SCENE I

DESERTS OF MOUNT HERMON

IRAD .

Ay, this is loneliness, no life is here;
The black woods frown on me as if I were
The first to break their solemn solitudes,
Talking of human griefs. Methinks rebuke
Looks from their brows, that Nature answers me;
Voices of love and wrath alike are hers,
And I have felt silent communion
While dwelling on her face.
I may confess
My bosom here, unheard; what hath love taught me?
The change of that I deemed unchangeable;
I see my idol's hollowness; I feel
I bow before it still. How slumbers earth
Beneath yon stars, that watch like Godhead's eyes
Above his altar; oh, that I had lived
In those bright worlds and never known Astarte!
We feel the conscious present is our life.
I am of earth and seek not joys beyond:
I would forego an immortality
So I might share her love.

Enter A STARTE

Thou shunn'st me, Irad!

IRAD .

Astarte! I deemed not to meet thee here.
Turn not thou from me; I will leave thee. I
Ascend the mountain to the Patriarch.
The moon will change ere we shall meet, as changed
Art thou

A STARIE

I RAD . I am the same; my thoughts —

IRAD .

Dwell not on me, Astarte! Love like mine
May be repulsed, but it returneth; hopes,
Once inmates of thy heart, now cast to earth
Like broken flowers, are cherished in mine own.

ASTARIE .

Is this well said?

IRAD .

I ask not thy confession;
Upon that passionless face the truth is told
Love may be crushed, it rises from the stroke,
For hate was love disguised, that hid its face
But for a while; indifference is its grave.
We were betrothed from childhood; we grew up
As one: I turned from Enoch's haughtier maids

To dwell on thy retiring beauty. Oh,
Bless'd be those bright days when we sate and heard
The bird of evening's song, and felt the hour
Of quiet draw us to the inward world
Of our own bosoms, as the outward failed!
Those eyes, then looked in mine; our spirit's breath,
Drawn from one heart, respired from one vast soul.

ASTARIE .

I was then worthier, for I was like thee.

IRAD .

Then wherefore changed?

ASTARIE .

Irad! I am no mate
For thee.

IRAD .

Why turn'st thou with averted face?
Why does thy cheek flush, and thy bosom heave?
Tis Azoara hath infused in thee
Her prouder spirit; well her brown reveals
Her Cainite origin, which is her shame.
What falsehood hath she told against our race,
We the elect of God?

ASTARIE .

Blame her not, Irad!
We do not mould ourselves; let us not chide
The human frailties that alike we share
Her thoughts have higher objects than thy life

IRAD .

I ask not of them, so they taint not thee.
Lo! she comes forth at evening as her wont;
I will not meet her pride and haughty brow.
Farewell! yet wherefore breathe that word to thee,
Still ever near? When thy light step no more
Is heard, the falling leaf recalls the sound;
When I depart, I see thee; thy face looks
Still upon mine, and, when I hear thee not,
I can create thy voice in memory.
Oh, when I turn from thee, I do not leave thee;
Thine image fills my being, and becomes
My body's soul, that else were tenantless.
Farewell! prophetic ill breathes in that word,
Staying me even while I should depart;
May the clear eye of God watch o'er and bless thee,
As I have done, Astarte, but in vain.