_Cain_. To cast down yon vile flatterer of the clouds, 290 The smoky harbinger of thy dull prayers-- Thine altar, with its blood of lambs and kids, Which fed on milk, to be destroyed in blood. _Abel_ (_opposing him_). Thou shalt not:--add not impious works to impious Words! let that altar stand--'tis hallowed now By the immortal pleasure of Jehovah, In his acceptance of the victims. _Cain_. _His_! _His pleasure!_ what was his high pleasure in The fumes of scorching flesh and smoking blood, To the pain of the bleating mothers, which 300 Still yearn for their dead offspring? or the pangs Of the sad ignorant victims underneath Thy pious knife? Give way! this bloody record Shall not stand in the sun, to shame creation! _Abel_. Brother, give back! thou shalt not touch my altar With violence: if that thou wilt adopt it, To try another sacrifice, 'tis thine. _Cain_. Another sacrifice! Give way, or else That sacrifice may be---- _Abel_. What mean'st thou? _Cain_. Give-- Give way!--thy God loves blood!--then look to it:-- 310 Give way, ere he hath _more_! _Abel_. In _his_ great name, I stand between thee and the shrine which hath Had his acceptance. _Cain_. If thou lov'st thyself, Stand back till I have strewed this turf along Its native soil:--else---- _Abel_ (_opposing him_). I love God far more Than life. _Cain_ (_striking him with a brand, on the temples, which he snatches from the altar_). Then take thy life unto thy God, Since he loves lives. _Abel_ (_falls_). What hast thou done--my brother? _Cain_. Brother! _Abel_. Oh, God! receive thy servant! and Forgive his slayer, for he knew not what He did--Cain, give me--give me thy hand; and tell 320 Poor Zillah-- _Cain_ (_after a moment's stupefaction_). _My_ hand! 'tis all red, and with---- What? [_A long pause.--Looking slowly round_. Where am I? alone! Where's Abel? where Cain? Can it be that I am he? My brother, Awake!--why liest thou so long on the green earth? 'Tis not the hour of slumber:--why so pale? What hast thou!--thou wert full of life this morn! Abel! I pray thee, mock me not! I smote Too fiercely, but not fatally. Ah, why Wouldst thou oppose me? This is mockery; And only done to daunt me:--'twas a blow-- 330 And but a blow. Stir--stir--nay, only stir! Why, so--that's well!--thou breathest! breathe upon me! Oh God! Oh God! _Abel_ (_very faintly_). What's he who speaks of God? _Cain_. Thy murderer.