And softened with a sacrifice, receive them!

Two beings here erect them unto thee.

If thou lovest blood, the shepherd's shrine, which smokes
On my right hand, hath shed it for thy service

In the first of his flock, whose limbs now reek

In sanguinary incense to thy skies;

Or if the sweet and blooming fruits of earth,
And milder seasons, which the unstained turf
I spread them on now offers in the face
Of the broad sun which ripened them, may seem
Good to thee, inasmuch as they have not
Suffered in limb or life, and rather form

A sample of thy works, than supplication
To look on ours! If a shrine without victim,
And altar without gore, may win thy favour,
Look on it! and for him who dresseth it,

He is such as thou madest him; and seeks nothing
Which must be won by kneeling. If he's evil,
Strike him! thou art omnipotent, and mayest―
For what can he oppose? If he be good,
Strike him, or spare him, as thou wilt! since all
Rests upon thee; and good and evil seem
To have no power themselves, save in thy will
And whether that be good or ill I know not,
Not being omnipotent, nor fit to judge
Omnipotence; but merely to endure

Its mandate-which thus far I have endured.

The catastrophe follows soon after, and is brought about with great dramatic skill and effect. The murderer is sorrowful and confounded his parents reprobate and renounce him—his wife clings to him with eager and unhesitating affection; and they wander forth together into the vast solitude of the universe.

The curse which Eve pronounces upon her son, the murderer of his brother, can only be paralleled by that of Lear on his cruel daughters:

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

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 strewed
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!
May he live in the pangs which others die with!
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!

Adam. 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.

The speech of Adam is concise, and like that of a man whose woes are too deep and heavy to rouse a lengthened curse. The contrast of this with the heartbroken mother's passionate raving is characteristic and skilful in an eminent degree.

But the only delightful part of this Mystery'-the only part upon which we can dwell with real pleasure-is the last scene, in which Adah, the wife of Cain, expresses her resolution to share his fortunes with him. This is a fine display of womanly love-a love so intense that the most terrified angers cannot appal it-so pure that it sheds a portion of its lustre over the gloomy guilt of Cain:

Adah. Cain! thou hast heard, we must go forth. I m ready,

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.

Adah.

Why, all have left thee.

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

Nothing except to leave thee, much as I

Shrink from the deed which leaves thee brotherless.
I must not speak of this-it is between thee
And the great God.

A voice from within exclaims-Cain! Caiu!
Adah.
Hearest thou that voice?

The voice within-Cain! Cain!
Adah.

It soundeth like an angel's tone.

Enter the Angel of the Lord. Angel. Where is thy brother Abel? Cain.

My brother's keeper?

Angel.

Am I then

Cain! what hast thou done?
The voice of thy slain brother's blood cries out,

Even from the ground unto the Lord.-Now art thou
Cursed from the earth, which opened late her mouth
To drink thy brother's blood from thy rash hand.
Henceforth, when thou shalt till the ground, it shall not
Yield thee her strength; a fugitive shalt thou

Be from this day, and vagabond on earth!

Adah. This punishment is more than he can bear. Behold, thou drivest him from the face of earth

And from the face of God shall he be hid.

A fugitive and vagabond on earth,

'Twill come to pass that whoso findeth him Shall slay him.

Cain.

Would they could! but who are they

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 iu my boy, and of his father.

Angel. Then he would be but what his father is.

Did not the milk of Eve give nutriment

To him thou now see'st so besmeared with blood?
The fratricide might well engender parricides.-
But it shall not be so the Lord thy God
And mine commandeth me to set his seal
On Cain, so that he may go forth in safety.
Who slayeth Cain, a sevenfold vengeance shall
Be taken on his head. Come hither!

My brow, but nought to that which is within it.

Is there more? let me meet it as I may.

Angel. Stern hast thou been and stubborn from the womb,

As the ground thou must henceforth till; but he

Thou slewest 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 mourned 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

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-
Cain, (interrupting her).
No,

No more of threats: we've 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.

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 sprung from the same womb with thee, drained
The same breast, clasped 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 should'st have done
For me-compose thy limbs into their grave-
The first grave yet dug for mortality.

But who hath dug that grave? O, earth! O, earth!
For all the fruits thou'st rendered to me, I
Give thee back this.-Now for the wilderness.

[Adah stoops down and kisses the body of Abel.
Adah. A dreary and an early doom, my brother,
Has been thy lot! Of all who mourn thee,
I alone must not weep. My office is
Henceforth to dry up tears, and not to shed them;
But yet, of all who mourn, none mourn like me,
Not only for thyself, but him who slew thee.
Now, Cain, I will divide thy burden with thee.

Cain. Eastward from Eden we will take our way;

'Tis the most desolate, and suits my steps.

Adah. Lead! thou shalt be my guide, and may our God Be thine! Now let us carry forth our children.

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