The Marriage of Tirzah and Ahirad

Genesis vi. 3.

IT is the dead of night:

Yet more than noonday light

Beams far and wide from many a gorgeous hall.

Unnumbered harps are tinkling,

Unnumbered lamps are twinkling,

In the great city of the fourfold wall.

By the brazen castle's moat,

The sentry hums a livelier note.

The ship-boy chaunts a shriller lay

From the galleys in the bay.

Shout, and laugh, and hurrying feet

Sound from mart and square and street,

From the breezy laurel shades,

From the granite colonnades,

From the golden statue's base,

From the stately market-place,

Where, upreared by captive hands,

The great Tower of Triumph stands,

All its pillars in a blaze

With the many-coloured rays,

Which lanthorns of ten thousand dyes

Shed on ten thousand panoplies.

But closest is the throng,

And loudest is the song,

In that sweet garden by the river side,

The abyss of myrtle bowers,

The wilderness of flowers,

Where Cain hath built the palace of his pride.

Such palace ne'er shall be again

Among the dwindling race of men.

From all its threescore gates the light

Of gold and steel afar was thrown;

Two hundred cubits rose in height

The outer wall of polished stone.

On the top was ample space

For a gallant chariot race,

Near either parapet a bed

Of the richest mould was spread,

Where amidst flowers of every scent and hue

Rich orange trees, and palms, and giant cedars grew.

In the mansion's public court

All is revel, song, and sport;

For there, till morn shall tint the east,

Menials and guards prolong the feast.

The boards with painted vessels shine;

The marble cisterns foam with wine.

A hundred dancing girls are there

With zoneless waists and streaming hair;

And countless eyes with ardour gaze,

And countless hands the measure beat,

As mix and part in amorous maze

Those floating arms and bounding feet.

But none of all the race of Cain,

Save those whom he hath deigned to grace

With yellow robe and sapphire chain,

May pass beyond that outer space.

For now within the painted hall

The Firstborn keeps high festival.

Before the glittering valves all night

Their post the chosen captains hold.

Above the portal's stately height

The legend flames in lamps of gold:

"In life united and in death

"May Tirzah and Ahirad be,

"The bravest he of all the sons of Seth,

"Of all the house of Cain the loveliest she."

Through all the climates of the earth

This night is given to festal mirth.

The long continued war is ended.

The long divided lines are blended.

Ahirad's bow shall now no more

Make fat the wolves with kindred gore.

The vultures shall expect in vain

Their banquet from the sword of Cain.

Without a guard the herds and flocks

Along the frontier moors and rocks

From eve to morn may roam:

Nor shriek, nor shout, nor reddened sky,

Shall warn the startled hind to fly

From his beloved home.

Nor to the pier shall burghers crowd

With straining necks and faces pale,

And think that in each flitting cloud

They see a hostile sail.

The peasant without fear shall guide

Down smooth canal or river wide

His painted bark of cane,

Fraught, for some proud bazaar's arcades,

With chestnuts from his native shades,

And wine, and milk, and grain.

Search round the peopled globe to-night,

Explore each continent and isle,

There is no door without a light,

No face without a smile.

The noblest chiefs of either race,

From north and south, from west and east,

Crowd to the painted hall to grace

The pomp of that atoning feast.

With widening eyes and labouring breath

Stand the fair-haired sons of Seth,

As bursts upon their dazzled sight

The endless avenue of light,

The bowers of tulip, rose, and palm,

The thousand cressets fed with balm,

The silken vests, the boards piled high

With amber, gold, and ivory,

The crystal founts whence sparkling flow

The richest wines o'er beds of snow,

The walls where blaze in living dyes

The king's three hundred victories.

The heralds point the fitting seat

To every guest in order meet,

And place the highest in degree

Nearest th' imperial canopy.

Beneath its broad and gorgeous fold,

With naked swords and shields of gold,

Stood the seven princes of the tribes of Nod.

Upon an ermine carpet lay

Two tiger cubs in furious play,

Beneath the emerald throne where sat the signed of God.

Over that ample forehead white

The thousandth year returneth.

Still, on its commanding height,

With a fierce and blood-red light,

The fiery token burneth.

Wheresoe'er that mystic star

Blazeth in the van of war,

Back recoil before its ray

Shield and banner, bow and spear,

Maddened horses break away

From the trembling charioteer.

The fear of that stern king doth lie

On all that live beneath the sky:

All shrink before the mark of his despair,

The seal of that great curse which he alone can bear.

Blazing in pearls and diamonds' sheen.

Tirzah, the young Ahirad's bride,

Of humankind the destined queen,

Sits by her great forefather's side.

The jetty curls, the forehead high,

The swan like neck, the eagle face,

The glowing cheek, the rich dark eye,

Proclaim her of the elder race.

