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(MS. circa 1788–89)
I AND agèd Tiriel stood before the gates of his beautiful palace 1 | |
| With Myratana, once the Queen of all the western plains; | |
| But now his eyes were darkenèd, and his wife fading in death. | |
| They stood before their once delightful palace; and thus the voice | |
| Of agèd Tiriel arose, that his sons might hear in their gates:— | 5 |
| |
| ‘Accursèd race of Tiriel! behold your father; | |
| Come forth and look on her that bore you! Come, you accursed sons! | |
| In my weak arms I here have borne your dying mother. | |
| Come forth, sons of the Curse, come forth! see the death of Myratana!’ | |
| |
| His sons ran from their gates, and saw their agèd parents stand; | 10 |
| And thus the eldest son of Tiriel rais’d his mighty voice:— | |
| |
| ‘Old man! unworthy to be call’d the father of Tiriel’s race! | |
| For every one of those thy wrinkles, each of those grey hairs | |
| Are cruel as death, and as obdurate as the devouring pit! | |
| Why should thy sons care for thy curses, thou accursèd man? | 15 |
| Were we not slaves till we rebell’d? Who cares for Tiriel’s curse? | |
| His blessing was a cruel curse; his curse may be a blessing.’ | |
| |
| He ceas’d: the agèd man rais’d up his right hand to the heavens, | |
| His left supported Myratana, shrinking in pangs of death: | |
| The orbs of his large eyes he open’d, and thus his voice went forth:— | 20 |
| |
| ‘Serpents, not sons, wreathing around the bones of Tiriel! | |
| Ye worms of death, feasting upon your agèd parent’s flesh! | |
| Listen! and hear your mother’s groans! No more accursèd sons | |
| She bears; she groans not at the birth of Heuxos or Yuva. | |
| These are the groans of death, ye serpents! these are the groans of death! | 25 |
| Nourish’d with milk, ye serpents, nourish’d with mother’s tears and cares! | |
| Look at my eyes, blind as the orbless skull among the stones! | |
| Look at my bald head! Hark! listen, ye serpents, listen! … | |
| What, Myratana! What, my wife! O Soul! O Spirit! O Fire! | |
| What, Myratana! art thou dead? Look here, ye serpents, look! | 30 |
| The serpents sprung from her own bowels have drain’d her dry as this. | |
| Curse on your ruthless heads, for I will bury her even here!’ | |
| |
| So saying, he began to dig a grave with his agèd hands; | |
| But Heuxos call’d a son of Zazel to dig their mother a grave. | |
| |
| ‘Old Cruelty, desist! and let us dig a grave for thee. | 35 |
| Thou hast refus’d our charity, thou hast refus’d our food, | |
| Thou hast refus’d our clothes, our beds, our houses for thy dwelling, | |
| Choosing to wander like a son of Zazel in the rocks. | |
| Why dost thou curse? Is not the curse now come upon your head? | |
| Was it not you enslav’d the sons of Zazel? And they have curs’d, | 40 |
| And now you feel it. Dig a grave, and let us bury our mother.’ | |
| |
| ‘There, take the body, cursèd sons! and may the heavens rain wrath | |
| As thick as northern fogs, around your gates, to choke you up! | |
| That you may lie as now your mother lies, like dogs cast out, | |
| The stink of your dead carcases annoying man and beast, | 45 |
| Till your white bones are bleach’d with age for a memorial. | |
| No! your remembrance shall perish; for, when your carcases | |
| Lie stinking on the earth, the buriers shall arise from the East, | |
| And not a bone of all the sons of Tiriel remain. | |
| Bury your mother! but you cannot bury the curse of Tiriel.’ | 50 |
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| He ceas’d, and darkling o’er the mountains sought his pathless way. | |
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II He wander’d day and night: to him both day and night were dark. | |
| The sun he felt, but the bright moon was now a useless globe: | |
| O’er mountains and thro’ vales of woe the blind and agèd man | |
| Wander’d, till he that leadeth all led him to the vales of Har. | 55 |
| |
| And Har and Heva, like two children, sat beneath the oak: | |
| Mnetha, now agèd, waited on them, and brought them food and clothing; | |
| But they were as the shadow of Har, and as the years forgotten. | |
