  And Lilith oft to Paradise returned, For fierce within her, bitter hatred burned, And better, dearer, seemed revenge than aught She else desired. The coppice oft she sought, Much hoping direful evil might be wrought Upon the love that bloomed in Eden. Wide Oft strayed fair Eve; the little maid, beside, Plucking the lotus; or by sedgy moats, From ribbed papyrus broad, frail fairy boats Deft fashioning. Or Adam, watching, smiled, With flowery wreaths engarlanding the child. And laughed the pair, intent on pleasant toil, When blithe the child upheaped her fruity spoil— Great globes of red and gold. Or roguish face O’er feathery broods, or in the further space To count the small blue eggs, she sportive bent; And far her restless feet swift glancing went. It chanced one day she watched the careless flight Of vagrant butterflies, that circled light Uncertain, high, above a copse rose-wreathed; Then soft down-dropping, gaudy wings they sheathed With yellow buds was strewn. And softly here She crept, deeming her little half-shut hand Might snare the fairest of that gleaming band. Yet ere she touched it, wide its wings outspread In flight. And still she, swift pursuing, sped Among the groves, till wearied, slept the maid Deep in the mid-day shadows, lowly laid. Without, stooped Lilith. And with fingers swift, Among the leaves she oped a small green rift, That she might see the child. The hedge was wet With starry blooms. Whereto her hand she set When she awaked, seeing each dainty frond Of fragrant ferns, dusk mirrored in the pond. The child came near the copse, much wondering: From glossy stems the smooth leaves sundering. And stooping o’er the rift, she saw there, low Against the hedge, a face like drifted snow, And soft eyes, blue as violets show Above the brooks; and hair that downward rolled Upon the ground in glittering strands of gold. Mute stood the maid, naught fearing, but amazed. Then nearer drew, and lingering, she gazed In those blue orbs. And smiling as she knelt, The stranger quickly loosed her shining belt Lit silent nooks, or slept by far-off stream Unheeded—pale pearls with shimmering light, From distant oceans plucked, blue sapphires bright, And diamonds rosy-cold, and burning red The rubies fine, and yellow topaz shed Its sultry glow, jasper, dull onyx white, Sardonyx, rare chalcÈdon, streaked with light. Against her white breast that bright zone she laid, Then stretched it, flashing forth, toward the maid, And clasped it round her throat. A luring strain She sung, sweet as the pause of summer rain. So soft, so pure her voice, the child it drew Still nearer that green rift; and low there-through She laughing stroked the down-bent golden head With her soft baby hands. And parting, spread The silken hair about her little face, And kissed the temptress through the green-leaved space. Whereat fell Lilith snatched the babe and fled, Crying, as swift from Eden’s bounds she sped, And like a fallen star shone on her breast The child, “At last! at last! thy peaceful rest Ere long will cease. O helpless mourn, frail Eve, Uncomforted. O hapless mother, grieve, Since Lilith far from thee thy babe doth bear! She leaves thy loving arms, thy tender care. When far we go athwart the falling night. Ah, little babe, close-meshed in yellow hair Thou liest pale! Fear not, thou art so fair, Much comfort lives in thee.” So ended she, And onward, hostile lands among, passed fleet Blue solitudes afar, till paused her feet, Where highest ’mong hoar climbing peaks, uprose A mountain crest. It was the third day’s close. In those untrodden ways there was no sound, No sight of living thing, the barren heights around. No hum of insect life, no whirring wing of bird. Bare rocks alone, all fissured, blotched and blurred As with red stain of battle-fields unseen. Far, far below, still vales were shining green. And leaping downward swift, a mountain stream Crept soft to sleep, where meadow grasses dream. Wan, wayworn, there, the babe upon her knee, Lilith sat down. “O Eve,” she said, “on me The child smiles sweet! Fondle her silken hair If now thou canst, or clasp her small hands fair. Thou hast my Paradise. Lo, thine I bear Afar from thee. See, then! Its transient woe Thy babe e’en now forgets; and sweet and low It babbles on my knee. In sooth, not long Endure her griefs, and through my crooning song Whence she has come. Nay, nor her mother’s face.” Long time stayed Lilith in that land. More calm Each day she grew, for soft, like healing balm, The child’s pure love fell on her sin-sick soul. Now oft among the crags, fleet-footed, stole The maid, or lightly crossed the fertile plain. And blithesome sang among the growing grain That brake in billowy waves about her feet. But when the wheat full ripened was, and sweet, She plucked and ate. Thereat a shadowy pain, A sense of sorrow, stirred that childish brain, She wist not why. For it did surely seem Before her waking thought, with p Of voices round her came, and clasp of hands, And thick with baby faces bloomed the lands, Eve silent sat, remembering that one child Among the snowdrops, in a Northern wild. And Lilith dwelt again in her own land; With Eblis still strayed far. And hand in hand They talked; the while her phantom brood in glee Laughed overhead. Then looking on the sea, Low voiced, she sang. So sweet