The World’s Tragedy

44 THE WORLD’S TRAGEDY. THE CHILD Oh mamma ! mamma ! 2ND SATYR Ha ! what a man ! With a sweep he has severed the lamb-soft throat, And the crimson blood in his cheeks afloat Flames, an irradiate blaze to environ Etna with mountains of molten iron. ALEXANDER Pan ! o Pan ! dissolve in bliss ! Take these severed lips to kiss ! Thou and I are partners of This, the sacrament of love. By the violate babe’s blue eyes, By his sucked-out arteries, By the blood-bedabbled gold, By the body void and cold, Make me partner of thy power Over this obscurest hour !