But in that wrongful and upbraiding tone,

Kehama found relief,

For rising anger half supprest his grief.

Reproach not me! he cried;

Had I not spell-secur’d thee from disease,

Fire, sword, . . . all common accidents of man, . . .

And thou! . . . fool, fool, . . . to perish by a stake!

And by a peasant’s arm! . . .

Even now, when from reluctant Heaven

Forcing new gifts and mightier attributes,

So soon I should have quell’d the Death-God’s power.