Verse > Anthologies > Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. > An American Anthology, 1787–1900
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Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908).  An American Anthology, 1787–1900.  1900.
 
44. The Demon-Lover
 
From “Hadad”
 
By James Abraham Hillhouse
 
 
SCENE. The terraced roof of ABSALOM’S house, by night; adorned with vases of flowers, and fragrant shrubs; an awning spread over part of it.  TAMAR and HADAD.

Tam.  No, no, I well remember—proofs, you said,
Unknown to Moses.
  Had.        Well, my love, thou knowest
I ’ve been a traveller in various climes;
Trod Ethiopia’s scorching sands, and scaled        5
The snow-clad mountains; trusted to the deep;
Traversed the fragrant islands of the sea,
And with the Wise conversed of many nations.
  Tam.  I know thou hast.
  Had.        Of all mine eyes have seen,        10
The greatest, wisest, and most wonderful,
Is that dread sage, the Ancient of the Mountain.
  Tam.  Who?
  Had.        None knows his lineage, age, or name: his locks
Are like the snows of Caucasus; his eyes        15
Beam with the wisdom of collected ages.
In green, unbroken years, he sees, ’t is said,
The generations pass, like autumn fruits,
Garnered, consumed, and springing fresh to life,
Again to perish, while he views the sun,        20
The seasons roll, in rapt serenity,
And high communion with celestial powers.
Some say ’t is Shem, our father, some say Enoch,
And some Melchizedek.
  Tam.        I ’ve heard a tale        25
Like this, but ne’er believed it.
  Had.        I have proved it.—
Through perils dire, dangers most imminent,
Seven days and nights ’midst rocks and wildernesses,
And boreal snows, and never-thawing ice,        30
Where not a bird, a beast, a living thing,
Save the far-soaring vulture comes, I dared
My desperate way, resolved to know, or perish.
  Tam.  Rash, rash adventurer!
  Had.        On the highest peak        35
Of stormy Caucasus, there blooms a spot
On which perpetual sunbeams play, where flowers
And verdure never die; and there he dwells.
  Tam.  But didst thou see him?
  Had.        Never did I view        40
Such awful majesty: his reverend locks
Hung like a silver mantle to his feet,
His raiment glistered saintly white, his brow
Rose like the gate of Paradise, his mouth
Was musical as its bright guardians’ songs.        45
  Tam.  What did he tell thee? Oh! what wisdom fell
From lips so hallowed?
  Had.        Whether he possess
The Tetragrammaton,—the powerful Name
Inscribed on Moses’ rod, by which he wrought        50
Unheard of wonders, which constrains the Heavens
To part with blessings, shakes the earth, and rules
The strongest Spirits; or if God hath given
A delegated power, I cannot tell.
But ’t was from him I learned their fate, their fall,        55
Who, erewhile, wore resplendent crowns in Heaven;
Now, scattered through the earth, the air, the sea.
Them he compels to answer, and from them
Has drawn what Moses, nor no mortal ear,
Has ever heard.        60
  Tam.        But did he tell it thee?
  Had.  He told me much,—more than I dare reveal;
For with a dreadful oath he sealed my lips.
  Tam.  But canst thou tell me nothing?—Why unfold
So much, if I must hear no more?        65
  Had.        You bade
Explain my words, almost reproached me, sweet,
For what by accident escaped me.
  Tam.        Ah!
A little—something tell me,—sure, not all        70
Were words inhibited.
  Had.        Then, promise never,
Never to utter of this conference
A breath to mortal.
  Tam.        Solemnly I vow.        75
  Had.  Even then, ’t is little I can say, compared
With all the marvels he related.
  Tam.        Come,
I ’m breathless.—Tell me how they sinn’d, how fell.
  Had.  Their Prince involved them in his ruin.        80
  Tam.  What black offence on his devoted head
Drew such dire punishment?
  Had.        The wish to be
As the All-Perfect.
  Tam.        Arrogating that        85
Peculiar to his Maker!—awful crime!
But what their doom? their place of punishment?
  Had.  Above, about, beneath; earth, sea, and air;
Their habitations various as their minds,
Employments, and desires.        90
  Tam.  But are they round us, Hadad?—not confined
In penal chains and darkness?
  Had.        So he said;
And so your holy books infer. What saith
Your Prophet? what the Prince of Uz?        95
  Tam.        I shudder,
Lest some dark Minister be near us now.
