Page:Three Plays Sunderland Hills.pdf/81

Rh Whether it whelm us memory-less and lost In the abysmal gulf of nothingness, Or cast us on a shadow-haunted shore For ultimate purgation by a fire As soiled asbestos whitens in the flame Or, maybe waft us to the fortunate isles, Of lost Atlantis, then at last regained.

(To ):

What stir unwonted fills the fane to-day? It has not known such throng of pilgrimage, These many years. From ancient villages Sequester'd, and great cities far away Flock in the faithful of the Elder Gods, Stirring old echoes that I thought were dead. On altars long neglected incense fumes, Whilst wreathéd roses round the image flung Riot with more than Egypt's opulence.