This page needs to be proofread.
THE TRIUMPH OF BOHEMIA
SPIRIT OF BOHEMIA
Mammon, hold not in scorn my followers,
For they shall see thee die. Nor deem thou they
Abide mine only servants all glad things
Acknowledge me, all sprites and Bacchic fauns,
That now, unheeded by thy grosser sight,
Do throng this wood, and wait to join my train.
MAMMON
All such are less than we. The combat waits.
SPIRIT OF BOHEMIA
O justice latent at the heart of things,
Decide! Send forth thy vengeful minister
In whatso shape thou wilt. Thou, God, decide!
(The immense owl that heralded the coming of the Spirit of Bohemia now sweeps down the hillside. Mammon, hearing the rush of its wings, turns and dies at its touch, the owl simultaneously disappearing.)
135