| Playing with flowers and running after birds they spent the day, | |
| And in the night like infants slept, delighted with infant dreams. | 60 |
| |
| Soon as the blind wanderer enter’d the pleasant gardens of Har, | |
| They ran weeping, like frighted infants, for refuge in Mnetha’s arms. | |
| The blind man felt his way, and cried: ‘Peace to these open doors! | |
| Let no one fear, for poor blind Tiriel hurts none but himself. | |
| Tell me, O friends, where am I now, and in what pleasant place?’ | 65 |
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| ‘This is the valley of Har,’ said Mnetha, ‘and this the tent of Har. | |
| Who art thou, poor blind man, that takest the name of Tiriel on thee? | |
| Tiriel is King of all the West. Who art thou? I am Mnetha; | |
| And this is Har and Heva, trembling like infants by my side.’ | |
| |
| ‘I know Tiriel is King of the West, and there he lives in joy. | 70 |
| No matter who I am, O Mnetha! If thou hast any food, | |
| Give it me; for I cannot stay; my journey is far from hence.’ | |
| |
| Then Har said: ‘O my mother Mnetha, venture not so near him; | |
| For he is the king of rotten wood, and of the bones of death; | |
| He wanders without eyes, and passes thro’ thick walls and doors. | 75 |
| Thou shalt not smite my mother Mnetha, O thou eyeless man!’ 2 | |
| |
| ‘A wanderer, I beg for food: you see I cannot weep: | |
| I cast away my staff, the kind companion of my travel, 3 | |
| And I kneel down that you may see I am a harmless man.’ | |
| |
| He kneelèd down. And Mnetha said: ‘Come, Har and Heva, rise! | 80 |
| He is an innocent old man, and hungry with his travel.’ | |
| |
| Then Har arose, and laid his hand upon old Tiriel’s head. | |
| |
| ‘God bless thy poor bald pate! God bless thy hollow winking eyes! | |
| God bless thy shrivell’d beard! God bless thy many-wrinkled forehead! | |
| Thou hast no teeth, old man! and thus I kiss thy sleek bald head. | 85 |
| Heva, come kiss his bald head, for he will not hurt us, Heva. | |
| |
| Then Heva came, and took old Tiriel in her mother’s arms. | |
| |
| ‘Bless thy poor eyes, old man, and bless the old father of Tiriel! | |
| Thou art my Tiriel’s old father; I know thee thro’ thy wrinkles, | |
| Because thou smellest like the fig-tree, thou smellest like ripe figs. | 90 |
| How didst thou lose thy eyes, old Tiriel? Bless thy wrinkled face!’ 4 | |
| |
| Mnetha said: ‘Come in, agèd wanderer! tell us of thy name. | |
| Why shouldest thou conceal thyself from those of thine own flesh?’ | |
| |
| ‘I am not of this region,’ said Tiriel dissemblingly. 5 | |
| ‘I am an agèd wanderer, once father of a race | 95 |
| Far in the North; but they were wicked, and were all destroy’d, | |
| And I their father sent an outcast. I have told you all. | |
| Ask me no more, I pray, for grief hath seal’d my precious sight.’ | |
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| ‘O Lord!’ said Mnetha, ‘how I tremble! Are there then more people, | |
| More human creatures on this earth, beside the sons of Har?’ | 100 |
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| ‘No more,’ said Tiriel, ‘but I, remain on all this globe; | |
| And I remain an outcast. Hast thou anything to drink?’ | |
| |
| Then Mnetha gave him milk and fruits, and they sat down together. | |
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III They sat and ate, and Har and Heva smil’d on Tiriel. | |
| |
| ‘Thou art a very old old man, but I am older than thou. | 105 |
| How came thine hair to leave thy forehead? how came thy face so brown? | |
| My hair is very long, my beard doth cover all my breast. | |
| God bless thy piteous face! To count the wrinkles in thy face | |
| Would puzzle Mnetha. Bless thy face! for thou art Tiriel.’ 6 | |
| |
| ‘Tiriel I never saw but once: I sat with him and ate; | 110 |
| He was as cheerful as a prince, and gave me entertainment; | |
| But long I stay’d not at his palace, for I am forc’d to wander.’ | |
| |
| ‘What! wilt thou leave us too?’ said Heva: ‘thou shalt not leave us too, | |
| For we have many sports to show thee, and many songs to sing; | |
| And after dinner we will walk into the cage of Har, | 115 |
