12 THE MOTHER’S TRAGEDY
Majestic fires! Before the throne of God
Deep silence waits the lifting of the rod,
The moving nod.
Silence, reflected thence, still and intense, into the
firmament;
Such silence as befits the event.
Re-enter CORA.
CORA.
This is the hour, O child whom I have loved
With love more tender than a mother’s love,
Being thy friend; this moment have I sought,
Awaiting always the propitious time,
To speak some purpose grown more definite
Than is our wont. We spent the honey days
In gentle intercourse: high souls have stood
Watching us drink from their crystalline stream
Meandering through language: mighty kings
Have listened as we read of their dead
pomp;
Fair women blushed as their imagined shapes
Flitted before us in the tender page.
We too have followed every curve and line
In fairy fancies on our canvas drawn
Of stately people, and the changing rhyme
Of virgins dancing before Artemis;
In all the pleasures that delight the mind,
Invigorate the soul, lend favour to
The body of the youth—for I am old