den home, with brimming eyes,
Hemmed in by mountains blue--lost Paradise.

Meanwhile, to her own realm Lilith long since
Was come, glad greeting Eblis. "O my prince,
I have most bravely done. Our foes full sore
Are smitten now. My guerdon o'er and o'er
Thou wilt bestow, I ween, in kisses warm
As my own southland's breath. For I great harm
Have wrought that hated pair. With feeble moan
Lies Eve in a far land, thrust out. Alone,
Deserted. And whence angered Adam flies
I know not. Nay, nor what new world his eyes
Behold. Nor even if he live.
"But see!
Sleeps on my breast the babe--Eve's babe. And she
Shall know no more its tender, sweet caress,
Soft medicining woe. The wilderness
Uncheered by love, is hers."
And by the sea,
Peaceful abode, long time content, the three,
Save that the child unmurmuring drooped.
Then oft above her Lilith, singing, stooped,
Striving to wake the baby smiles again
About her wee, warm mouth. Vain wiles! And vain
Her loving skill. All still she lay, and pale.
As one at sea pines for a lonely vale
Besprent with cuckoo flowers; the faint wild breath
Of cradled buds, among the cloven elms, and saith,
'I shall not see that place beyond the seas,
Nor any more pluck red anemones
In windless nooks.'
So seemed the child, and frail
As one that weeps above dead joys. Then pale
Grew Lilith as those wasting lips she pressed
And kissed the filmy eyes, and kissing, blessed
The child.
But Eblis touched the hand so worn,
The faded, wasted face. "Happy, thou mother lorn,
Unseeing her," he said. "This fragile thing
To-day lies on thy breast. To-morrow's wing
Hath brushed it from thy sight." Low Lilith sighed:
"My Eblis, is this death?" And louder cried,
"But thou art wise, and sure some hidden way
From this sore hap canst find. O Eblis, say,
Hast thou no spell whereby the child may live?
O love, my realm thy recompense I give,
If she be healed."
"Nay; not Archangel's craft
Stays fleeting life, or turns Death's nimble shaft,"
He said. "Yet if," she mused, "I laid again
The child in young Eve's arms, like summer rain,
The mother's love may yet restore again
This shriveled life. And yet, must