Lilith / The Legend of the First Woman

by Ada Langworthy Collier

Ah, linger no longer ’mong blooms of the mangoes,
Nor pluck the bright shells by the low sighing sea,
Swift, swift, through the groves of the palms and acacias
Comes Lilith, the childless one, seeking for thee.
She will bind thee so fast in her yellow-gold hair—
Ah, hasten, my children, of Lilith beware!

Cold, cold are her cheeks as the spray of the wild sea,
Red, red are her lips as the pomegranate’s bloom;
Cold, cold are the kisses the phantom will give thee,
Ah, cruel her kisses, that smell of the tomb.
Hist, hist! ’tis the sorceress with yellow-gold hair—
Oh! lullaby, baby—of Lilith beware.

She flies to the jungle, with false tales beguiling,
Ah, hear’st thou her elfin babes scream overhead!
Close, close in her strong arms she bears my babe, smiling;
She hath sucked the soft bloom from the lips of my dead.
Now far speeds the vampire, with yellow-gold hair—
Oh! lullaby, baby—of Lilith beware!

Art frighted, my baby? Nay, then, thy mother
Low singing enfolds thee all safe from the snare;
Afar flit the Elf-babes ’mid gray, misty shadows,
Afar flees the temptress with yellow-gold hair.
Ah, heed not her songs in the still slumbrous air—
Oh! lullaby, baby—of Lilith beware!

When hawthorn-trees sift thick their rifted snow,
The English mother o’er her babe sings low;
Where red the cross burns on the ivied fane,
Unwitting, pagan Lilith lives again—
And softer sings, nor feels the wailing pain
Still faintly surging through that low refrain;
Nor dreams she hears Love’s early cradle cry
Slow echoing through Earth’s song—sweet lullaby—
And in the shadow of that cross, her strain
Breathes sweetly; love, and hope, and ended pain.
Softlier while that small arm closely clings
About her heart, that mother peaceful sings:

O babe, my babe, the light doth fade!
My baby, sleep, while I do keep
Close watch, where thou art lowly laid.
Sweet dreams shall steep thy slumber deep.
Ah, little feet, be still at last—
Rest all the night, for day is past;
One watches thee from yon blue sky,
One watching here sings lullaby,
Lullaby;
Sings lullaby.

Here on his bed the sunny head
Lies still; and soft the brown eyes close;
Sweet steals the breath, ’twixt lips as red,
As dewy fresh, as new-born rose.
O little lips, be hushed at last;
Fear naught, sweetheart, though day be past.
One looks adown from yon far sky,
One close beside, sings lullaby,
Lullaby;
Sings lullaby.

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