That he who eyes their mazy flight
Sees foulest Wrong grow one with Right.
[Goes to the window, and after a long look out.]
My little child, lamb without stain,
Thou for my mother’s deed wast slain;
A shatter’d spirit bore His voice
Whose throne the crested heavens sustain,
And bade me cast the die of choice.
And this distracted soul had birth
Because my mother’s clave to earth.