| And thou shalt help us to catch birds, and gather them ripe cherries. | |
| Then let thy name be Tiriel, and never leave us more.’ | |
| |
| ‘If thou dost go,’ said Har, ‘I wish thine eyes may see thy folly. | |
| My sons have left me; did thine leave thee? O, ’twas very cruel!’ | |
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| ‘No! venerable man,’ said Tiriel, ‘ask me not such things, | 120 |
| For thou dost make my heart to bleed: my sons were not like thine, | |
| But worse. O never ask me more, or I must flee away! | |
| |
| ‘Thou shalt not go,’ said Heva, ‘till thou hast seen our singing-birds, | |
| And heard Har sing in the great cage, and slept upon our fleeces. | |
| Go not! for thou art so like Tiriel that I love thine head, | 125 |
| Tho’ it is wrinkled like the earth parch’d with the summer heat.’ | |
| |
| Then Tiriel rose up from the seat, and said: ‘God bless these tents! 7 | |
| My journey is o’er rocks and mountains, not in pleasant vales: | |
| I must not sleep nor rest, because of madness and dismay.’ 8 | |
| |
| And Mnetha said: ‘Thou must not go to wander dark, alone; | 130 |
| But dwell with us, and let us be to thee instead of eyes, | |
| And I will bring thee food, old man, till death shall call thee hence.’ | |
| |
| Then Tiriel frown’d, and answer’d: ‘Did I not command you, saying, | |
| “Madness and deep dismay possess the heart of the blind man, | |
| The wanderer who seeks the woods, leaning upon his staff?”’ | 135 |
| |
| Then Mnetha, trembling at his frowns, led him to the tent door, | |
| And gave to him his staff, and bless’d him. He went on his way. | |
| |
| But Har and Heva stood and watch’d him till he enter’d the wood; | |
| And then they went and wept to Mnetha: but they soon forgot their tears. | |
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IV Over the weary hills the blind man took his lonely way; | 140 |
| To him the day and night alike was dark and desolate; | |
| |
| But far he had not gone when Ijim from his woods came down, | |
| Met him at entrance of the forest, in a dark and lonely way. | |
| |
| ‘Who art thou, eyeless wretch, that thus obstruct’st the lion’s path? | |
| Ijim shall rend thy feeble joints, thou tempter of dark Ijim! | 145 |
| Thou hast the form of Tiriel, but I know thee well enough. | |
| Stand from my path, foul fiend! Is this the last of thy deceits, | |
| To be a hypocrite, and stand in shape of a blind beggar?’ | |
| |
| The blind man heard his brother’s voice, and kneel’d down on his knee. | |
| |
| ‘O brother Ijim, if it is thy voice that speaks to me, | 150 |
| Smite not thy brother Tiriel, tho’ weary of his life. | |
| My sons have smitten me already; and, if thou smitest me, | |
| The curse that rolls over their heads will rest itself on thine. | |
| ’Tis now seven years since in my palace I beheld thy face.’ 9 | |
| |
| ‘Come, thou dark fiend, I dare thy cunning! know that Ijim scorns | 155 |
| To smite thee in the form of helpless age and eyeless policy. | |
| Rise up! for I discern thee, and I dare thy eloquent tongue. | |
| Come! I will lead thee on thy way, and use thee as a scoff.’ | |
| |
| ‘O brother Ijim, thou beholdest wretched Tiriel: | |
| Kiss me, my brother, and then leave me to wander desolate!’ | 160 |
| |
| ‘No! artful fiend, but I will lead thee; dost thou want to go? | |
| Reply not, lest I bind thee with the green flags of the brook. | |
| Aye! now thou art discover’d, I will use thee like a slave.’ | |
| |
| When Tiriel heard the words of Ijim, he sought not to reply: | |
| He knew ’twas vain, for Ijim’s words were as the voice of Fate. | 165 |
| |
| And they went on together, over hills, thro’ woody dales, | |
| Blind to the pleasures of the sight, and deaf to warbling birds: | |
| All day they walk’d, and all the night beneath the pleasant moon, | |
| Westwardly journeying, till Tiriel grew weary with his travel. | |
| |
| ‘O Ijim, I am faint and weary, for my knees forbid | 170 |
| To bear me further: urge me not, lest I should die with travel. | |
| A little rest I crave, a little water from a brook, | |
| Or I shall soon discover that I am a mortal man, | |
