How heaven licks up the flames, when thick with blood! | Poor Zillah——

Life cannot be so slight, as to be quench d
Thus quickly!-he hath spoken to me since-
What shall I say to him?-My brother!-No;
He will not answer to that name; for brethren
Smite not each other. Yet-yet-speak to me.
Oh! for a word more of that gentle voice,
That I may bear to hear my own again!

Enter ZILLAH.

ZILLAH.

What

I heard a heavy sound: what can it be?
'Tis Caiu; and watching by my husband.
Dost thou there, brother? Doth he sleep? Oh! heaven!
What means this paleness, and yon stream?-No! no!
It is not blood; for who would shed his blood?
Abel! what's this?-who hath done this? He moves
not;

He breathes not: and his hands drop down from mine
With stony lifelessness! Ah! cruel Cain!
Why camest thou not in time to save him from
This violence? Whatever hath assail'd him,
Thou wert the stronger, and shouldst have stepp'd in
Between him and aggression! Father!-Eve!-
Adah!-come hither! Death is in the world!

I see it now-he hangs his guilty head,
And covers his ferocious eye with hands
Incarnadine.

ADAH.

Mother, thou dost him wrong-
Cain! clear thee from this horrible accusal,
Which grief wrings from our parent.

EVE.

Hear, Jehovah!

May the eternal serpent's curse be on him!
For he was fitter for his seed than ours.
May all his days be desolate! May--

ADAH.

Hold!

Curse him not, mother, for he is thy son-
Curse him not, mother, for he is my brother,
And my betroth'd.

EVE.

He hath left thee no brother-
Zillah no husband-me no son!-for this
I curse him from my sight for evermore!
All bonds I break between us, as he broke
That of his nature, in yon-Oh death! death!
Why didst thou not take me, who first incurr'd thee?

[Exit ZILLAB, calling on her parents, etc. Why dost thou not so now?
CAIN (Solus).

And who hath brought him there?-I-who abhor
The name of death so deeply, that the thought
Empoison'd all my life, before I knew

His aspect-I have led him here, and given
My brother to his cold and still embrace,
As if he would not have asserted his
Inexorable claim without my aid.
I am awake at last-a dreary dream
Had madden'd me:-but he shall ne'er awake!

Enter ADAM, EVE, ADAH, and ZILLAH.

ADAM.

A voice of woc from Zillah brings me here.-
What do I see?-T is true!-My son!-my son !
Woman, behold the serpent's work, and thine!

EVE.

Oh! speak not of it now: the serpent's fangs
Are in my heart. My best beloved, Abel!
Jehovah! this is punishment beyond
A mother's sin, to take him from me!

ADAM.

Who,

ADAM.

Eve! let not this,
Thy natural grief, lead to impiety!
A heavy doom was long forespoken to us;
And now that it begins, let it be borne
In such sort as may show our God, that we
Are faithful servants to his holy will.
EVE (pointing to Cain).
His will! the will of incarnate spirit
Of death, whom I have brought upou the earth
To strew it with the dead. May all the curses
Of life be on him! and his agonies
Drive him forth o'er the wilderness, like us,
From Eden, till his children do by him
As he did by his brother! May the swords
And wings of fiery cherubim pursue him

yon

[To EvE. By day and night-snakes spring up in his path-
Earth's fruits be ashes in his mouth-the leaves
On which he lays his head to sleep be strew'd
With scorpions! May his dreams be of his victim!
His waking a continual dread of death!

May the clear rivers turn to blood, as he

Stoops down to stain them with his raging lip!
May every element shun or change to him!

Or what hath done this deed?- -Speak, Cain, since thou May he live in the pangs which others die with!

Wert present: was it some more hostile angel,
Who walks not with Jehovah? or some wild
Brute of the forest?

EVE.

Ah! a livid light

Breaks through, as from a thunder-cloud! yon brand,
Massy and bloody! snatch'd from off the altar,
And black with smoke, and red with--

ADAM.