With flowing locks of auburn hue,

And features smooth, and eye of blue,

Timid in love as brave in arms,

The gentle heir of Seth askance

Snatches a bashful, ardent glance

At her majestic charms;

Blest when across that brow high musing flashes

A deeper tint of rose,

Thrice blest when from beneath the silken lashes

Of her proud eye she throws

The smile of blended fondness and disdain

Which marks the daughters of the house of Cain.

All hearts are light around the hall

Save his who is the lord of all.

The painted roofs, the attendant train,

The lights, the banquet, all are vain.

He sees them not. His fancy strays

To other scenes and other days.

A cot by a lone forest's edge,

A fountain murmuring through the trees,

A garden with a wildflower hedge,

Whence sounds the music of the bees,

A little flock of sheep at rest

Upon a mountain's swarthy breast.

On his rude spade he seems to lean

Beside the well remembered stone,

Rejoicing o'er the promised green

Of the first harvest man hath sown.

He sees his mother's tears;

His father's voice he hears,

Kind as when first it praised his youthful skill.

And soon a seraph-child,

In boyish rapture wild,

With a light crook comes bounding from the hill,

Kisses his hands, and strokes his face,

And nestles close in his embrace.

In his adamantine eye

None might discern his agony;

But they who had grown hoary next his side,

And read his stern dark face with deepest skill,

Could trace strange meanings in that lip of pride,

Which for one moment quivered and was still.

No time for them to mark or him to feel

Those inward stings; for clarion, flute, and lyre,

And the rich voices of a countless quire,

Burst on the ear in one triumphant peal.

In breathless transport sits the admiring throng,

As sink and swell the notes of Jubal's lofty song.

"Sound the timbrel, strike the lyre,

Wake the trumpet's blast of fire,

Till the gilded arches ring.

Empire, victory, and fame,

Be ascribed unto the name

Of our father and our king.

Of the deeds which he hath done,

Of the spoils which he hath won,

Let his grateful children sing.

When the deadly fight was fought,

When the great revenge was wrought,

When on the slaughtered victims lay

The minion stiff and cold as they,

Doomed to exile, sealed with flame,

From the west the wanderer came.

Six score years and six he strayed

A hunter through the forest shade.

The lion's shaggy jaws he tore,

To earth he smote the foaming boar,

He crushed the dragon's fiery crest,

And scaled the condor's dizzy nest;

Till hardy sons and daughters fair

Increased around his woodland lair.

Then his victorious bow unstrung

On the great bison's horn he hung.

Giraffe and elk he left to hold

The wilderness of boughs in peace,

And trained his youth to pen the fold,

To press the cream, and weave the fleece.

As shrunk the streamlet in its bed,

As black and scant the herbage grew,

O'er endless plains his flocks he led

Still to new brooks and postures new.

So strayed he till the white pavilions

Of his camp were told by millions,

Till his children's households seven

Were numerous as the stars of heaven.

Then he bade us rove no more;

And in the place that pleased him best,

On the great river's fertile shore,

He fixed the city of his rest.

He taught us then to bind the sheaves,

To strain the palm's delicious milk,

And from the dark green mulberry leaves

To cull the filmy silk.

Then first from straw-built mansions roamed

O'er flower-beds trim the skilful bees;

Then first the purple wine vats foamed

Around the laughing peasant's knees;

And olive-yards, and orchards green,

O'er all the hills of Nod were seen.

"Of our father and our king

Let his grateful children sing.

From him our race its being draws,

His are our arts, and his our laws.

Like himself he bade us be,

Proud, and brave, and fierce, and free.

True, through every turn of fate,

In our friendship and our hate.

Calm to watch, yet prompt to dare;

Quick to feel, yet firm to bear;

Only timid, only weak,

Before sweet woman's eye and cheek.

We will not serve, we will not know,

The God who is our father's foe.

In our proud cities to his name

No temples rise, no altars flame.

Our flocks of sheep, our groves of spice,

To him afford no sacrifice.

Enough that once the House of Cain

Hath courted with oblation vain

The sullen power above.

Henceforth we bear the yoke no more;

The only gods whom we adore

Are glory, vengeance, love.

"Of our father and our king

Let his grateful children sing.

What eye of living thing may brook

On his blazing brow to look?

What might of living thing may stand

Against the strength of his right hand?

First he led his armies forth

Against the Mammoths of the north,

What time they wasted in their pride

Pasture and vineyard far and wide.

Then the White River's icy flood

Was thawed with fire and dyed with blood,

And heard for many a league the sound

Of the pine forests blazing round,

And the death-howl and trampling din

Of the gigantic herd within.

From the surging sea of flame

Forth the tortured monsters came;

As of breakers on the shore

Was their onset and their roar;

As the cedar-trees of God

Stood the stately ranks of Nod.

