The World’s Tragedy

40 THE WORLD’S TRAGEDY. The stroke swings aside, as the pavement of malachite opens before him, at his feet, and two satyrs rise, with a little fair-haired child. From what barbaric seas Ringing the icy North Thus suddenly sprung forth Come ye to mar mine — ease ? For I was nigh at peace With the great soul of things. IST SATYR Hail, king of Kings ! It is our Master’s will That thou partake Of — this ! So do the goat and snake Dance on the pavement of sapphire To the sound of the wind-haunted lyre. And the light of a lewd understanding Shines in them, and they lick their lips, and spill Slaver of the stars ! Hail, king ! With Him fulfil The sacrament of earth Imperiously commanding That leaps again to birth At the divided flood