Still as at night the silent woods are stirred
By the lone calling of some mateless bird,
Ever that voice in Cain’s sad heart was heard.
But busy hands for good or bad are best
To still the aching voices of the breast,
And load the body with the soul’s unrest.
So, tow’rds the Sun the City Enoch rose,
Beneath Cain’s hands, as in the desert grows
A palm whose shade the tawny outcast knows.
The City Enoch! from the first-born named
Of the first-born of woman, son of blood!
Built long ere Babel’s boastful tower was shamed,
Earth’s lonely capital before the flood!
The City Enoch! here were sown and grew
The seeds of Art when Art and life were long;
Here Lamech turned his misery to song,
Hence Jabal journeyed, seeking pastures new!
Here man’s soft hand made brass and iron yield
To cunning shapes and uses,—wondrous skill!
Tearing earth’s iron heart with iron will,
To see what secrets in it lay concealed!
And here, O music, like a dream of heaven,
Thy subtle thrills did touch the wearied brain,
With raptured, passionate longing to regain
The bliss of having naught to be forgiven!
Let me in fancy see thee rise again
O city of the Wanderer, seldom sought!
City of that wise Jubal who first taught
The harp and organ to the sons of men!
That I may learn the secret of his might,
Who, leaving earth unto his brother’s care,
Did gentle battle with the powers of air,
And made them his and ours by victor’s right!
Adah, the first-beloved of Lamech’s wives,
Bare him two sons. Jabal, the eldest-born,
Grew up to manhood, strong and bold and free;
And leaving Enoch, sought a boundless home,
Living in tents, a king amid his flocks,
Setting his throne where’er his subjects thrived,
Lord, or allowed vicegerent under God,
Unto the “cattle on a thousand hills.”