The Mother’s Tragedy

THE FATAL FORCE 31 I see full knowledge, and some glittering fire Lurks in the rheumy corners; yea, some fire Malignant, terrible—nay, pitiable, Thou poor fool stricken with senility, How spurred to passion? Yet behold thy god, Horus, lest anger take benignancy From his left hand and smite thee with his strength. Thou hearest? Nay, thou pitiful old man, For I have loved thee. Yet my godhead must Get worship. Anger not the god, but stoop, My faithful priest, and worship at my feet. AMENHATEP. I am most miserable. But truth must leap In this tremendous moment from my lips, Its long-shut barrier. For I pity thee With my old heart’s whole pity. Thou art young, And beautiful, and proud, and dear to me, Whom I have served thy life through. Now that love Demands a deadlier service—to speak truth. Thou art not Horus, but a man as I. CHORUS. Thou art not Horus, buta man. Thy life Is not of the immortals, but, as ours, Stands at the summons of the hooded death. PACHAD. Speak! I have this much of a god in me— I am not shaken at your cries; my lips