Lilith. Ada Langworthy Collier
No twining vine, tendril, or springing shoot
Ere taught thee so; for bud and leaf and root
Doth its best self lift upward into light,
Yet climbing still, scorns not the sacred right
That shrines its fellow.
“So pattering rains
The dark roots drink—and healthful juice slow drains
Deep ’neath the mould; and with their secret toil
Bear stainless, leaf and flow’r above the soil.
Noblest the soul that self hath most forgot;
Strongest the self which hath most humbly wrought;
Purest the soul that in full light serene,
Unquestioning, enwrapt, God’s field doth glean.
I have seen worlds far hence; thy tender feet
Bleeding, will tread their stony ways. And sweet
Is love. And wedded love, grown cold and rude,
More bitter-seeming makes dull solitude.
Security is sweet; and light and warm
The young heart beats, close shut from every harm.”
“Yet,” Lilith answered slow, “in that still night
Ere He, the garden’s Lord, passed from our sight,
Hast thou forgot his words? ‘Lo this fair spot
Made for your pleasance; see ye mar it not,
Oh, twin-born pair! So richly dight with grace
Of soul and stature; unto whom the place
I give. Together rule. Bear equal sway
O’er all that live herein.’ Hath Lilith sought
A solitary reign? Hath she in aught
Offended? Nay; ’tis Adam who doth break
The compact. Therefore, unhindered let me take
My way far hence. I shall not vex his soul
With fretful plaints, where unknown stars shall roll,
Far, far away,” she sighed.
“Yet ere these bounds
Thy feet pass, linger. Lilith, list glad sounds
That greet thine ear. Slow cycles will pass on
And in the time-to-be-bright years, grow wan;
Old planets fade, new stars shall dimly burn,
But not to Eden’s peace shalt thou return.
Oft from thy yearning heart glad hope shall fail.
Thy fruit of life lift bloom all sere and pale.
Certain, small comfort bides, when joy is gone,
In Great or Less. Grim Sorrow waits to lead thee on.
Sorrow! Thou hast not seen her pallid face.
In thy most troubled dream she had no place”—
“Nay, I depart,” she said, with lips grown chill.
“Fearless and free, exiled, but princess still.”
“I may not hinder thee,” the Angel sighed;
“No soul unwilling here may ever bide.”
Slow swung the verdant gates neath saddest eyes.
Lilith forever lost fair Paradise.
BOOK II.
Soft stealing through the shade, and skirting swift
The walls of Paradise, through night’s dark rift
Lilith fled far; nor stopped lest deadly snare
Or peril by the wayside lurked.
The air
Grew chill. Loud beat her heart, as through the wind
Echoed, unseen, pursuing feet, behind.
Adown the pathway of the mist she passed,
And reached a weird, strange land at last.
When morning flecked the dappled sky with red,
And odors sweet from waking flowers were shed,
Lilith beheld a plain, outstretching wide,
With distant mountains seamed.
Afar, a silvery tide
The blue shore kissed. And in that tropic glow
Dim islands shone, palm-fringed, and low.
In nearer space, like scarlet arrows flew
Strange birds, or ’mong the reedy fens, or through
Tall trees, of unknown leafage, glancing, went.
Now Lilith seaward passed, and stooping, bent
Her hollowed hand above the wave, and quaffed;
For she was spent with wanderings wide. Loud laughed
She then, beholding on that silent shore
Rare shells, that still faint in their pink lips bore
Wild ocean-songs; and precious stones, that bright
That dim sea’s marge, deep in the land of night
Thick strewed.
Then glad, she lifted shining eyes,
Loud crying there, “O Lilith, now arise,
Great queen-triumphant! See how wildly fair
Before me lies my realm! And from its air
Soft, sensuous, new life as ruddy wine,
My spirit drinks. Nor beauty so divine
Hath Eden’s self. Look, where upon the sands
The garish mosses spread with dainty hands,
Like goblin network fine, each fairy frond.
And dusky trees shut in broad fields beyond,
And hang long trembling garlands, age-grown-gray,
From topmost boughs adown, athwart the day;
And sweet amid these wilds, bright dewy bells
Ring summer chimes. And soft in fragrant dells,
’Mong tender leaves, great spikes of scarlet flaunt
About the pools—the errant wild bees’ haunt—
And thick with bramble-blooms pink petals starred,
And dew-stained buds of blue, the velvet sward.
Scarce ripple stirred the sea; and inland wend
Far bays and sedgy ponds; and rolling rivers bend.
A land of leaf and fruitage in the glow
Of palest glamours steeped. And far and low
Great purple isles; and further still a rim
Of sunset-tinted hills, that softly dim
Shine ’gainst the day. “O world, new found,” she said,
“With treasures heaped and odors rare, ’mong flowers shed,
For whose dear sake I came o’er flinty ways,
And paths with danger fraught; ’mong brambly sprays,
With bleeding feet, and shoulders thorn-pierced deep.
But perils past, fade fast. And I will weep
My Eden lost no more.” And sweet