East Of Eden Poem by William Canton

Far down upon the plain the large round moon
Sank red in jungle mist; but on the heights
The cold clear darkness burned with restless stars:
And, restless as the stars, the grim old King
Paced with fierce choleric strides the monstrous ridge
Of boulders piled to make the city wall.
Muttering his wrath within his cloudy beard,
He moved, and paused, and turned. The starlight caught
The huge bent gold that ringed his giant head,
Gleamed on the jewel-fringed vast lion-fells
That clothed his stature, ran in dusky play
Along the ponderous bronze that armed his spear.
He fiercely scanned the East for signs of dawn;
Then shook his clenchèd hand above his head,
And blazed with savage eyes and brow thrown back
To front the awful Presence he addressed:
“Slay and make end; or take some mortal form
That I may strive with Thee! Art Thou so strong
And yet must smite me out of Thine Unseen?
Long centuries have passed since Thou didst place
Thy mark upon me, lest at any time
Men finding me should slay me. I have grown
Feeble and hoary with the toil of years—
An aged Palsy—now, alas, no more
That erst colossal adamant whereon
Thine hand engraved its vengeance. Be Thou just,
And answer when I charge Thee. Have I blenched
Before Thy fury; have I bade Thee spare;
Hath Thy long torture wrung one sob of pain,
One cry of supplication from my mouth?
But Thou hast made Thyself unseen; hast lain
In ambush to afflict me. Day and night
Thou hast been watchful. Thy vindictive eyes
Have known no slumber. Make Thyself a man
That I may seize Thee in my grips, and strive
But once on equal terms with Thee—but once.
Or send Thine angel with his sword of fire—
But no; not him! Come Thou, come Thou Thyself;
Come forth from Thine Invisible, and face
In mortal guise the mortal Thou hast plagued!”
The race of giants, sunk in heavy sleep
Within the cirque of those cyclopean walls,
Heard as it were far thunder in their dreams;
But answer came there none from cloud or star.
Then cried the aged King;
“A curse consume
Thy blind night fevered with the glare of stars,
Wild voices, and the agony of dreams!
Would it were day!”
At last the gleam of dawn
Swept in a long grey shudder from the East,
Then reddened o'er the misty jungle tracts.
The guards about the massive city gates
Fell back with hurried whispers: “'Tis the King!”
And forth, with great white beard and gold-girt brows,
Huge spear, and jewelled fells, the giant strode
To slake his rage among the beasts of prey.
The fierce white splendour of a tropic noon;
A sweltering waste of jungle, breathing flame;
The sky one burning sapphire!
By a spring
Within the shadow of a bluff of rock
The hoary giant rested. At his feet
The cool green mosses edged the crystal pool,
And flowers of blue and gold and rose-red lulled
The weary eye with colour. As he sat
There rose a clamour from the sea of canes;
He heard a crash of boughs, a rush of feet;
And, lo! there bounded from the tangled growth
A panting tiger mad with pain and rage.
The beast sprang roaring, but the giant towered
And pashed with one fell buffet bone and brain;
Then staggered with a groan, for, keen and swift,
At that same instant from the jungle flew
A shaft which to the feather pierced his frame.
Shrill cries of horror maddened round the bluff:
“Oh, Elohim, 'tis Cain the King, the King!”
And weeping, tearing hair, and wringing hands,
About him raved his lawless giant brood.
But Cain spoke slowly with a ghastly smile:
“Peace, and give heed, for now I am but dead.
Let no man be to blame for this my death;
Yea, swear a solemn oath that none shall harm
A hair of him who gives me my release.
Come hither, boy!”
And, weeping, Lamech went
And stood before the face of Cain; and Cain,
Who pressed a hand against his rushing wound,
Reddened his grandson's brow and kissed his cheek:
“The blood of Cain alight on him who lifts
A hand against thy life. My spear, boys! So.
Let no foot follow. Cain must die alone.
Let no man seek me till ye see in heaven
A sign, and know that Cain is dead.”
He smiled,
And from the hollow of his hand let fall
A crimson rain upon the crystal spring,
Which caught the blood in glassy ripple and whirl,
And reddened moss and boulder.
Swift of stride,
With gold-girt brow thrown back to front the Unseen,
The hoary giant through the jungle waste
Plunged, muttering in his beard; and onward pressed
Through the deep tangle of the trackless growth
To reach some lair, where hidden and unheard
His savage soul in its last strife might cope
With God—perchance one moment visible.
A sweltering tract of jungle breathing flame;
A fiery silence; all the depth of heaven
One blinding sapphire!
Watching by the cliff,
The giant brood stood waiting for the sign.
Behold! a speck, high in the blazing blue,
Hung black—a single speck above the waste;
Hung poised an hour; then dropped through leagues of air,
Plumb as a stone; and as it dropped they saw
Through leagues of high blue air, to north and south,
To east and west, black specks that sprang from space,
And then long sinuous lines of distant spots
Which flew converging—growing, as they flew,
To slanting streams and palpitating swarms;
Which flew converging out of all the heavens,
And blackened, as they flew, the sapphire blaze,
And jarred the fiery hush with winnowing wings;
Which flew converging on a single point
Deep in the jungle waste, and, as they swooped,
Paused in the last long slide with dangling claws,
Then dropped like stone.
Thus knew the giant brood
That Cain was dead.
Beside a swamp they found
Hoar hair, a litter of white colossal bones,
Ensanguined shreds of jewelled lion-fells,
The huge gold crown and ponderous spear of Cain,
And, fixed between the ribs, the fatal shaft
Which Lamech shot unwitting; but against
The life of Lamech no man lifted hand.