Adam lost Paradise—eternal tale
Repeated in the lives of all his sons.
I had a shining orb of happiness,
God gave it me; but sin passed over it
As small-pox passes o'er a lovely face,
Leaving it hideous. I have lost for ever
The Paradise of young and happy thoughts,
And now stand in the middle of my life
Looking back through my tears—ne'er to return.
I've a stern tryst with Death, and must go on,
Though with slow steps and oft-reverted eyes.
'Tis a thick, rich-hazed, sumptuous autumn night;
The moon grows like a white flower in the sky;
The stars are dim. The tired year rests content
Among her sheaves, as a fond mother rests
Among her children; all her work is done.
There is a weight of peace upon the world;
It sleeps: God's blessing on it. Not on me!
Oh, as a lewd dream stains the holy sleep,
I stain the holy night, yet dare not die!
I knew this river's childhood, from the lake
That gave it birth, till, as if spilt from heaven,
It floated o'er the face of jet-black rocks,
Graceful and gauzy as a snowy veil.
Then we were pure as the blue sky above us,
Now we are black alike. This stream has turned
The wheels of commerce, and come forth distained;
And now trails slowly through a city's heart,
Drawing its filth as doth an evil soul
Attract all evil things; putrid and black
It mingles with the clear and stainless sea.
So into pure eternity my soul
Will disembogue itself.
Good men have said
That sometimes God leaves sinners to their sin,—
He has left me to mine, and I am changed;
My worst part is insurgent, and my will
Is weak and powerless as a trembling king
When millions rise up hungry. Woe is me!
My soul breeds sins as a dead body worms!
They swarm and feed upon me. Hear me, God!
Sin met me and embraced me on my way;
Methought her cheeks were red, her lips had bloom;
I kissed her bold lips, dallied with her hair:
She sang me into slumber. I awoke—
It was a putrid corse that clung to me,
That clings to me like memory to the damned,
That rots into my being. Father! God!
I cannot shake it off, it clings, it clings;—
I soon will grow as corrupt as itself. [A pause.
God sends me back my prayers, as a father
Returns unoped the letters of a son
Who has dishonoured him.
Have mercy, Fiend!
Thou Devil, thou wilt drag me down to hell.
Oh, if she had proclivity to sin
Who did appear so beauteous and so pure,
Nature may leer behind a gracious mask.
And God himself may be——I'm giddy, blind,
The world reels from beneath me.
[Catches hold of the parapet.
(An outcast approaches.) Wilt pray for me?
GIRL (shuddering).
'Tis a dreadful thing to pray.
WALTER.
Why is it so?
Hast thou, like me, a spot upon thy soul
That neither tears can cleanse nor fires eterne?
GIRL.
But few request my prayers.
WALTER.
I request them.
For ne'er did a dishevelled woman cling
So earnest-pale to a stern conqueror's knees,
Pleading for a dear life, as did my prayer
Cling to the knees of God. He shook it off,
And went upon His way. Wilt pray for me?