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                                LILITH


                     THE LEGEND OF THE FIRST WOMAN


                                  BY
                        ADA LANGWORTHY COLLIER


                                BOSTON
                        D. LOTHROP AND COMPANY
                      FRANKLIN AND HAWLEY STREETS




                           COPYRIGHT, 1885.
                         D. LOTHROP & COMPANY.




                               PREFACE.


    That Eve was Adam's second wife was a common Rabbinic
    speculation. Certain commentators on Genesis adopted this view,
    to account for the double account of the creation of woman, in
    the sacred text, first in Genesis i. 27, and second in Genesis
    xi. 18. And they say that Adam's first wife was named Lilith,
    but she was expelled from Eden, and after her expulsion Eve was
    created. Abraham Ecchelensis gives the following account of
    Lilith and her doings: "There are some who do not regard
    spectres as simple devils, but suppose them to be of a mixed
    nature--part demoniacal, part human, and to have had their
    origin from Lilith, Adam's first wife, by Eblis, prince of the
    devils. This fable has been transmitted to the Arabs, from
    Jewish sources, by some converts of Mohamet from Cabbalism and
    Rabbinism, who have transferred all the Jewish fooleries to the
    Arabs. They gave to Adam a wife formed of clay, along with Adam,
    and called her Lilith, resting on the Scripture: 'Male and
    female created He them.'"--_Legends of the Patriarchs and
    Prophets.--Baring Gould._

    Lilith or Lilis.--In the popular belief of the Hebrews, a female
    spectre in the shape of a finely dressed woman, who lies in wait
    for, and kills children. The old Rabbins turned Lilith into a
    wife of Adam, on whom he begat demons and who still has power to
    lie with men and kill children who are not protected by amulets
    with which the Jews of a yet later period supply themselves as a
    protection against her. Burton in his _Anatomy of Melancholy_
    tells us: "The Talmudists say that Adam had a wife called Lilis,
    before he married Eve, and of her he begat nothing but devils."
    A commentator on Skinner, quoted in the _Encyclopaedia
    Metropolitana_, says that the English word _Lullaby_ is derived
    from Lilla, abi (begone, Lilith)! In the demonology of the
    Middle Ages, Lilis was a famous witch, and is introduced as such
    in the Walpurgis night scene in Goethe's "Faust."--_Webster's
    Dictionary._

    Our word _Lullaby_ is derived from two Arabic words which mean
    "Beware of Lilith!"--_Anon._

    Lilith, the supposed wife of Adam, after she married Eblis, is
    said to have ruled over the city of Damascus.--_Legends of the
    Patriarchs and Prophets.--Baring Gould._

From these few and meagre details of a fabled existence, which are all
that the author has been able to collect from any source whatever, has
sprung the following poem. The poet feels quite justified in dissenting
from the statements made in the preceding extracts, and has not drawn
Lilith as there represented--the bloodthirsty sovereign who ruled
Damascus, the betrayer of men, the murderer of children. The Lilith of
the poem is transferred to the more beautiful shadow-world. To that
country which is the abode of poets themselves. And about her is wrapt
the humanizing element still, and everywhere embodied in the sweetest
word the human tongue can utter--_lullaby_. Some critics declare that
true literary art inculcates a lofty lesson--has a high moral purpose.
If poets and their work must fall under this rigorous rule, then alas
"Lilith" will knock at the door of public opinion with a trembling hand
indeed. If the poem have either moral aim or lesson of any kind (which
observe, gentle critic, it is by no means asserted that it has), it is
simply to show that the strongest intellectual powers contain no
elements adverse to the highest and purest exercise of the affectional
nature. That, in its true condition, the noblest, the most cultured
intellect, and the loveliest, sublimest moral and emotional qualities,
together weave the web that clothes the world's great soul with
imperishable beauty. The possessor of highest intellectual capacity will
be also capable of highest developments in the latter qualities. The
woman of true intellect is the woman of truest affection. For the rest
let Lilith speak, whose life dropped unrecorded from the earliest world.
It is the poet's hope that the chords of the mother-heart universal will
respond to the song of the childless one. That in the survival of that
one word _lullaby_, may be revivified the pathetic figure of one whose
home, whose hope, whose Eden passed to another. Whose name living in the
terrors of superstitious peoples, now lingers in Earth's sweetest
utterance. That Pagan Lilith, re-baptized in the pure waters of maternal
love, shall breathe to heathen and Christian motherhood alike, that most
sacred love of Earth still throbbing through its tender lullaby.