One long night and one short day

The sword was lifted up to slay.

Then marched the firstborn and his sons

O'er the white ashes of the wood,

And counted of that savage brood

Nine times nine thousand skeletons.

"On the snow with carnage red

The wood is piled, the skins are spread.

A thousand fires illume the sky;

Round each a hundred warriors lie.

But, long ere half the night was spent,

Forth thundered from the golden tent

The rousing voice of Cain.

A thousand trumps in answer rang

And fast to arms the warriors sprang

O'er all the frozen plain.

A herald from the wealthy bay

Hath come with tidings of dismay.

From the western ocean's coast

Seth hath led a countless host,

And vows to slay with fire and sword

All who call not on the Lord.

His archers hold the mountain forts;

His light armed ships blockade the ports;

His horsemen tread the harvest down.

On twelve proud bridges he hath passed

The river dark with many a mast,

And pitched his mighty camp at last

Before the imperial town.

"On the south and on the west,

Closely was the city prest.

Before us lay the hostile powers.

The breach was wide between the towers.

Pulse and meal within were sold

For a double weight of gold.

Our mighty father had gone forth

Two hundred marches to the north.

Yet in that extreme of ill

We stoutly kept his city still;

And swore beneath his royal wall,

Like his true sons to fight and fall.

"Hark, hark, to gong and horn,

Clarion, and fife, and drum,

The morn, the fortieth morn,

Fixed for the great assault is come.

Between the camp and city spreads

A waving sea of helmed heads.

From the royal car of Seth

Was hung the blood-reg flag of death:

At sight of that thrice-hallowed sign

Wide flew at once each banner's fold;

The captains clashed their arms of gold;

The war cry of Elohim rolled

Far down their endless line.

On the northern hills afar

Pealed an answering note of war.

Soon the dust in whirlwinds driven,

Rushed across the northern heaven.

Beneath its shroud came thick and loud

The tramp as of a countless crowd;

And at intervals were seen

Lance and hauberk glancing sheen;

And at intervals were heard

Charger's neigh and battle word.

"Oh what a rapturous cry

From all the city's thousand spires arose,

With what a look the hollow eye

Of the lean watchman glared upon the foes,

With what a yell of joy the mother pressed

The moaning baby to her withered breast;

When through the swarthy cloud that veiled the plain

Burst on his children's sight the flaming brow of Cain!"

There paused perforce that noble song;

For from all the joyous throng,

Burst forth a rapturous shout which drowned

Singer's voice and trumpet's sound.

Thrice that stormy clamour fell,

Thrice rose again with mightier swell.

The last and loudest roar of all

Had died along the painted wall.

The crowd was hushed; the minstrel train

Prepared to strike the chords again;

When on each ear distinctly smote

A low and wild and wailing note.

It moans again. In mute amaze

Menials, and guests, and harpers gaze.

They look above, beneath, around,

No shape doth own that mournful sound.

It comes not from the tuneful quire;

It comes not from the feasting peers.

There is no tone of earthly lyre

So soft, so sad, so full of tears.

Then a strange horror came on all

Who sate at that high festival.

The far famed harp, the harp of gold,

Dropped from Jubal's trembling hold.

Frantic with dismay the bride

Clung to her Ahirad's side.

And the corpse-like hue of dread

Ahirad's haughty face o'erspread.

Yet not even in that agony of awe

Did the young leader of the fair-haired race

From Tirzah's shuddering grasp his hand withdraw,

Or turn his eyes from Tirzah's livid face.

The tigers to their lord retreat,

And crouch and whine beneath his feet.

Prone sink to earth the golden shielded seven.

All hearts are cowed save his alone

Who sits upon the emerald throne;

For he hath heard Elohim speak from heaven.

Still thunders in his ear the peal;

Still blazes on his front the seal:

And on the soul of the proud king

No terror of created thing

From sky, or earth, or hell, hath power

Since that unutterable hour.

He rose to speak, but paused, and listening stood,

Not daunted, but in sad and curious mood,

With knitted brow, and searching eye of fire.

A deathlike silence sank on all around,

And through the boundless space was heard no sound,

Save the soft tones of that mysterious lyre.

Broken, faint, and low,

At first the numbers flow.

Louder, deeper, quicker, still

Into one fierce peal they swell,

And the echoing palace fill

With a strange funereal yell.

A voice comes forth. But what, or where?

On the earth, or in the air?

Like the midnight winds that blow

Round a lone cottage in the snow,

With howling swell and sighing fall,

It wails along the trophied hall.

In such a wild and dreary moan

The watches of the Seraphim

Poured out all night their plaintive hymn

Before the eternal throne.

Then, when from many a heavenly eye

Drops as of earthly pity fell

For her who had aspire too high,

For him who loved too well.

