Tubal, the eldest born, was mightier than his brother. Less tall,
strong, he stood like Hercules leaning on his club. His lusty shoulders
seemed made to bear the weight of any ill which time and the first sin
might engender to crush the sons of Adam; and his foot was firmer than
the rock. Within his broad breast, capacious, the wildest passions, love
and hate, and jealousy and ambition, raged and crouched obedient to a
will which held them bound, nor loosed its hold but to fulfill its
purpose. His hair curled close, nor played in dalliance with the wanton
air. His eyes, blacker than the night which covered Egypt when the
chosen were oppressed, burned fierce; and within their depths lay hidden
cunning, and power, and the determination to complete what cunning
prompts and power may well perform. His nostrils swelled with triumphs
not yet won; and on his lips, compressed, and on his swarthy brow,
courage had stamped its signet. He loved the chase, and the boar pursued
beyond the mountains which barred his father’s steps, and rose a barrier
never passed till he burst through to conquer new fields, boundless, and
rich in all the wealth of his rude life. Action was his rest; and to him
plain fact was beautiful enough, nor sought he, in vain imaginings, to
work out of strong matter kindred unto himself, forms of excellence
which live only in a poet’s brain, to curse the possessor. His father
loved him, for when a boy he drew his father’s bow, and threw his
father’s spear, laughed at fatigue, and scorned the pleasures of quiet
contemplation which, with his brother, stole half the days away. In him
was small obedience, even from his birth; self-willed, he threw off his
mother’s hand as a steed of high mettle, untamed, flings at the bit; and
thus he grew, a Titan in his passions as a Titan in his make.