Page:Three Plays Sunderland Hills.pdf/32

Rh Arise a Conqueror, compassionless, With soul self-centred, trusting in his star, 'Will turn old Europe to one trampled field, Wading thro' blood and wrack of shatter'd thrones Until his utmost purpose be accomplish'd. Who would not follow, where such leader led? Aye, banish Pity, lest your dauntless will Flow from you, melting as the sea-borne berg Derelict, drifting on a Southward course, Feels, soft, the gulf-stream sap the base of snow!

Brave words, Sylvester, you foreswear the Fiend, Because you know you'll never find the stone, Else you would tremble lest the compact held, Were the Elixir once by you distill'd!

How, Witch, you taunt me that I fear the Fiend, And that I never the Elixir find?