The Mother’s Tragedy

THE FATAL FORCE Give the token of thy fire Trident in the lambent air, Till our spirits unaware Worship and aspire! Hear, beyond all periods, Timeless, formless, multiform, Thou, supreme above the storm, Spirit of the Holy Ones, Spirit of the Gods! Enter Messenger. MESSENGER. The battle rages: even now the shock Of hostile spears makes the loud earth resound, The wide sky tremble. AMENHATEP. Here lies Horus dead, There Isis slain. We have no leader left. MESSENGER. The fight is doubtful. We may conquer still. AMENHATEP. By this shed blood and desecrated shrine And horrible hour of madness, may it be That all the evil fortune of the land, Created of these dead iniquities, Burn its foul flame out. Are ye not appeased, Even ye, O Powers of Evil, at this shame And sacrilege? And ye, Great Powers of Good, OI