                                                            A. L. C.




                         TO VALERIA.


    Broideries and ancient stuffs that some queen
      Wore; nor gems that warriors' hilts encrusted;
    Nor fresh from heroes' brows the laurels green;
      Nor bright sheaves by bards of eld entrusted
    To earth's great granaries--I bring not these.
      Only thin, scattered blades from harvests gleaned
    Erewhile I plucked, may happen thee to please.
      So poor indeed, those others had demeaned
    Themselves to cull; or from their strong, firm hands
      Down dropped about their feet with careless laugh,
    Too broken for home gathering, these strands,
      Or else more useless than the idle chaff.
    But I have garnered them.  Yet, lest they seem
      Unworthy, and so shame Love's offering,
    Amid the loose-bound sheaf stray flowers gleam.
      And fairer seeming make the gift I bring,
    Lilies blood-red, that lit the waving field,
      And now are knotted through the golden grain.
    Thou wilt not scorn the tribute I now yield,
      Nor even deem the foolish flowers vain.
    So take it, and if still too slight, too small
      It seem, think 'tis a bloom that grew anear,
    In other Springtime, the old garden wall.
      (That pale blue flower you will remember, dear.
    The heedless world, unseeing, passed it by,
      And left it to the bee and you.) Then say,
    "Because the hands that tended it are nigh
      No more, and little feet are gone away
    That round it trampled down the beaded grass,
      Sweeter to me it is than musky spray
    Of Southland; and dearer than days that pass
      In other summer-tides." This simple song
    Read so, dear heart; Nay, rather white-souled one,
      Think 'tis an olden echo, wandered long
    From a low bed where 'neath the westering sun
      You sang. And if your lone heart ever said
    "Lo, she is gone, and cannot more be mine,"
      Say now, "She is not changed--she is not wed,--
    She never left her cradle bed. Still shine
      The pillows with the print of her wee head."
    So, mother-heart, this song, where through still rings
      The strain you sang above my baby bed,
    I bring. An idle gift mayhap, that clings
      About old days forgotten long, and dead.
    This loitering tale, Valeria, take.
      Perchance 'tis sad, and hath not any mirth,
    Yet love thou it, for the weak singer's sake,
      And hold it dear, though yet is little worth,
    This tale of Elder-world: of earth's first prime,
      Of years that in their grave so long have lain,
    To-day's dull ear, through poets' tuneful rhyme
      No echo hears, nor mocking friar's strain.

      _July_ 17, 1884.




                           LILITH.

                           BOOK I.


    Pure as an angel's dream shone Paradise.
    Blue mountains hemmed it round; and airy sighs
    Of rippling waters haunted it. Dim glades,
    And wayward paths o'erflecked with shimmering shades,
    And tangled dells, and wilding pleasances,
    Hung moist with odors strange from scented trees.
    Sweet sounds o'erbrimmed the place; and rare perfumes,
    Faint as far sunshine, fell '<DW41> verdant glooms.
    In that fair land, all hues, all leafage green
    Wrapt flawless days in endless summer-sheen.
    Bright eyes, the violet waking, lifted up
    Where bent the lily her deep, fragrant cup;
    And folded buds, 'gainst many a leafy spray--
    The wild-woods' voiceless nuns--knelt down to pray.
    There roses, deep in greenest mosses swathed,
    Kept happy tryst with tropic blooms, sun-bathed.
    No sounds of sadness surged through listening trees:
    The waters babbled low; the errant bees
    Made answer, murmurous; nor paled the hue
    The jonquils wore; nor chill the wild breath grew
    Of daisies clustered white in dewy croft;
    Nor fell the tasseled plumes as satin soft
    Upon the broad-leaved corn. Sweet all the day
    O'erflowed with music every woodland way;
    And sweet the jargonings of nested bird,
    When light the listless wind the forest stirred.
      Straight as the shaft that 'gainst the morning sun
    The slender palm uprears, the Fairest one--
    The first of womankind--sweet Lilith--stood,
    A gracious shape that glorified the wood.
    About her rounded shoulders warm and bare,
    Like netted sunshine fell her lustrous hair;
    The rosy flush of young pomegranate bells
    Dawned on her cheeks; and blue as in lone dells
    Sleep the Forget-me-nots, her eyes. With bent
    Brows, sullen-creased, swart Adam gazed intent
    Upon a leopard, crouched low in its place
    Beneath his feet. Not once in Lilith's face
    He looked, nor sought her wistful, downcast eyes
    With shifting shadows dusk, and strange surprise.
    "O, Love," she said, "