Читать книгу Poems of Arthur Hugh Clough - Arthur Hugh Clough - Страница 43

Cain. I am come. Curse me;

Curse Cain, my mother, ere he goes. He waits.

Eve. Who? What is this?

Oh Abel! O my gentle, holy child,

My perfect son!

Monster! and did I bear thee too?

Cain. He was so good, his brother hated him,

And slew him for’t. Go on, my mother, on.

Eve. ...

For there are rites and holy means of grace

Of God ordained for man’s eternal [weal].

With these, my son, address thyself to Him,

And seek atonement from a gracious God,

With whom is balm for every wounded heart.

Cain. I ask not for atonement, mother mine;

I ask but one thing—never to forget.

I ask but—not to add to one great crime

Another self-delusion scarcely less.

I could ask more, but more I know is sin.

If sacrifices and the fat of lambs,

And whole burnt-offerings upon piles of turf,

Will bring me this, I’d fill the heaven with smoke,

And deface earth with million fiery scars.

I could ask back (and think it but my right,

And passionately claim it as my right)

That precious life which one misguided blow,

Which one scarce conscious momentary act,

One impulse blindly followed to its close,

Ended for ever; but that I know this vain.

If they shall only keep my sin in mind,

I shall not, be assured, neglect them either.

Eve. You ask not for atonement! O my son—

Cain, you are proud and hard of heart e’en now.

Beware!

Prostrate your soul in penitential prayer,

Humble your heart beneath the mighty hand

Of God, whose gracious guidance oft shall lead

Through sin and crime the changed and melted heart

To sweet repentance and the sense of Him.

You ask not for atonement! O my son!

What, to be banished from the sight of God;

To dwell with wicked spirits, be a prey

To them and prey yourself on human souls;

What, to be lost in wickedness and wrath,

Deeper and deeper down;

What, Cain, do you choose this?

Cain. Alas! my mother,

I know not; there are mysteries in your heart

Which I profess not knowledge of: it may be

That this is so; if so, may God reveal it.

Have faith you too in my heart’s secrets; yea,

All I can say, alas, is that to me,

As I now comprehend it, this were sin.

Atonement—no: not that, but punishment.

But what avails to talk? talk as we will,

As yet we shall not know each other’s hearts;

Let me not talk, but act. Farewell, for ever.