4.
Waste not thy wrath on me, quoth Arvalan,
It was my hour of folly! Fate prevail’d,
Nor boots it to reproach me that I fell.
I am in misery, Father! Other souls
Predoom’d to Indra’s Heaven, enjoy the dawn
Of bliss: . . . to them the tempered elements
Minister joy, genial delight the sun
Sheds on their happy being, and the stars
Effuse on them benignant influencies;
And thus o’er earth and air they roam at will,
And when the number of their days is full,
Go fearlessly before the awful throne.
But I, . . . all naked feeling and raw life, . . .
What worse than this hath Yamen’s hell in store?
If ever thou didst love me, mercy, Father!
Save me, for thou canst save: . . . the Elements
Know and obey thy voice.
Kehama.
The Elements
Shall torture thee no more; even while I speak
Already dost then feel their power is gone.
Fear not! I cannot call again the past,
Fate hath made that its own; but Fate shall yield
To me the future; and thy doom be fix’d
By mine, not Yamen’s will. Meantime, all power
Whereof thy feeble spirit can be made
Participant, I give. Is there aught else
To mitigate thy lot?
Arvalan.
Only the sight of vengeance. Give me that!
Vengeance, full, worthy vengeance! . . . not the stroke
Of sodden punishment, . . . no agony
That spends itself and leaves the wretch at rest,
But lasting long revenge.
Kehama.
What, boy? is that cup sweet? then take thy fill!