the idle song, She said, “From Paradise, forgotten long, It comes. An elfin echo that doth rise Upward from summer seas to bending skies. In coming days, from any earthly shore It shall not fail. And sweet forever more Shall make my memory. That witching strain Pale Lilith’s love shall lightly breathe again. And Lilith’s bitter loss and olden pain O’er every cradle wake that sweet refrain. While rings Earth’s cradle-song—sweet lullaby.” Slow passed dim cycles by, and in the earth Strange peoples swarmed; new nations sprang to birth. Then first ’mong tented tribes men shuddering spake Dread tales of one that moved, an unseen shape, ’Mong chilling mists and snow. A spirit swift, That dwelt in lands beyond day’s purple rift. Phantom of presage ill to babes unborn, Whose fast-sealed eyes ope not to earthly morn. “We heard,” they cried, “the Elf-babes shrilly scream, And loud the Siren’s song, when lightnings gleam.” Then they that by low beds all night did wake, Prayed for the day, and feared to see it break. When o’er the icy fjords cold rise white peaks, And fierce wild storms blot out the frozen creeks, The Finnish mother to her breast more near Draws her dear babe—clasps it in her wild fear Still closer to her heart. And o’er and o’er Through her weird song fall echoes from that lore That lived when Time was young, e’er yet the rime Of years lay on his brow. In that far prime Nature and man, couched ’neath God’s earliest sky, Heard clear-voiced spheres chant Earth’s first lullaby. Nor knows that faint through her wild cradle-song Yet sweetly thrills the vanished Elf-babes’ cry, Nor dreams, as low she croons her lullaby, Still breathes through that sweet, lingering refrain Lilith the childless—and to life again, To love, she wakes. The soft strain clearer rings As through the gathering storm that mother sings: Pile the strong fagot, Pale Lilith comes! Wild through the murky air goblin voices shout. Hark! Hearest thou not their lusty rout? Lilith comes! Listen, my babe! See how the dusk pines Tremble and crouch; Over wide wastes borne, white are the snow-wreaths blown, And loud the drear icy fjords shudder and moan; Lilith comes! Listen, my babe! Ah! Hear the wild din, Fierce o’er the linn, The sea-gull, affrighted, soars seaward away, And dark on the shores falls the wind-driven spray; Lilith comes! Listen, my babe! The shuddering ice Shivers. It cracks! Of the storm-cloud overhead. The sea answers back— Dread Lilith comes! Listen, my babe! Near draws the wraith fair, Dull gleams her hair. Ah, strong one, so cruel—fierce breath of the North— The torches of heaven are lighting thee forth! Fell Lilith comes! Listen, my babe! Cold spirit of Snow, Ah, I fear thee! The sports of my hunter, the white fox, the bear, The spoils of our rivers are thine. Ah, then spare, Dread Lilith, spare The babe at my breast! Mercy, weird Lilith! Even sleeping, My babe lies so chill. See, the reindeer I give! Ah, lift thy dark wings, that my darling may live! Pale Lilith comes! Listen, my babe! Once, in the Northland, Pale crocus grew By half-wakened stream. It lay shriveled and low Ere the spring-time had come, in soft shroud of snow. Sad Lilith comes! Listen, my babe! Foul Vampire, drain not From my loved one The life-current red. O Demon, art breaking My heart while I plead? Ah, babe! Art thou waking? Closer my babe! Far o’er the dun wold, Baby, behold ’Mid the mist and the snow, fast, fast, and more fast— In the teeth of the blast—flies Lilith at last. Pale Lilith flies! Nearer, my babe! By Ganges still the Indian mother weaves Above her babe her mat of plantain leaves, And laughing, plaits. Or pausing, sweet and low Her voice blends with the river’s drowsy flow; The while she fitful sings that old, old strain, Forgetting that the love, the deathless pain Of wandering Lilith lives and throbs again When falls the tricksy Elf-babes’ mocking cry Faintly across her crooning lullaby— Ah, happy babe, that here may sleep Where the blue river winds along, And sweet the trysting bulbuls keep T “Ideal American magazines!” It is a fact acknowledged by the English press that American magazines, by enterprise, able editorship, and liberal expenditure for the finest of current art and literature, have won a rank far in advance of European magazines. It is also a fact that for young people WIDE AWAKE
Each year’s numbers contain a thousand quarto pages, covering the widest range of literature of interest and value to young people, from such authors as John G. Whittier, Charles Egbert Craddock, Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney, Susan Coolidge, Edward Everett Hale, Arthur Gilman, Edwin Arnold, Rose Kingsley, Dinah Mulock Craik, Margaret Sidney, Helen Hunt Jackson (H. H.), Harriet Beecher Stowe, Elbridge S. Brooks and hundreds of others; and half a thousand illustrations by F. H. Lungren, W. T. Smedley, Miss L. B. Humphrey, F. S. Church, Mary Hallock Foote, F. Childe Hassam, E. H. Garrett, Hy. Sandham and other leading American artists. ONLY $3.00 A YEAR. PROSPECTUS FREE. Wide Awake is the official organ of the C.Y.F.R.U. The Required Readings are also issued simultaneously as the Chautauqua Young Folks’ Journal, with additional matter, at 75 cents a year. For the younger Boys and Girls and the Babies:
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