As these bright children of the wedded sun
And dewy earth!
Gla. I knew you'd stay, my brother!
You'll live with me!
Hen. But there's a world not this,
O'er-roofed and fretted by ambition's arch,
Whose sun is power and whose rains are blood,
Whose iris bow is the small golden hoop
That rims the forehead of a king,—a world
Where trampling armies and sedition's march