The Demon-Lover

Scene. the terraced roof of ABSALOM’S house, by night; adorned with vases of flowers, and fragrant shrubs; an awning spread over part of it. TAMAR and HADAD. Tam. No, no, I well remember—proofs, you said, Unknown to Moses. Had. Well, my love, thou knowest I ’ve been a traveller in various climes; Trod Ethiopia’s scorching sands, and scaled The snow-clad mountains; trusted to the deep; Traversed the fragrant islands of the sea, And with the Wise conversed of many nations. Tam. I know thou hast. Had. Of all mine eyes have seen, The greatest, wisest, and most wonderful, Is that dread sage, the Ancient of the Mountain. Tam. Who? Had. None knows his lineage, age, or name: his locks Are like the snows of Caucasus; his eyes Beam with the wisdom of collected ages. In green, unbroken years, he sees, ’t is said, The generations pass, like autumn fruits, Garnered, consumed, and springing fresh to life, Again to perish, while he views the sun, The seasons roll, in rapt serenity, And high communion with celestial powers. Some say ’t is Shem, our father, some say Enoch, And some Melchizedek. Tam. I ’ve heard a tale Like this, but ne’er believed it. Had. I have proved it.— Through perils dire, dangers most imminent, Seven days and nights ’midst rocks and wildernesses, And boreal snows, and never-thawing ice, Where not a bird, a beast, a living thing, Save the far-soaring vulture comes, I dared My desperate way, resolved to know, or perish. Tam. Rash, rash adventurer! Had. On the highest peak Of stormy Caucasus, there blooms a spot On which perpetual sunbeams play, where flowers And verdure never die; and there he dwells. Tam. But didst thou see him? Had. Never did I view Such awful majesty: his reverend locks Hung like a silver mantle to his feet, His raiment glistered saintly white, his brow Rose like the gate of Paradise, his mouth Was musical as its bright guardians’ songs. Tam. What did he tell thee? Oh! what wisdom fell From lips so hallowed? Had. Whether he possess The Tetragrammaton,—the powerful Name Inscribed on Moses’ rod, by which he wrought Unheard of wonders, which constrains the Heavens To part with blessings, shakes the earth, and rules The strongest Spirits; or if God hath given A delegated power, I cannot tell. But ’t was from him I learned their fate, their fall, Who, erewhile, wore resplendent crowns in Heaven; Now, scattered through the earth, the air, the sea. Them he compels to answer, and from them Has drawn what Moses, nor no mortal ear, Has ever heard. Tam. But did he tell it thee? Had. He told me much,—more than I dare reveal; For with a dreadful oath he sealed my lips. Tam. But canst thou tell me nothing?—Why unfold So much, if I must hear no more? Had. You bade Explain my words, almost reproached me, sweet, For what by accident escaped me. Tam. Ah! A little—something tell me,—sure, not all Were words inhibited. Had. Then, promise never, Never to utter of this conference A breath to mortal. Tam. Solemnly I vow. Had. Even then, ’t is little I can say, compared With all the marvels he related. Tam. Come, I ’m breathless.—Tell me how they sinn’d, how fell. Had. Their Prince involved them in his ruin. Tam. What black offence on his devoted head Drew such dire punishment? Had. The wish to be As the All-Perfect. Tam. Arrogating that Peculiar to his Maker!—awful crime! But what their doom? their place of punishment? Had. Above, about, beneath; earth, sea, and air; Their habitations various as their minds, Employments, and desires. Tam. But are they round us, Hadad?—not confined In penal chains and darkness? Had. So he said; And so your holy books infer. What saith Your Prophet? what the Prince of Uz? Tam. I shudder, Lest some dark Minister be near us now. Had. You wrong them. They are bright Intelligences, Robbed of some native splendor, and cast down, ’T is true, from Heaven; but not deformed, and foul, Revengeful, malice-working Fiends, as fools Suppose. They dwell, like Princes, in the clouds; Sun their bright pinions in the middle sky; Or arch their palaces beneath the hills, With stones inestimable studded so, That sun or stars were useless there. Tam. Good heavens! Had. He bade me look on rugged Caucasus, Crag piled on crag beyond the utmost ken Naked, and wild, as if creation’s ruins Were heaped in one immeasurable chain Of barren mountains, beaten by the storms Of everlasting winter. But within Are glorious palaces, and domes of light, Irradiate halls, and crystal colonnades, Blazing with lustre past the noontide beam, Or, with a milder beauty, mimicking The mystic signs of changeful Mazzaroth. Tam. Unheard of wonders! Had. There they dwell, and muse, And wander; Beings beautiful, immortal, Minds vast as heaven, capacious as the sky; Whose thoughts connect past, present, and to come, And glow with light intense, imperishable. So in the sparry chambers of the Sea And Air-Pavilions, upper Tabernacles, They study Nature’s secrets, and enjoy No poor dominion. Tam. Are they beautiful, And powerful far beyond the human race? Had. Man’s feeble heart cannot conceive it. When The Sage described them, fiery eloquence Broke from his lips, his bosom heaved, his eyes Grew bright and mystical; moved by the theme, Like one who feels a deity within. Tam. Wondrous!—What intercourse have they with men? Had. Sometimes they deign to intermix with man, But oft with woman. Tam. Ha! with woman? Had. She Attracts them with her gentler virtues, soft, And beautiful, and heavenly, like themselves. They have been known to love her with a passion Stronger than human. Tam. That surpasses all You yet have told me. Had. This the Sage affirms; And Moses, darkly. Tam. How do they appear?— How love?— Had. Sometimes ’t is spiritual, signified By beatific dreams, or more distinct And glorious apparition.—They have stooped To animate a human form, and love Like mortals. Tam. Frightful to be so beloved!— Frightful! who could endure the horrid thought? Had. [After a pause.] But why contemn a Spirit’s love? so high, So glorious, if he haply deigned?— Tam. Forswear My Maker! love a Demon! Had. No—Oh, no,— My thoughts but wandered—Oft, alas! they wander. Tam. Why dost thou speak so sadly now?—And lo! Thine eyes are fixed again upon Arcturus. Thus ever, when thy drooping spirits ebb, Thou gazest on that star. Hath it the power To cause or cure thy melancholy mood?— [He appears lost in thought. Tell me,—ascrib’st thou influence to the stars? Had. [Starting.] The stars!—What know’st thou of the stars? Tam. I know that they were made to rule the night. Had. Like palace lamps! Thou echoest well thy grandsire!— Woman! The stars are living, glorious, Amazing, infinite!— Tam. Speak not so wildly. I know them numberless, resplendent, set As symbols of the countless, countless years That make eternity. Had. Thou speak’st the word— O, had ye proved—like those Great Sufferers,— Shot, once for all, the gulf,—felt myriad ages Only the prelude,—could ye scan the void With eyes as searching as its torments,— Then—then—mightst thou pronounce it feelingly! Tam. What ails thee, Hadad?—Draw me not so close. Had. Tamar! I need thy love—more than thy love— Tam. Thy cheek is wet with tears—Nay, let us part— ’T is late. I cannot, must not linger.— [Breaks from him, and exit. Had. Loved and abhorred!—Still, still accursed!— [He paces, twice or thrice, up and down with passionate gestures; then turns his face to the sky, and stands a moment in silence. O! where, In the illimitable space, in what Profound of untried misery, when all His worlds, his rolling orbs of light, that fill With life and beauty yonder infinite, Their radiant journey run, forever set, Where, where, in what abyss shall I be groaning? [Exit.