When, stunned by grief, the gentle pair

From the nuptial garden fair,

Linked in a sorrowful caress,

Strayed through the untrodden wilderness;

And close behind their footsteps came

The desolating sword of flame,

And drooped the cedared alley's pride,

And fountains shrank, and roses died.

"Rejoice, O Son of God, rejoice,"

Sang that melancholy voice,

"Rejoice, the maid is fair to see;

The bower is decked for her and thee;

The ivory lamps around it throw

A soft and pure and mellow glow.

Where'er the chastened lustre falls

On roof or cornice, floor or walls,

Woven of pink and rose appear

Such words as love delights to hear.

The breath of myrrh, the lute's soft sound,

Float through the moonlight galleries round.

O'er beds of violet and through groves of spice,

Lead thy proud bride into the nuptial bower;

For thou hast bought her with a fearful price,

And she hath dowered thee with a fearful dower.

The price is life. The dower is death.

Accursed loss! Accursed gain!

For her thou givest the blessedness of Seth,

And to thine arms she brings the curse of Cain.

Round the dark curtains of the fiery throne

Pauses awhile the voice of sacred song:

From all the angelic ranks goes forth a groan,

'How long, O Lord, how long?'

The still small voice makes answer, 'Wait and see,

Oh sons of glory, what the end shall be.'

"But, in the outer darkness of the place

Where God hath shown his power without his grace,

Is laughter and the sound of glad acclaim,

Loud as when, on wings of fire,

Fulfilled of his malign desire,

From Paradise the conquering serpent came.

The giant ruler of the morning star

From off his fiery bed

Lifts high his stately head,

Which Michael's sword hath marked with many a scar.

At his voice the pit of hell

Answers with a joyous yell,

And flings her dusky portals wide

For the bridegroom and the bride.

"But louder still shall be the din

In the halls of Death and Sin,

When the full measure runneth o'er,

When mercy can endure no more,

When he who vainly proffers grace,

Comes in his fury to deface

The fair creation of his hand;

When from the heaven streams down amain

For forty days the sheeted rain;

And from his ancient barriers free,

With a deafening roar the sea

Comes foaming up the land.

Mother, cast thy babe aside:

Bridegroom, quit thy virgin bride:

Brother, pass thy brother by:

'Tis for life, for life, ye fly.

Along the drear horizon raves

The swift advancing line of waves.

On: on: their frothy crests appear

Each moment nearer, and more near.

Urge the dromedary's speed;

Spur to death the reeling steed;

If perchance ye yet may gain

The mountains that o'erhang the plain.

"Oh thou haughty land of Nod,

Hear the sentence of thy God.

Thou hast said, 'Of all the hills

Whence, after autumn rains, the rills

In silver trickle down,

The fairest is that mountain white

Which intercepts the morning light

From Cain's imperial town.

On its first and gentlest swell

Are pleasant halls where nobles dwell;

And marble porticoes are seen

Peeping through terraced gardens green.

Above are olives, palms, and vines;

And higher yet the dark-blue pines;

And highest on the summit shines

The crest of everlasting ice.

Here let the God of Abel own

That human art hath wonders shown

Beyond his boasted paradise.'

"Therefore on that proud mountain's crown

Thy few surviving sons and daughters

Shall see their latest sun go down

Upon a boundless waste of waters.

None salutes and none replies;

None heaves a groan or breathes a prayer

They crouch on earth with tearless eyes,

And clenched hands, and bristling hair.

The rain pours on: no star illumes

The blackness of the roaring sky.

And each successive billow booms

Nigher still and still more nigh.

And now upon the howling blast

The wreaths of spray come thick and fast;

And a great billow by the tempest curled

Falls with a thundering crash; and all is o'er.

In what is left of all this glorious world?

A sky without a beam, a sea without a shore.

"Oh thou fair land, where from their starry home

Cherub and seraph oft delight to roam,

Thou city of the thousand towers,

Thou palace of the golden stairs,

Ye gardens of perennial flowers,

Ye moted gates, ye breezy squares;

Ye parks amidst whose branches high

Oft peers the squirrel's sparkling eye;

Ye vineyards, in whose trellised shade

Pipes many a youth to many a maid;

Ye ports where rides the gallant ship,

Ye marts where wealthy burghers meet;

Ye dark green lanes which know the trip

Of woman's conscious feet;

Ye grassy meads where, when the day is done,

The shepherd pens his fold;

Ye purple moors on which the setting sun

Leaves a rich fringe of gold;

Ye wintry deserts where the larches grow;

Ye mountains on whose everlasting snow

No human foot hath trod;

Many a fathom shall ye sleep

Beneath the grey and endless deep,

In the great day of the revenge of God."

Thomas Babbington Macaulay