INDRA. No child of man, Ereenia, in the Bowers Of Bliss may sojourn, till he hath put off His mortal part; for on mortality Time and Infirmity and Death attend, Close followers they, and in their mournful train Sorrow and Pain and Mutability: Did they find entrance here, we should behold Our joys, like earthly summers, pass away. Those joys perchance may pass; a stronger hand May wrest my sceptre, and unparadise The Swerga; . . . but, Ereenia, if we fall, Let it be Fate's own arm that casts us down, {70} We will not rashly hasten and provoke The blow, nor bring ourselves the ruin on. EREENIA. Fear courts the blow. Fear brings the ruin on. Needs must the chariot-wheels of Destiny Crush him who throws himself before their track, Patient and prostrate. INDRA. All may yet be well. Who knows but Veeshnoo will descend, and save, Once more incarnate? EREENIA. Look not there for help, Nor build on unsubstantial hope thy trust! Our Father Casyapa hath said he turns His doubtful eyes to Seeva, even as thou Dost look to him for aid. But thine own strength Should for thine own salvation be put forth; Then might the higher powers approving see And bless the brave resolve . . . Oh, that my arm Could wield yon lightnings which play idly there, {71} In inoffensive radiance, round thy head! The Swerga should not need a champion now, Nor Earth implore deliverance still in vain! INDRA. Thinkest thou I want the will? rash Son of Heaven, What if my arm be feeble as thine own Against the dread Kehama? He went on Conquering in irresistible career, Till his triumphant car had measur'd o'er The insufficient earth, and all the kings Of men received his yoke; then had he won His will, to ride upon their necks elate, And crown his conquests with the sacrifice That should, to men and gods, proclaim him Lord And Sovereign Master of the vassal World, Sole Rajah, the Omnipotent below. The steam of that portentous sacrifice Arose to Heaven. Then was the hour to strike. Then in the consummation of his pride, His height of glory, then the thunder-bolt Should have gone forth, and hurl'd him from his throne Down to the fiery floor of Padalon, To everlasting burnings, agony {72} Eternal, and remorse which knows no end. That hour went by: grown impious in success, By prayer and penances he wrested now Such power from Fate, that soon, if Seeva turn not His eyes on earth, and no Avatar save, Soon will he seize the Swerga for his own, Roll on through Padalon his chariot wheels, Tear up the adamantine bolts which lock The accurst Asuras to its burning floor, And force the drink of Immortality From Yamen's charge . . . Vain were it now to strive; My thunder cannot pierce the sphere of power Wherewith, as with a girdle, he is bound.