  Had.  You wrong them. They are bright Intelligences,
Robbed of some native splendor, and cast down,
’T is true, from Heaven; but not deformed, and foul,        100
Revengeful, malice-working Fiends, as fools
Suppose. They dwell, like Princes, in the clouds;
Sun their bright pinions in the middle sky;
Or arch their palaces beneath the hills,
With stones inestimable studded so,        105
That sun or stars were useless there.
  Tam.        Good heavens!
  Had.  He bade me look on rugged Caucasus,
Crag piled on crag beyond the utmost ken
Naked, and wild, as if creation’s ruins        110
Were heaped in one immeasurable chain
Of barren mountains, beaten by the storms
Of everlasting winter. But within
Are glorious palaces, and domes of light,
Irradiate halls, and crystal colonnades,        115
Blazing with lustre past the noontide beam,
Or, with a milder beauty, mimicking
The mystic signs of changeful Mazzaroth.
  Tam.  Unheard of wonders!
  Had.        There they dwell, and muse,        120
And wander; Beings beautiful, immortal,
Minds vast as heaven, capacious as the sky;
Whose thoughts connect past, present, and to come,
And glow with light intense, imperishable.
So in the sparry chambers of the Sea        125
And Air-Pavilions, upper Tabernacles,
They study Nature’s secrets, and enjoy
No poor dominion.
  Tam.        Are they beautiful,
And powerful far beyond the human race?        130
  Had.  Man’s feeble heart cannot conceive it. When
The Sage described them, fiery eloquence
Broke from his lips, his bosom heaved, his eyes
Grew bright and mystical; moved by the theme,
Like one who feels a deity within.        135
  Tam.  Wondrous!—What intercourse have they with men?
  Had.  Sometimes they deign to intermix with man,
But oft with woman.
  Tam.        Ha! with woman?
  Had.        She        140
Attracts them with her gentler virtues, soft,
And beautiful, and heavenly, like themselves.
They have been known to love her with a passion
Stronger than human.
  Tam.        That surpasses all        145
You yet have told me.
  Had.        This the Sage affirms;
And Moses, darkly.
  Tam.        How do they appear?—
How love?—        150
  Had.  Sometimes ’t is spiritual, signified
By beatific dreams, or more distinct
And glorious apparition.—They have stooped
To animate a human form, and love
Like mortals.        155
  Tam.        Frightful to be so beloved!—
Frightful! who could endure the horrid thought?
  Had.  [After a pause.]  But why contemn a Spirit’s love? so high,
So glorious, if he haply deigned?—
  Tam.        Forswear        160
My Maker! love a Demon!
  Had.        No—Oh, no,—
My thoughts but wandered—Oft, alas! they wander.
  Tam.  Why dost thou speak so sadly now?—And lo!
Thine eyes are fixed again upon Arcturus.        165
Thus ever, when thy drooping spirits ebb,
Thou gazest on that star. Hath it the power
To cause or cure thy melancholy mood?—  [He appears lost in thought.
Tell me,—ascrib’st thou influence to the stars?
  Had.  [Starting.]  The stars!—What know’st thou of the stars?        170
  Tam.  I know that they were made to rule the night.
  Had.  Like palace lamps! Thou echoest well thy grandsire!—
Woman! The stars are living, glorious,
Amazing, infinite!—
  Tam.        Speak not so wildly.        175
I know them numberless, resplendent, set
As symbols of the countless, countless years
That make eternity.
  Had.        Thou speak’st the word—
O, had ye proved—like those Great Sufferers,—        180
Shot, once for all, the gulf,—felt myriad ages
Only the prelude,—could ye scan the void
With eyes as searching as its torments,—
Then—then—mightst thou pronounce it feelingly!
  Tam.  What ails thee, Hadad?—Draw me not so close.        185
  Had.  Tamar! I need thy love—more than thy love—
  Tam.  Thy cheek is wet with tears—Nay, let us part—
’T is late. I cannot, must not linger.—  [Breaks from him, and exit.
  Had.  Loved and abhorred!—Still, still accursed!—  [He paces, twice or thrice, up and down with passionate gestures; then turns his face to the sky, and stands a moment in silence.
        O! where,        190
In the illimitable space, in what
Profound of untried misery, when all
His worlds, his rolling orbs of light, that fill
With life and beauty yonder infinite,
Their radiant journey run, forever set,        195
Where, where, in what abyss shall I be groaning?  [Exit.
 

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