SCENE . IX

THE WILDERNESS OF MOUNT HERMON.

Time — Daybreak

IRAD .

Morn breaks on earth, not joyously as wont,
But seraph-like with her fringed eyes o'ercast,
Their azure light seen dimly through her tears.
The world beneath is slumbering — how still!
Unnatural rest, or rather listening fear,
Waiting with pulse and respiration hushed
For the great thing to come.
My voice appals
As if I were the only living thing.
Calmly they sleep beneath me, the foredoomed,
Imminent retribution o'er their heads,
God's arm upraised to fall on them supine.
Lo, where the leaden light gleams through yon clouds,
Making their lurid aspects manifest;
Shapes hurrying on perturbed, but silent all;
More awful thus than opening in fires,
Or cleaving thunders, telling the dread ends
Of their tremendous ministry.
O God!
And shall it be? Ye horrid precipices,
Looking as everlasting as your Maker,
Can the deep hide your foreheads? will you not
Still raise your shattered and gigantic arms
Up to the stars, refuge for drifting life
That clings to you for safety? Can those waves,
Hurled broken from your feet, sweep o'er your heads?
They can. If He who raised ye there forsakes,
Your base is built on nothing.

Ere day ends,
What portents shall ensue? One inward hope
Self-cherished dwells in this lone breast, Astarte!
I feel amid the crush of elements
Thou shalt be saved; perchance, though late, be mine.
Behold! a ray shoots downward, lighting on
The Patriarch's tent.

NOAH .

Irad, where art thou?

IRAD .

Sire!

NOAH .

Dost thou waste life when thou should'st be among
Thy brethren, praying for God's strength to meet
The imminent judgment?

IRAD .

And the ark —

NOAH .

Awaits
The flood from Ararat; a voice hath warned
The coming of the Lord; ascend the hill.

IRAD .

Thou wilt save her, O God! I feel it still.