grown again in heaven,

After her caving twice, since we did leave

The threshold of our home; and now what‘ vails

That far on tumbled mountain snow we toiled,

Hungry, and weary, all the day; by night

Waked with a dreadful trembling underneath,

To look, while every cone smoked, and there ran

Red brooks adown, that licked the forest up,

While in the pale white ashes wading on

We saw no stars?— what‘ vails if afterward,

Astonished with great silence, we did move

Over the measureless, unknown desert mead;

While all the day, in rents and crevices,

Would lie the lizard and the serpent kind,

Drowsy; and in the night take fearsome shapes,

And oft-times woman-faced and woman-haired

Would trail their snaky length, and curse and mourn;

Or there would wander up, when we were tired,

Dark troops of evil ones, with eyes morose,

Withstanding us, and staring;— O! what‘ vails

That in the dread deep forest we have fought

With following packs of wolves? These men of might,

Even the giants, shall not hear the doom

My father came to tell them of. Ah, me!

If God indeed had sent him, would he lie

( For he is stricken with a sore disease )

Helpless outside their city?”

Then he rose,

And put aside the curtains of the tent,

To look upon his father's face; and lo!

The tent being dark, he thought that somewhat sat

Beside the litter; and he set his eyes

To see it, and saw not; but only marked

Where, fallen away from manhood and from power,

His father lay. Then he came forth again,

Trembling, and crouched beside the dull red fire,

And murmured, “Now it is the second time:

An old man, as I think ( but scarcely saw ).

Dreadful of might. Its hair was white as wool:

I dared not look; perhaps I saw not aught,

But only knew that it was there: the same

Which walked beside us once when he did pray.”

And Japhet hid his face between his hands

For fear, and grief of heart, and weariness

Of watching; and he slumbered not, but mourned

To himself, a little moment, as it seemed,

For sake of his loved father: then he lift

His eyes, and day had dawned. Right suddenly

The moon withheld her silver, and she hung

Frail as a cloud. The ruddy flame that played,

By night on dim, dusk trees, and on the flood,

Crept red amongst the logs, and all the world

And all the water blushed and bloomed. The stars

Were gone, and golden shafts came up, and touched

The feathered heads of palms, and green was born

Under the rosy cloud, and purples flew

Like veils across the mountains; and he saw,

Winding athwart them, bathed in blissful peace,

And the sacredness of morn, the battlements

And out-posts of the giants; and there ran

On the other side the river, as it were,

White mounds of marble, tabernacles fair,

And towers below a line of inland cliff:

These were their fastnesses, and here their homes.

In valleys and the forest, all that night,

There had been woe; in every hollow place,

And under walls, like drifted flowers, or snow,

Women lay mourning; for the serpent lodged

That night within the gates, and had decreed,

“I will ( or ever I come ) that ye drive out

The women, the abhorred of my soul.”

Therefore, more beauteous than all climbing bloom,

Purple and scarlet, cumbering of the boughs,

Or flights of azure doves that lit to drink

The water of the river; or, new born,

The quivering butterflies in companies,

That slowly crept adown the sandy marge,

Like living crocus beds, and also drank,

And rose an orange cloud; their hollowed hands

They dipped between the lilies, or with robes

Full of ripe fruitage, sat and peeled and ate,

Weeping; or comforting their little ones,

And lulling them with sorrowful long hymns

Among the palms.

So went the earlier morn.

Then came a messenger, while Japhet sat

Mournfully, and he said, “The men of might

Are willing; let thy master, youth, appear.”

And Japhet said, “So be it”; and he thought,

“Now will I trust in God”; and he went in

And stood before his father, and he said,

“My father”; but the Master answered not,

But gazed upon the curtains of his tent,

Nor knew that one had called him. He was clad

As ready for the journey, and his feet

Were sandalled, and his staff was at his side;

And Japhet took the gown of sacrifice

And spread it on him, and he laid his crown

Upon his knees, and he went forth, and lift

His hand to heaven, and cried, “My father's God!”

But neither whisper came nor echo fell

When he did listen. Therefore he went on:

“Behold, I have a thing to say to thee.

My father charged thy servant,‘ Let not ruth

Prevail with thee, to turn and bear me hence,

For God appointed me my task, to preach

Before the mighty.’ I must do my part

( O! let it not displease thee ), for he said

But yesternight,‘ When they shall send for me,

Take me before them.’ And I sware to him.

I pray thee, therefore, count his life and mine

Precious; for I that sware, I will perform.”

Then cried he to his people, “Let us hence:

Take up the litter.” And they set their feet

Toward the raft whereby men crossed that flood.

