Lilith. Ada Langworthy Collier
silent door. Yet not again, I ween,
Those shining wings, cleaving the air, have seen
Nor heard the gladsome swallows twittering there—
Only the empty nests, low-hung and bare,
Spake of the scattered brood.—So lonely were
To Lilith grown her once loved haunts. Nor fair
The starlit nights, slow-dropping fragrant dew,
Nor the dim groves when dawn came shifting through.
Far ’mong the hills the wood-doves’ moan she heard,
Or in some nearer copse, a startled bird;
Or the white moonshine ’mong green boughs o’erhead
Wrought her full heart to tears. “Sweet peace,” she said,
“Alas—lies slain!”
With musing worn, she brake
At last her silence, and to Adam spake:
“Beyond these walls I know not what may be—
Islands low-fringed, or bare; or tranquil sea,
Spaces unpeopled, wastes of burning sands,
Green-wooded belts, enclasping summer lands,
Or realms of dusky pines, or wolds of snow,
Or jagged ice-peaks wrapt in purple glow,
Or shadowy oceans lapped in fadeless sheen—
Yet there were Paradise, were Lilith queen.
To dally with my lord I was not meant;
To soothe his idle whims, above him bent,
Warm in my milk-white arms, lull his repose,
Nor deep in subtle kisses drown his woes.
Wherefore, since here no more dwells love, I fly
To seek my home in other lands. For why
Should Lilith wait since Adam’s empty state
More dear he holds than Lilith desolate?”
But answer soft made Adam at the word,
For faint his dying love, yet coldly stirred
Its ashen cerements: “Nay, love, our home
Within these garden walls lies safe. Wouldst roam
Without? Sweet peace, by loss, wilt thou restore
One little loss, or miss it evermore?”
“In goodly Eden, Adam, safely bide,
But I, for peace, nor love, nor life,” she cried,
“Submit to thee. Unto our Lord I own
Allegiance true; my homage his alone.
Oft have I watched the mists athwart yon peaks,
Pursuing oft past coves and winding creeks,
Have thought to touch their shining veil outspread,
In happy days ere Love, alas, was dead;
So now, farewell! Ere the new day shall break
Adown their gleaming track, my way I take.”
She turned; but ere the gate that looked without
She reached, one fleeting moment paused in doubt
Upon a river’s brink. In one swift glance
All coming time she saw. A weird romance
Wherein she traced great peoples yet unborn,
New springing cycles, strange lands cleft with tarn
Or pleasant vale, and green plains stretching far,
And quiet bays, and many a shingly bar,
And troubled seas, with bitter perils past,
And elfin shapes that jeering flitted fast
With scornful faces, leering lips that smiled,
Or bursts of laughter through that vision wild.
Uncertain, then, she stood, half loth to turn.
“Against yon deepening sky, how dimly burn
The stars, new-lit. Dear home, thou art so fair!”
She fondly sighed.
Then sudden she was ’ware
The angel near her paused, whose watchful care
Guards Eden’s peaceful bounds. Serene, his air
So tender-sweet, so pure the gentle face,
She scarce dared look upon its subtle grace.
Sad were his eyes; his words, rebuking, fell
Soft as the moonshine clear, in sleeping dell.
“My sister, go not hence, lest these gates bar
Lilith forever out. From peace afar,
Anger and pride shall lead through distant ways
Thy feet reluctant, in the evil days.
All is decreed. At yonder southern gate
Behold! waits even now my princely mate.
Thou can’st not tell which hath in our far land
The highest place. Nay; nor, indeed, whose hand
Hath grasped the noblest fame; nor yet divine
Whose brows enwound with honor, brightest shine.
In pleasant labor lurks no thought of pain;
The greatest loss oft brings the noblest gain;
The heart’s warm pulse feels not one throb of strife,
And Love is holiest crown of human life.
Ere thou didst sleep, beyond the rim of night
I heard a voice that sang. The carol light,
Scarce earth-born seemed. So sweet the matchless strain,
Its cadence weird, lowly to breathe again,
Wrapt echo, listening, half forgot; and o’er
And o’er, as joyous birds unprisoned soar,
The free notes rose. And in the silence wide,
Across the seas, across the night, I cried:
O sinless soul, whose clear voice blithely rings
’Gainst the blue verge of stars! ’Tis Lilith sings
The happy song of love. O Love! the tint
Of light divine thou wearest. Thou hast no hint
Of storm or turmoil, or of Sin’s rough ways,
Whose feet to heaven climb, through darkest maze.
Ah, Lilith, sure the love that basely weighs,
That stoops to count its gifts, and hoarding, says,
‘Such and so many, these indeed are mine;
I hold my treasure dear, nor covet thine;’
This is not love; ’tis Thrift in borrowed dress,
Deceiving thee. Love giveth free largess
With open hand, clean as the whitest day;
Yea, that it gave, forgetteth it straightway.
Beyond these walls dwells bliss that lives not here?
When thou hast bartered peace, outshining clear
And storm-tossed wide, art wildly driven hence,
The outer world gives thee no recompense.
Each shining sphere that trembles in blue space
Hath orbit true—its own familiar place.
Nor doth the planet pale that gems the night