In bitterness the Rajah heard,

And groan’d, and smote his breast, and o’er his face

Cowl’d the white mourning vest.

Arvalan.

Art thou not powerful, . . . even like a God?

And must I, through my years of wandering,

Shivering and naked to the elements,

In wretchedness await

The hour of Yamen’s wrath?

I thought thou wouldst embody me anew.

Undying as I am, . . .

Yea, re-create me! . . . Father, is this all!

This all! and thou Almighty!