ABRAHAM CAREW.

Ye righteous Judges of this Christian state, Ye bid me speak; ye bid me show good cause Why I, whose hand is red with Christian blood, Yea, even with the blood of my own child, Of my own Edith, should not be condemned To die upon the scaffold, nor be locked For life within a mad-house: and I speak. I fear not death; for now that she is dead, Now that dull silence hath replaced her voice, Life hath but little charm; and were it not That to consent to ignominious death For having acted by command of God Would be unfit, and might call down His wrath Upon the land, I think I scarce should take The pains to plead; but strength hath narrow bounds, And I confess intolerable fear Lest ye condemn me to complete my years Among the mad. O Thou Almighty God Who for Thy purposes inscrutable Hast pushed me on and nerved my quaking arm To slay my child, preserve from such dread fate One who has offered up what most he loved Here upon earth, and give unto my tongue Such eloquence as may convince these men That I am sane! I am a self-made man Grown rich by building engines for the rail, A man of little learning; one whose youth Was spent in striking sparks from reddened iron Amid the roar and clanging of a forge; Knowing no books except the Book of books, Whose sacred pages when my work was done I turned with grimy hands, therein to learn The will and orders of a jealous God, A God of wrath, a God whose unseen hand Falls heavily and chasteningly on all, And most on them He loveth. Little time Did I bestow on pleasure and those sports, Unseemly for the most part, which divert The spirit from obedience, and prevent The growth of labour’s fruit; and God allowed That I should prosper in my worldly wealth. And that the name of Abraham Carew Should hold high credit in the market-place, And that my fellow-townsmen one and all Should put their faith in my integrity, Electing me an Elder of the Church And civil Magistrate. But, as I say, The Lord doth love to chasten; and He laid, As years went by and multiplied my store, Great tribulations on me. One by one I saw the godly household which had grown Around me, fall as fell the summer flowers Around an aged tree when winter nears, And leave him in his listless loneliness. One child alone, one twining clinging flower— Edith, my latest born—remained unnipped, And in my rash presumption I believed That God would spare her; for upon her cheek The hectic spot appeared not which had marked Her mother and her brethren; and I saw With sinful joy how she increased in strength As grew her beauty and her loveliness— Yea, yea, a sinful joy which was to rouse The jealousy of God. But if my tongue Is to convince you of the thing I tell And justify His ways, oh let me speak— Oh let me tell you how I loved my child! I loved her as an old man loves the sun Which warms his limbs and keeps the palsy off; I loved her as the plundered miser loves The small secreted heap that yet remains; I loved her as the shipwrecked drowning wretch Loves the frail plank which each approaching wave May tear from his embrace. No vain gold chain, No gaudy ribbon decked her nut-brown hair; But in such sober raiment as befits The virgin-mistress of a godly house She went the round of her domestic duties, In need of no adornment to enhance The chaste and holy beauty which she wore Unconscious to herself, and lived her life Of cheerfulness and thrift, beloved by all; Reading at morn and eve the Bible page To our assembled servants, in a clear And reverent voice; devoting patient hours To teaching little children; and by help Of her own needle, plied while others slept, Providing winter clothing for the poor Before the earliest chill of autumn came. A grave and gracious girl, whose smile of love Was as a light for my declining years; Who prized the walks which we were wont to take Together, through the lanes and ripening corn, Above all routs and shows. Too great, too great To please a jealous God, had grown the love For Edith in my bosom; and at times I felt a cruel tightening of the heart, And a prophetic something seem to say Unto my spirit: “Abraham, beware! The Lord will claim His rights, and ask again For that which He hath given unto thee. Thy love is given to an earthly thing; A common, natural instinct rules thy life, And not the love of God.” But on her cheek The ruddiness of health diminished not, And I loved on. There came a Sabbath day, On which it chanced that at the Meeting House The Scripture page was read in which it said How he whose name I bear, in days of yore Obeyed the dire injunction of the Lord, And offered up his Isaac. By my side Edith was sitting listening to the words With fixed attention, as was e’er her wont. The light athwart the high and narrow window Streamed down upon her, lighting up her hair With golding streakings, just as rays of sun Light up the seaweed in a tide-left pool, And played upon her features—ne’er before Had she appeared so lovely. As