| And you will lose your once-lov’d Tiriel. Alas! how faint I am!’ | |
| |
| ‘Impudent fiend!’ said Ijim, ‘hold thy glib and eloquent tongue! | 175 |
| Tiriel is a king, and thou the tempter of dark Ijim. | |
| Drink of this running brook, and I will bear thee on my shoulders.’ | |
| |
| He drank; and Ijim rais’d him up, and bore him on his shoulders: | |
| All day he bore him; and, when evening drew her solemn curtain, | |
| Enter’d the gates of Tiriel’s palace, and stood and call’d aloud:— | 180 |
| |
| ‘Heuxos, come forth! I here have brought the fiend that troubles Ijim. | |
| Look! know’st thou aught of this grey beard, or of these blinded eyes?’ | |
| |
| Heuxos and Lotho ran forth at the sound of Ijim’s voice, | |
| And saw their agèd father borne upon his mighty shoulders. | |
| Their eloquent tongues were dumb, and sweat stood on their trembling limbs: | 185 |
| They knew ’twas vain to strive with Ijim. They bow’d and silent stood. | |
| |
| ‘What, Heuxos! call thy father, for I mean to sport to-night. | |
| This is the hypocrite that sometimes roars a dreadful lion; | |
| Then I have rent his limbs, and left him rotting in the forest | |
| For birds to eat. But I have scarce departed from the place, | 190 |
| But like a tiger he would come: and so I rent him too. | |
| Then like a river he would seek to drown me in his waves; | |
| But soon I buffeted the torrent: anon like to a cloud | |
| Fraught with the swords of lightning; but I brav’d the vengeance too. | |
| Then he would creep like a bright serpent; till around my neck, | 195 |
| While I was sleeping, he would twine: I squeez’d his poisonous soul. | |
| Then like a toad, or like a newt, would whisper in my ears; | |
| Or like a rock stood in my way, or like a poisonous shrub. | |
| At last I caught him in the form of Tiriel, blind and old, | |
| And so I’ll keep him! Fetch your father, fetch forth Myratana!’ | 200 |
| |
| They stood confounded, and thus Tiriel rais’d his silver voice:— | |
| |
| ‘Serpents, not sons, why do you stand? Fetch hither Tiriel! | |
| Fetch hither Myratana! and delight yourselves with scoffs; | |
| For poor blind Tiriel is return’d, and this much-injur’d head | |
| Is ready for your bitter taunts. Come forth, sons of the Curse!’ | 205 |
| |
| Meantime the other sons of Tiriel ran around their father, | |
| Confounded at the terrible strength of Ijim: they knew ’twas vain. | |
| Both spear and shield were useless, and the coat of iron mail, | |
| When Ijim stretch’d his mighty arm; the arrow from his limbs | |
| Rebounded, and the piercing sword broke on his naked flesh. 10 | 210 |
| |
| ‘Then is it true, Heuxos, that thou hast turn’d thy agèd parent | |
| To be the sport of wintry winds?’ said Ijim, ‘is this true? | |
| It is a lie, and I am like the tree torn by the wind, | |
| Thou eyeless fiend, and you dissemblers! Is this Tiriel’s house? | |
| It is as false as Matha, and as dark as vacant Orcus. | 215 |
| Escape, ye fiends! for Ijim will not lift his hand against ye.’ | |
| |
| So saying, Ijim gloomy turn’d his back, and silent sought | |
| The secret forests, and all night wander’d in desolate ways. | |
| |
V And agèd Tiriel stood and said: ‘Where does the thunder sleep? | |
| Where doth he hide his terrible head? And his swift and fiery daughters, | 220 |
| Where do they shroud their fiery wings, and the terrors of their hair? | |
| Earth, thus I stamp thy bosom! Rouse the earthquake from his den, | |
| To raise his dark and burning visage thro’ the cleaving ground, | |
| To thrust these towers with his shoulders! Let his fiery dogs | |
| Rise from the centre, belching flames and roarings, dark smoke! | 225 |
| Where art thou, Pestilence, that bathest in fogs and standing lakes? | |
| Rise up thy sluggish limbs, and let the loathsomest of poisons | |
| Drop from thy garments as thou walkest, wrapp’d in yellow clouds! | |
| Here take thy seat in this wide court; let it be strewn with dead; | |
| And sit and smile upon these cursèd sons of Tiriel! | 230 |
| Thunder, and fire, and pestilence, hear you not Tiriel’s curse?’ | |
| He ceas’d. The heavy clouds confus’d roll’d round the lofty towers, | |
