Volume I Part 4 (1/2)

_Adam._ Ay, mock me! now I know more than I knew: Now I know that thou art fallen below hope Of final re-ascent.

_Lucifer._ Because?

_Adam._ Because A spirit who expected to see G.o.d Though at the last point of a million years, Could dare no mockery of a ruined man Such as this Adam.

_Lucifer._ Who is high and bold-- Be it said pa.s.sing!--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. Soh!

Is it not possible, by sin and grief (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 sanct.i.ty in the act.

_Lucifer._ Ha, my clay-king!

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 cla.s.s 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 bliss, thou seest, for coveting, Nor innocence for staining. Being bereft, We would be alone.--Go!

_Lucifer._ Ah! ye talk the same, 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 fas.h.i.+oned out of clay.

Look on me, woman! Am I beautiful?

_Eve._ Thou hast a glorious darkness.

_Lucifer._ Nothing more?

_Eve._ I think, no more.

_Lucifer._ False Heart--thou thinkest more!

Thou canst not choose but think, as I praise G.o.d, Unwillingly but fully, that I stand Most absolute in beauty. As yourselves Were fas.h.i.+oned very good at best, so _we_ Sprang very beauteous from the creant Word Which thrilled behind us, G.o.d 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 G.o.ds, 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 G.o.d'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.

_Lucifer._ 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.