my eyes Were resting thus upon her sitting there, A fear flashed through my spirit, and I thought: “What if the Lord were to demand her life, And bid thee offer up thy only child As Abraham did Isaac?” and I felt A strange and frightful struggle stir my soul— Yea, stir my nature to its inmost depths. I listened little to the words of prayer; And on our homeward way, when Edith asked What made my brow so suddenly o’ercast, I answered not. Ye wise and upright men Who sit to-day deciding on my fate, Ye wonder at the measure of my speech Ye miss what ye expected ye would find, A madman’s incoherence, or the glare And desperate wild defence of guilt at bay? Confess, confess, I speak not like the mad. Oh, I have drilled and disciplined my tongue In these long months of prison; I From morn to eve within my narrow cell Taming my own excitement, so that if, When came the day of trial, God should make No outward revelation of the truth To save His servant, I might yet convince My judges and the world. He hath not deigned To make the attestation at my prayer. No thunder from the blue unclouded sky, No quaking of the earth hath helped my cause, And God hath left me only earthly means To prove to men that what they call a crime I did by His command. It came, it came, That dread command! I had not long to wait; I seemed to feel it coming; day and night The frightful expectation filled my soul; And by a natural instinct, thrice accurst, The more I dreaded that an angry God, Roused by the sinful greatness of my love, Would claim her life, the more my love increased. It came, it came, the awful summons came! It was the dead of night: I lay awake; And in the soundless darkness, all at once, While on my flesh the hair from fear stood up, I heard the awful voice: it cried, “Arise, Take up thy knife, and sacrifice thy child Whom I bestowed; for I the Lord thy God, I am a jealous God, and bid thee strike.” Then came three days of human agony; The flesh contending with the will of God, And writhing upward like a trodden snake Beneath religion’s heel: for I believed That God would pardon me three days’ delay To conquer human nature. Once I thought To tell her all—to ask her for her life— To call on her obedience to submit— To shift upon her shoulders half the weight Of agony and horror; but I looked Upon her face and set aside the plan, Misdoubting woman’s strength. In Edith’s eyes I saw a strange suspicious look—a look Which told me that the tempest in my soul Was finding outward vent upon my face. I caught her watching me, and understood That if I struck not soon, perchance my arm Would be restrained by man; so I prepared. There was a spot beside the sedgy stream, A solitary spot, which in our walks We sometimes crossed. I led her out that way. It was a hot close day; no ray of sun Shone through the lowering clouds, and now and then The thunder’s distant rumble met the ear. We reached the lonely river-bank. I stopped, And was about to do it, when she laid Her hand upon my arm with a caress, And asked me in her sweet familiar voice To pluck a water-lily, which I did, And then walked on, for somehow I was balked; I could not do it. With the fall of night The pent-up tempest burst; and in its roar I seemed to hear God’s formidable wrath. I heard it in the howling of the wind; I heard it in the pelting of the rain Against the windows; and each rattling peal, Each burst of rolling echo in the dark Which made me cower like a chastened hound Recalled me to obedience. But the flesh, The strong rebellious flesh, oh how it writhed Against the spirit! How the natural love, The common human instinct, fought and fought, And, backed by Satan’s whisper, held its own! At length the spirit conquered, and I rose To do the will of God; but, in my crushed And humbled anguish, I implored the Lord To stay my lifted arm, and at the last To save her life as Isaac’s had been saved. Then I went up the stairs, as if each step Were a delay, a respite, and a hope, And sought the chamber where my Edith slept. The walk had worn her limbs; her sleep was deep. The storm had not aroused her; nor did I. I kissed her, and I slew her; for the Lord Did not vouchsafe to stay His servant’s arm. For one short moment after she was dead, I thought perchance that He would bring her back To life. But all was silent there. And now, Ye righteous judges of this Christian land, Ye godly Elders, look me in the face. Ye know ye dare not hang me. Will ye dare To place me in the madhouse for a deed Which God Himself exacted—which ye teach Your children to revere in Abraham From year to year? Ye know ye dare not do it. And if ye ask me how I knew God’s voice, Ask of the shepherd’s watch-dog how he knows His master’s call when darkness girds the fold! Ye know that Abraham of old, if now He stood before you, could at your command Give you no other answer. It was God Who, putting to the test His servant’s faith, Impelled my hand. Ye may not judge this deed.