| Discharging their enormous voices at the father’s curse. | |
| The earth tremblèd; fires belchèd from the yawning clefts; | |
| And when the shaking ceas’d, a fog possess’d the accursèd clime. | 235 |
| |
| The cry was great in Tiriel’s palace: his five daughters ran, | |
| And caught him by the garments, weeping with cries of bitter woe. | |
| |
| ‘Aye, now you feel the curse, you cry! but may all ears be deaf | |
| As Tiriel’s, and all eyes as blind as Tiriel’s to your woes! | |
| May never stars shine on your roofs! may never sun nor moon | 240 |
| Visit you, but eternal fogs hover around your walls! | |
| Hela, my youngest daughter, you shall lead me from this place; | |
| And let the curse fall on the rest, and wrap them up together!’ | |
| |
| He ceas’d: and Hela led her father from the noisome place. | |
| In haste they fled; while all the sons and daughters of Tiriel, | 245 |
| Chain’d in thick darkness, utterèd cries of mourning all the night. | |
| And in the morning, lo! an hundred men in ghastly death! | |
| The four daughters, stretch’d on the marble pavement, silent all, | |
| Fall’n by the pestilence!—the rest mop’d round in guilty fears; | |
| And all the children in their beds were cut off in one night. | 250 |
| Thirty of Tiriel’s sons remain’d, to wither in the palace, | |
| Desolate, loathèd, dumb, astonish’d—waiting for black death. | |
| |
VI And Hela led her father thro’ the silence of the night, | |
| Astonish’d, silent, till the morning beams began to spring. | |
| |
| ‘Now, Hela, I can go with pleasure, and dwell with Har and Heva, | 255 |
| Now that the curse shall clean devour all those guilty sons. | |
| This is the right and ready way; I know it by the sound | |
| That our feet make. Remember, Hela, I have savèd thee from death; | |
| Then be obedient to thy father, for the curse is taken off thee. | |
| I dwelt with Myratana five years in the desolate rock; | 260 |
| And all that time we waited for the fire to fall from heaven, | |
| Or for the torrents of the sea to overwhelm you all. | |
| But now my wife is dead, and all the time of grace is past: | |
| You see the parent’s curse. Now lead me where I have commanded.’ | |
| |
| ‘O leaguèd with evil spirits, thou accursèd man of sin! | 265 |
| True, I was born thy slave! Who ask’d thee to save me from death? | |
| ‘Twas for thyself, thou cruel man, because thou wantest eyes.’ | |
| |
| ‘True, Hela, this is the desert of all those cruel ones. | |
| Is Tiriel cruel? Look! his daughter, and his youngest daughter, | |
| Laughs at affection, glories in rebellion, scoffs at love. | 270 |
| I have not ate these two days. Lead me to Har and Heva’s tent, | |
| Or I will wrap thee up in such a terrible father’s curse | |
| That thou shalt feel worms in thy marrow creeping thro’ thy bones. | |
| Yet thou shalt lead me! Lead me, I command, to Har and Heva!’ | |
| |
| ‘O cruel! O destroyer! O consumer! O avenger! | 275 |
| To Har and Heva I will lead thee: then would that they would curse! | |
| Then would they curse as thou hast cursèd! But they are not like thee! | |
| O! they are holy and forgiving, fill’d with loving mercy, | |
| Forgetting the offences of their most rebellious children, | |
| Or else thou wouldest not have liv’d to curse thy helpless children.’ | 280 |
| |
| ‘Look on my eyes, Hela, and see, for thou hast eyes to see, | |
| The tears swell from my stony fountains. Wherefore do I weep? | |
| Wherefore from my blind orbs art thou not seiz’d with poisonous stings? | |
| Laugh, serpent, youngest venomous reptile of the flesh of Tiriel! | |
| Laugh! for thy father Tiriel shall give thee cause to laugh, | 285 |
| Unless thou lead me to the tent of Har, child of the Curse!’ | |
| |
| ‘Silence thy evil tongue, thou murderer of thy helpless children! | |
| I lead thee to the tent of Har; not that I mind thy curse, | |
| But that I feel they will curse thee, and hang upon thy bones | |
| Fell shaking agonies, and in each wrinkle of that face | 290 |
| Plant worms of death to feast upon the tongue of terrible curses.’ | |
| |
| ‘Hela, my daughter, listen! thou art the daughter of Tiriel. | |
| Thy father calls. Thy father lifts his hand unto the heavens, | |