Speak, my son!

Speak, and assure us, wretched as we are,
That we are not more miserable still.

ADAH.

Speak, Cain and say it was not thou

FVF.

It was

And death itself wax something worse than death
To him who first acquainted him with man!
Hence, fratricide henceforth that word is Cain,
Through all the coming myriads of mankind,
Who shall abhor thee, though thou wert their sire!
May the grass wither from thy feet! the woods
Deny thee shelter! earth a home! the dust
A grave! the sun his light! and heaven her God!
[Exit EvE.
Cain! get thee forth: we dwell no more together.
Depart and leave the dead to me-I am
Henceforth alone-we never must meet more.
ADAH.

ADAM.

Oh, part not with him thus, my father: do not
Add thy deep curse to Eve's upon his head '

ADAM.

I curse him not: his spirit be his curse.
Come, Zillah!

ZILLAH.

I must watch my husband's corse.

ADAM.

We will return again, when he is gone
Who hath provided for us this dread office.
Come, Zillah!

ZILLAB.

Yet one kiss on yon pale clay,

And those lips once so warm-my heart! my heart!
[Exeunt ADAM and ZILLA weeping.

ADAH.

Shall slay me? where are these on the lone earth,
As yet unpeopled?

ANGEL.

Thou hast slain thy brother,
And who shall warrant thee against thy son?

ADAH.

Angel of light! be merciful, nor say
That this poor aching breast now nourishes
A murderer in my boy, and of his father.

ANGEL.

Then he would but be what his father is.
Did not the milk of Eve give nutriment
To him thou now see'st so besmear'd with blood?
The fratricide might well engender parricides.—

Cain! thou hast heard, we must go forth. I am ready. But it shall not be so-the Lord thy God

So shall our children be. I will bear Enoch,
And you his sister. Ere the sun declines
Let us depart, nor walk the wilderness
Under the cloud of night.-Nay, speak to me,
To me thine own.

CAIN.
Leave me!

ADAH.

Why, all have left thee.

CAIN.

And wherefore lingerest thou? Dost thou not fear
To dwell with one who hath done this?

ADAH.

I fear

No, let me die!

ANGEL.

It must not be.

[The ANGEL sets the mark on CAIN'S brow.

CAIN.

It burns

My brow, but nought to that which is within it.
Is there more? let me meet it as I may.

ANGEL.

Hear'st thou that voice? Stern hast thou been and stubborn from the womb,

The Voice within.

As the ground thou must henceforth till ; but he
Thou slew'st was gentle as the flocks he tended.

CAIN.

After the fall too soon was I begotten;

Ere yet my mother's mind subsided from

The serpent, and my sire still mourn'd for Eden.

That which I am, I am; I did not seek
For life, nor did I make myself; but could I
With my own death redeem him from the dust-
And why not so? let him return to day,
And I lie ghastly! so shall be restored
By God the life to him he loved; and taken
From me a being I ne'er loved to bear.

ANGEL.

Who shall heal murder? what is done is done.
Go forth fulfil thy days! and be thy deeds
Unlike the last!
[The ANGEL disappears.

ADAB.

He's gone, let us go forth;
I hear our little Enoch cry within
Our bower.

CAIN.

Ah! little knows he what he weeps for!
And I who have shed blood cannot shed tears!
But the four rivers' would not cleanse my soul.
Think'st thou my boy will bear to look on me?

ADAH.

If I thought that he would not, I would

The four rivers which flowed round Eden, and consequently the only waters with which Cain was a quainted upon the earth.

CAIN (interrupting her).

No,

No more of threats: we have had too many of them:
Go to our children; I will follow thee.

ADAH.

I will not leave thee lonely with the dead;

Let us depart together.

CAIN.

Oh! thou dead

And everlasting witness! whose unsinking

Blood darkens earth and heaven! what thou now art,
I know not! but if thou see'st what I am,

I think thou wilt forgive him, whom his God
Can ne'er forgive, nor his own soul.--Farewell!