And while they journeyed, lo, the giants sat

Within the fairest hall where all were fair,

Each on his carven throne, o'er-canopied

With work of women. And the dragon lay

In a place of honor; and with subtlety

He counselled them, for they did speak by turns;

And they being proud, might nothing master them,

But guile alone: and he did fawn on them;

And when the younger taunted him, submiss

He testified great humbleness, and cried,

“A cruel God, forsooth! but nay, O nay,

I will not think it of Him, that He meant

To threaten these. O, when I look on them,

How doth my soul admire.”

And one stood forth,

The youngest; of his brethren, named “the Rock.”

“Speak out,” quoth he, “thou toothless slavering thing,

What is it? thinkest thou that such as we

Should be afraid? What is this goodly doom?”

And Satan laughed upon him. “Lo,” said he,

“Thou art not fully grown, and every one

I look on, standeth higher by the head,

Yea, and the shoulders, than do other men;

Forsooth, thy servant thought not thou wouldst fear,

Thou and thy fellows.” Then with one accord,

“Speak,” cried they; and with mild persuasive eyes,

And flattering tongue, he spoke.

“Ye mighty ones,

It hath been known to you these many days

How that for piety I am much famed.

I am exceeding pious: if I lie,

As hath been whispered, it is but for sake

Of God, and that ye should not think Him hard,

For I am all for God. Now some have thought

That He hath also ( and it, may be so

Or yet may not be so ) on me been hard;

Be not ye therefore wroth, for my poor sake;

I am contented to have earned your weal,

Though I must therefore suffer.

“Now to-day

One cometh, yea, an harmless man, a fool,

Who boasts he hath a message from our God,

And lest that you, for bravery of heart

And stoutness, being angered with his prate,

Should lift a hand, and kill him, I am here.”

Then spoke the Leader, “How now, snake? Thy words

Ring false. Why ever liest thou, snake, to us?

Thou coward! none of us will see thee harmed.

I say thou liest. The land is strewed with slain;

Myself have hewn down companies, and blood

Makes fertile all the field. Thou knowest it well;

And hast thou, driveller, panting sore for age,

Come with a force to bid us spare one fool?”

And Satan answered, “Nay you! be not wroth;

Yet true it is, and yet not all the truth.

Your servant would have told the rest, if now

( For fulness of your life being fretted sore

At mine infirmities, which God in vain

I supplicate to heal ) ye had not caused

My speech to stop.” And he they called “the Oak”

Made answer, “‘ Tis a good snake; let him be.

Why would ye fright the poor old craven beast?

Look how his lolling tongue doth foam for fear.

Ye should have mercy, brethren, on the weak.

Speak, dragon, thou hast leave; make stout thy heart.

What! hast thou lied to this great company?

It was, we know it was, for humbleness;

Thou wert not willing to offend with truth.”

“Yea, majesties,” quoth Satan, “thus it was,”

And lifted up appealing eyes, and groaned;

“O, can it be, compassionate as brave,

And housed in cunning works themselves have reared,

And served in gold, and warmed with minivere,

And ruling nobly,— that He, not content

Unless alone He reigneth, looks to bend

O break them in, like slaves to cry to Him,

‘ What is Thy will with us, O Master dear?’

Or else to eat of death?

“For my part, lords,

I cannot think it: for my piety

And reason, which I also share with you,

Are my best lights, and ever counsel me,

‘ Believe not aught against thy God; believe,

Since thou canst never reach to do Him wrong,

That He will never stoop to do thee wrong.

Is He not just and equal, yea, and kind?’

Therefore, O majesties, it is my mind

Concerning him ye wot of, thus to think

The message is not like what I have learned

By reason and experience, of the God.

Therefore no message‘ tis. The man is mad.”

Thereat the great Leader laughed for scorn. “Hold, snake;

If God be just, there SHALL be reckoning days.

We rather would He were a partial God,

And being strong, He sided with the strong.

Turn now thy reason to the other side,

And speak for that; for as to justice, snake,

We would have none of it.”

And Satan fawned:

“My lord is pleased to mock at my poor wit;

Yet in my pious fashion I must talk:

For say that God was wroth with man, and came

And slew him, that should make an empty world,

But not a bettor nation.”

This replied,

“Truth, dragon, yet He is not bound to mean

A better nation; may be, He designs,

If none will turn again, a punishment

Upon an evil one.”

And Satan cried,

“Alas! my heart being full of love for men,

I cannot choose but think of God as like

To me; and yet my piety concludes,

Since He will have your fear, that love alone

Sufficeth not, and I admire, and say,

‘ Give me, O friends, your love, and give to God

Your fear.’” But they cried out in wrath and rage,

“We are not strong that any we will fear,

Nor specially a foe that means us ill.”