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