Tiriel

    With Myratana， once the Queen of all the western plains；

    But now his eyes were darkenèd， and his wife fading in death.

    They stood before their once delightful palace； and thus the voice

    Of agèd Tiriel arose， that his sons might hear in their gates： ——

    `Accursèd race of Tiriel！ behold your father；

    Come forth and look on her that bore you！ Come， you accursed sons！

    In my weak arms I here have borne your dying mother.

    Come forth， sons of the Curse， come forth！ see the death of Myratana！'

    His sons ran from their gates， and saw their agèd parents stand；

    And thus the eldest son of Tiriel rais'd his mighty voice： ——

    `Old man！ unworthy to be call'd the father of Tiriel's race！

    For every one of those thy wrinkles， each of those grey hairs

    Are cruel as death， and as obdurate as the devouring pit！

    Why should thy sons care for thy curses， thou accursèd man？

    Were we not slaves till we rebell'd？ Who cares for Tiriel's curse？

    His blessing was a cruel curse； his curse may be a blessing.'

    He ceas'd： the agèd man rais'd up his right hand to the heavens.

    His left supported Myratana， shrinking in pangs of death：

    The orbs of his large eyes he open'd， and thus his voice went forth： ——

    `Serpents， not sons， wreathing around the bones of Tiriel！

    Ye worms of death， feasting upon your agèd parent's flesh！

    Listen！ and hear your mother's groans！ No more accursed sons

    She bears； she groans not at the birth of Heuxos or Yuva.

    These are the groans of death， ye serpents！ these are the groans of death！

    Nourish'd with milk， ye serpents， nourish'd with mother's tears and cares！

    Look at my eyes， blind as the orbless skull among the stones！

    Look at my bald head！ Hark！ listen， ye serpents， listen！ . . .

    What， Myratana！ What， my wife！ O Soul！ O Spirit！ O Fire！

    What， Myratana！ art thou dead？ Look here， ye serpents， look！

    The serpents sprung from her own bowels have drain'd her dry as this.

    Curse on your ruthless heads， for I will bury her even here！'

    So saying， he began to dig a grave with his agèd hands；

    But Heuxos call'd a son of Zazel to dig their mother a grave.

    `Old Cruelty， desist！ and let us dig a grave for thee.

    Thou hast refus'd our charity， thou hast refus'd our food，

    Thou hast refus'd our clothes， our beds， our houses for thy dwelling，

    Choosing to wander like a son of Zazel in the rocks.

    Why dost thou curse？ Is not the curse now come upon your head？

    Was it not you enslav'd the sons of Zazel？ And they have curs'd，

    And now you feel it. Dig a grave， and let us bury our mother.'

    `There， take the body， cursed sons！ and may the heavens rain wrath

    As thick as northern fogs， around your gates， to choke you up！

    That you may lie as now your mother lies， like dogs cast out，

    The stink of your dead carcases annoying man and beast，

    Till your white bones are bleached with age for a memorial.

    No！ your remembrance shall perish； for， when your carcases

    Lie stinking on the earth， the buriers shall arise from the East，

    And not a bone of all the sons of Tiriel remain.

    Bury your mother！ but you cannot bury the curse of Tiriel.'

    He ceas'd， and darkling o'er the mountains sought his pathless way.