And Mnetha led them to the tent of Har; and Har and Heva

And Mnetha led them to the tent of Har; and Har and Heva Ran to the door. When Tiriel felt the ankles of aged Har, He said: “O weak mistaken father of a lawless race, Thy laws, O Har, and Tiriel’s wisdom, end together in a curse. Why is one law given to the lion and the patient ox, And why men bound beneath the heavens in a reptile form, A worm of sixty winters creeping on the dusty ground? The child springs from the womb; the father ready stands to form The infant head, while the mother idly plays with her dog on her couch. The young bosom is cold for lack of mother’s nourishment, and milk Is cut off from the weeping mouth with difficulty and pain. The little lids are lifted, and the little nostrils opened; The father forms a whip to rouse the sluggish senses to act,

And scourges off all youthful fancies from the new-born man. Then walks the weak infant in sorrow, compelled to number footsteps Upon the sand. And, when the drone has reached his crawling length, Black berries appear that poison all round him. Such was Tiriel,— Compelled to pray repugnant and to humble the immortal spirit, Till I am subtle as a serpent in a paradise, Consuming all—both flowers and fruits, insects and warbling birds. And now my paradise is fallen, and a drear sandy plain Returns my thirsty hissings in a curse on thee, O Har. Mistaken father of a lawless race!—My voice is past.”

He ceased, outstretched at Har and Heva’s feet in awful death.