| For thou hast laughèd at my tears, and curs’d thy agèd father. | |
| Let snakes rise from thy bedded locks, and laugh among thy curls!’ | 295 |
| |
| He ceas’d. Her dark hair upright stood, while snakes infolded round | |
| Her madding brows: her shrieks appall’d the soul of Tiriel. | |
| |
| ‘What have I done, Hela, my daughter? Fear’st thou now the curse, | |
| Or wherefore dost thou cry? Ah, wretch, to curse thy agèd father! | |
| Lead me to Har and Heva, and the curse of Tiriel | 300 |
| Shall fail. If thou refuse, howl in the desolate mountains!’ | |
| |
VII She, howling, led him over mountains and thro’ frighted vales, | |
| Till to the caves of Zazel they approach’d at eventide. | |
| Forth from their caves old Zazel and his sons ran, when they saw | |
| Their tyrant prince blind, and his daughter howling and leading him. | 305 |
| They laugh’d and mockèd; some threw dirt and stones as they pass’d by; | |
| But when Tiriel turn’d around and rais’d his awful voice, | |
| Some fled away; but Zazel stood still, and thus begun:— | |
| |
| ‘Bald tyrant, wrinkled cunning, listen to Zazel’s chains! | |
| ’Twas thou that chainèd thy brother Zazel! Where are now thine eyes? | 310 |
| Shout, beautiful daughter of Tiriel! thou singest a sweet song! | |
| Where are you going? Come and eat some roots, and drink some water. | |
| Thy crown is bald, old man; the sun will dry thy brains away, | |
| And thou wilt be as foolish as thy foolish brother Zazel.’ | |
| |
| The blind man heard, and smote his breast, and trembling passèd on. | 315 |
| They threw dirt after them, till to the covert of a wood | |
| The howling maiden led her father, where wild beasts resort, | |
| Hoping to end her woes; but from her cries the tigers fled. | |
| All night they wander’d thro’ the wood; and when the sun arose, | |
| They enter’d on the mountains of Har: at noon the happy tents | 320 |
| Were frighted by the dismal cries of Hela on the mountains. | |
| |
| But Har and Heva slept fearless as babes on loving breasts. | |
| Mnetha awoke: she ran and stood at the tent door, and saw | |
| The agèd wanderer led towards the tents; she took her bow, | |
| And chose her arrows, then advanc’d to meet the terrible pair. | 325 |
| |
VIII And Mnetha hasted, and met them at the gate of the lower garden. | |
| ‘Stand still, or from my bow receive a sharp and wingèd death!’ | |
| Then Tiriel stood, saying: ‘What soft voice threatens such bitter things? | |
| Lead me to Har and Heva; I am Tiriel, King of the West.’ | |
| |
| And Mnetha led them to the tent of Har; and Har and Heva | 330 |
| Ran to the door. When Tiriel felt the ankles of agèd Har, | |
| He said: ‘O weak mistaken father of a lawless race, | |
| Thy laws, O Har, and Tiriel’s wisdom, end together in a curse. 11 | |
| |
| Why is one law given to the lion and the patient ox? 12 | |
| And why men bound beneath the heavens in a reptile form, | 335 |
| A worm of sixty winters creeping on the dusky ground? | |
| The child springs from the womb; the father ready stands to form | |
| The infant head, while the mother idle plays with her dog on her couch: | |
| The young bosom is cold for lack of mother’s nourishment, and milk | |
| Is cut off from the weeping mouth with difficulty and pain: | 340 |
| The little lids are lifted, and the little nostrils open’d: | |
| The father forms a whip to rouse the sluggish senses to act, | |
| And scourges off all youthful fancies from the new-born man. | |
| Then walks the weak infant in sorrow, compell’d to number footsteps | |
| Upon the sand. And when the drone has reach’d his crawling length, | 345 |
| Black berries appear that poison all round him. Such was Tiriel, 13 | |
| Compell’d to pray repugnant, and to humble the immortal spirit; | |
| Till I am subtil as a serpent in a paradise, | |
| Consuming all, both flowers and fruits, insects and warbling birds. | |
| And now my paradise is fall’n, and a drear sandy plain | 350 |
| Returns my thirsty hissings in a curse on thee, O Har, | |
| Mistaken father of a lawless race!—My voice is past.’ | |
| |
| He ceas’d, outstretch’d at Har and Heva’s feet in awful death. | |
