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 !