“Yea, Pan was dead, the Nazar’ene came and seized his seat beneath the sun, “The votary of the Riddle-god, whose one is three and three is one;

“Whose sadd’ening creed of herited Sin spilt o’er the world its cold grey spell; “In every vista showed a grave, and ’neath the grave the glare of Hell;

“Till all Life’s Po’esy sinks to prose; romance to dull Real’ity fades; “Earth’s flush of gladness pales in gloom and God again to man degrades.

“Then the lank Arab foul with sweat, the drainer of the camel’s dug, “Gorged with his leek-green lizard’s meat, clad in his filthy rag and rug,

“Bore his fierce Allah o’er his sands and broke, like lava-burst upon “The realms where reigned pre-Adamite Kings, where rose the Grand Kayânian throne.*