PART I — ADAM

O'er hill, and highland, moor, and plain,

A hundred years, he seeks in vain;

Oer hill and plain, a hundred years,

He pours the sorrow no one hears;

Yet finds, as wildest mourners find,

Some ease of heart in toil of mind.

“YE mountains, that forbid the day,

Ye glens, that are the steps of night,

How long amid you must I stray,

Deserted, banished from God's sight,

And castaway?

“Ye trees and flowers the Lord hath made,

Ye beasts, to my good-will committed —

Although your trust hath been betrayed —

Not long ago ye would have pitied

Your old comrade.

“Oh, nature, noblest when alone,

Albeit I love your outward part;

The nature that enthrals my heart

Must be more like my own.

“The Maker once appointed me —

I know not, and I care not why —

The lord of everything I see,

Or if they walk, or swim, or fly,

Whate'er they be.

“And all the earth whereon they dwell,

And all the heavens they are inhaling,

And powers, whereof I cannot tell —

Dark miscreants, supine and wailing,

Until I fell.

“Twas good and glorious to believe;

But now mv majesty is o'er;

And I would give it all, and more,

For one sweet glimpse of Eve.

“For what is glory, what is power?

And what the pride of standing first?

A twig struck down by a thunder shower,

A crown of thistle to quench the thirst,

A sun-scorched flower.

“God grant the men who spring from me,

As knowledge waxeth deep and splendid,

To find a loftier pedigree

Than any by the Lord intended —

Frog, slug, or tree!

“So shall they live, without the grief

Of having womankind to love,

Find nought below, and less above,

And be their own belief.

“So weak was I, so poorly taught,

By any but my Maker's voice,

Too happy to indulge in thought,

Which gives me Tittle to rejoice,

And ends in nought.

“But now and then, my path grows clear,

My mind casts off its grim confusion,

When I have chanced on goodly cheer:

Then happiness seems no delusion,

Even down here.

“With love and faith, to bless the curse,

To heal the mind by touch of heart,

To make me feel my better part,

And fight against the worse.

“It may be that I did o'erprize,

Above the Giver, that rare gift,

Ungird my will for softer ties,

And hold my manhood little thrift

To woman's eyes.

“So far she was, so full of grace,

So innocent with coy caresses,

So proud to step at my own pace,

So rosy through her golden tresses;

And such a face!

“Suffice my sins; I'll ne'er approve

A thought against my faithful Eve;

Suffice my sins; I'll never believe.

That it was one, to love.

“Oh; love, if e'er this desert plain,

Where I must sweat with axe and spade,

Shall hold a people sprung from twain,

Or better made by Him, who made

That pair in vain.

“Shall any know, as we have known,

Thy rapture, terror, vaunting, fretting,

Profound despair, ecstatic tone,

Crowning of reason, and upsetting

Of reason's throne?

“Bright honey quaffed from cells of gall,

Or crimson sting from creamy rose —

Thy heavenly half from Eden flows,

Thy venom from our fall.”

Awhile he ceased; far scorching woe

Had made a drought of vocal flow;

When hungry, weary, desolate,

A fox crept home to his defis gate.

The sight brought Adam's memory back,

And touched him with a keener lack.

“Home! Where is home? Of old I thought

( Or felt in mystery of bliss )

That so divinely was I wrought

As not to care for that or this,

And value nought;

“But sit or saunter, rest or roam,

Regarding all things most sublimely,

As if enthroned on heaven's dome;

Away with paltry and untimely

Hankerings for Home!

“But now the weary heart is fain

For shelter in some lowly nest —

To sink upon a softer breast,

And smile away its pain,

“For me, what home, what hope is left?

What difference of good or ill?

Of all I ever loved bereft,

Disgraced, discarded, outlawed still,

For one small theft!

“I sicken of my skill and pride;

I work, without a bit of caring.

The world is waste, the world is wide;

Why make good things, with no one sharing

Them at my side?

“What matters how I dwell, or die?

Away with such a niggard life!

The Lord hath robbed me of my wife;

And life is only I.

“God, who hast said it is not good

For man, thy son, to live alone;

Is everlasting solitude,

When once united bliss was known,

A livelier food?

“Can'st thou suppose it right or just,

When thine own creature so misled us,

In virtue of our simple trust,

To torture us like this, and tread us

Back into dust?

“Oh, fool I am. Oh, rebel worm!

If, when immortal, I was slain,

For daring to impugn his reign,

How shall I, thus infirm?

“Woe me, poor me! No humbler yet,

For all the penance on me laid!

Forgive me, Lord, if I forget

That I am but what Thou hast made,

My soul Thy debt!

“Inspire me to survey the skies,

And tremble at their golden wonder;

To learn the space that I comprise,

At once to marvel, and to ponder,

And drop mine eyes.

“And grant me?— for I do but find,

In seeking more than God hath shown,

I scorn His power and lose my own —

Grant me a lowly mind.

“A lowly mind! Thou wondrous sprite,

Whose frolics make their master weep;

Anon, endowed with eagle's flight,

Anon, too impotent to creep,

Or blink aright;—

“Howe'er, thy trumpery flashes play

Among the miracles above thee,

Be taught to feel thy Maker's sway,

To labour, so that He shall love thee,

And guide thy way.

“Be led, from out the cloudy dreams

Of thy too visionary part,

To listen to the whispering heart,

And curb thine own extremes.

“Then hope shall shine from heaven, and give

To fruit of hard work, sunny cheek,

And flowers of grace and love revive,

And shrivelled pasturage grow sleek,

And corn snail thrive.

“Beholding gladness, Eve and I,

Enfolding it also in each other,

May talk of heaven without a sigh;

Because our heaven in one another

Love shall supply.

“For courage, faith, and bended knees,

By stress of patience, cure distress,

And turn wild Love-in-idleness

Into the true Heartsease.”

The Lord breathed on the first of men,

And strung his limbs to strength again;

He scorned a century of ill,

And girt his loins to climb the parting hill.