I must not, dare not, touch what I have made thee.

I, who sprang from the same womb with thee, drain'd
The same breast, clasp'd thee often to my own,
In fondness brotherly and boyish, I

Can never meet thee more, nor even dare

To do that for thee, which thou shouldst have done
For me-compose thy limbs into their grave-
The first grave yet dug for mortality.

But who hath dug that grave! Oh, earth! Oh, earth!
For all the fruits thou hast render'd to me, I
Give thee back this.-Now for the wilderness.

[ADAN stoops down and kisses the body of ABEL.

Werner, or the Juheritance;

A TRAGEDY.

TO THE ILLUSTRIOUS GOETHE,

BY ONE OF HIS HUMBLEST ADMIRERS,

PREFACE.

This Tragedy is Dedicated.

its contents.

conception, rather than execution; for the story might, perhaps, have been more developed with greater advantage. Amongst those whose opinions agreed with mine проп this THE following drama is taken entirely from the « Ger- but it is not necessary, nor indeed of any use; for every I could mention some very high names; story, man's Tale, Kruitzner,» published many years ago in one must judge according to their own feelings. I merely « Lee's Canterbury Tales;» written (I believe) by two refer the reader to the original story, that he may sisters, of whom one furnished only this story and see to what extent I have borrowed from it; and am another, both of which are considered superior to the not unwilling that he should find much greater pleasure remainder of the collection. I have adopted the chain perusing it than the drama which is founded upon racters, plan, and even the language, of many parts of this story. Some of the characters are modified or altered, a few of the names changed, and one character (Ida of Stralenheim) added by myself: but in the rest the original is chiefly followed. When I was young (about fourteen, I think) I first read this tale, which made a deep impression upon me; and may, indeed, be said to contain the germ of much that I have since written. I am not sure that it ever was very popular; or at any rate its popularity has since been eclipsed by that of other great writers in the same department. But I have generally found that those who had read it, agreed with me in their estimate of the singular power of mind and conception which it developes. I should also add

I had begun a drama upon this tale so far back as 1815 the first I ever attempted, except one at thirteen years old, called « Ulric and Ilvina,» which I had sense enough to burn), and had nearly completed an act, when I was interrupted by circumstances. This is somewhere amongst my papers in England; but as it has not been found, I have re-written the first, and added the subsequent acts.

The whole is neither intended, nor in any shape adapted, for the stage.

February, 1822.

Where hast thou seen such?

Scene-partly on the frontier of Silesia, and partly in Let me be wretched with the rest!
Siegendorf Castle, near Prague.
Time-the close of the thirty years' war.

JOSEPHINE.

But think

How many in this hour of tempest shiver
Beneath the biting wind and heavy rain,
Whose every drop bows them down nearer earth,
Which hath no chamber for them save beneath
Her surface.

Why wouldst thou have it so?

JOSEPHINE.

WERNER.

Well!

Have it a healthful current.

WERNER.
Let it flow

I would

Until 't is spilt or check'd-how soon, I care not.

JOSEPHINE.

And am I nothing in thy heart?

WERNER.

All-all.

JOSEPHINE.

Then canst thou wish for that which must break mine?
WERNER (approaching her slowly).

But for thee I had been-no matter what,
But much of good and evil; what I am,

Something beyond our outward sufferings (though
These were enough to gnaw into our souls)
Hath stung me oft, and, more than ever, now.
When, but for this untoward sickness, which
Seized me upon this desolate frontier, and
Hath wasted, not alone my strength, but means,
And leaves us,-no! this is beyond me! but
For this I had been happy-thou been happy-
The splendour of my rank sustain'd--my name--
My father's name-been still upheld; and, more
Than those--

JOSEPHINE (abruptly).
My son our son--our Ulric,
Been clasp'd again in these long-empty arms,