JAMES MONTGOMERY. THE WORLD BEFORE THE FLOOD. TO THE SPIRIT OF A DEPARTED FRIEND. MANY, my friend, have mourn'd for Thee, By those who loved Thee here, and love For while thine absence they deplore, And o'er the tomb they lift their eye, In silent anguish, O my friend! In loftier mood, I fain would raise And forth in rude spontaneous rhymes That hand with awe resumed the lyre, Alone, in sickness, care, and woe, Afraid to trust the bold design "Tis done;-nor would I dread to meet And gain'd the smile I long'd to gain, Full well I know, if Thou wert here, Too mean to yield Thee pure delight, THOυ art not dead,-Thou could'st not die; Yet could they reach Thee where thou art, To nobler life new-born, Thou lookst in pity from the sky Upon a world forlorn, Where glory is but dying flame, And Immortality a name. Yet didst Thou prize the Poet's art; When first this dream of ancient times Warm on my fancy glow'd, And sounds might Spirits move, Though heavenly thoughts are all thy joy, My task is o'er; and I have wrought, To raise the scatter'd seed of thought O for soft winds and clement showers! Those flowers I train'd, of many a hue, And little thought, that I must strew Farewell, but not a long farewell; And sing with Thee the eternal strain, fled to the top of a high mountain, an escaped the ruin that involved the rest of their kindred. In the tenth Canto of the poem a hint is borrowed from this tradition. but it is made to yield to the superior a thority of Scripture-testimony. INTRODUCTORY NOTE. CANTO I. EASTWARD of Eden's early-peopled plain Thence to the rising sun his offspring spread While filial nations hail'd him Sire and Chief No place having been found, in Asia, to correspond exactly with the Mosaic description of the site of Paradise, the Author of the following Poem has disregarded both the learned and the absurd hypotheses on the subject, and at once imagining an inaccessible tract of land, at the confluence of four rivers, which after their junction take the name of the largest, and become the No pause from suffering, and from toil Euphrates of the ancient world, he has placed the happy garden there. Milton's noble fiction of the Mount of Paradise being removed by the deluge, and push'd rest. Ages meanwhile, as ages now are told, O'er the young world in long succession roll'd; For such the vigour of primeval man, broke; Down the great river to the opening gulph, and there converted into a barren isle, implies such a change in the water-courses as will, poetically at least, account for the difference between the scene of this story and the present face of the country, at the point where the Tigris and Euphrates meet. On the eastern side of these waters, the Author supposes the descendants of the younger Children of Adam to dwell, possessing the land of Eden: the rest of the world having been gradually colonized by The bands of Nature's fellowship they emigrants from these, or peopled by the posterity of Cain. In process of time, after The weak became the victims of the strong. the Sons of God had formed connexions with And Earth was fill'd with violence and wrong. the daughters of men, and there were Giants on the earth, the latter assumed to be Lords and Rulers over mankind, till among themselves arose One, excelling all his brethren in knowledge and power, who became their King, and by their aid, in the course of a long life, subdued all the inhabited earth, except the land of Eden. This land, at the head of a mighty army, principally composed of the descendants of Cain, he has invaded and conquered, even to the banks of Euphrates, at the opening of the action of the poem. It is only necessary to add, that for the sake of distinction, the invaders are frequently denominated from Cain, as the host of Cain, the force of Cain, the camp of Cain;-and the remnant of the defenders of Eden are, in like manner, denominated from Eden. The Jews have an ancient tradition, that some of the Giants, at the deluge, Yet long on Eden's fair and fertile plain A righteous nation dwelt, that knew not Cain; There fruits and flowers, in genial light and Luxuriant vines, and golden harvests grew: Age, at his fig-tree, rested from his toil, Round the pure altars of the living God; Sin brought forth sorrows in perpetual birth, | The embattled floods, by mutual whirlpools And the last light from heaven forsook the crost, earth, cry, Roll'd, heedless of their offerings, through the sky; Till urged on Eden's utmost bounds at length, In fierce despair they rallied all their strength. They fought, but they were vanquish'd in the fight, Captured, or slain, or scatter'd in the flight: The morning-battle-scene at eve was spread With ghastly heaps, the dying and the dead; The dead unmourn'd, unburied left to lie, By friends and foes, the dying left to die. The victim, while he groan'd his soul away Heard the gaunt vulture hurrying to his prey, Then strengthless felt the ravening beak, that tore His widen'd wounds, and drank the living gore. One sole-surviving remnant void of fear, Woods in their front, Euphrates in their rear, Were sworn to perish at a glorious cost, For all they once had known, and loved, and lost; A small, a brave, a melancholy band, A broad and sunny champaign stretch'd between; Westward a maze of waters girt the scene; There on Euphrates, in its ancient course, Three beauteous rivers roll'd their confluent force, Whose streams, while man the blissful garden trod, Adorn'd the earthly paradise of God; | In hoary foam and surging mist were lost; Thence, like an Alpine cataract of snow, White down the precipice they dash'd below; There in tumultuous billows broken wide, They spent their rage, and yoked their fourfold tide; Through one majestic channel, calm and free, The sister-rivers sought the parent-sea. |