Still no longing but ’tis lust, No aspiration but ’tis appetite. FENRIS Anarch! anarch! anarch! Father, free me! ODIN Free thee, thou poor antagonist. Knowest thou Not yet why thou art chained? Retarded thing, Emancipate thyself! What might it avail Though Odin burst these links and loosed thee?—Thou Thyself art thine own bondage and thy pain. THE PACK Ulfr! Ulfr! FENRIS Anarch! anarch! Ulfr! ODIN Yet could’st thou show some genesis of good, Some spring of growth. Hadst thou, in all these ages, Waxed toward my stature imperceptibly Even as the seed, that germinates in darkness, Feels toward the sky; yea, hadst thou now one pale
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