Poem by Rupert Chawner Brooke

On the Death of Smet-Smet, the Hippopotamus-Goddess

Song of a tribe of the ancient Egyptians

  (The Priests within the Temple)
She was wrinkled and huge and hideous? She was our Mother.
She was lustful and lewd? -- but a God; we had none other.
In the day She was hidden and dumb, but at nightfall moaned in the shade;
We shuddered and gave Her Her will in the darkness; we were afraid.

  (The People without)
 She sent us pain,
  And we bowed before Her;
 She smiled again
  And bade us adore Her.
 She solaced our woe
  And soothed our sighing;
 And what shall we do
  Now God is dying?

  (The Priests within)
She was hungry and ate our children; -- how should we stay Her?
She took our young men and our maidens; -- ours to obey Her.
We were loathed and mocked and reviled of all nations; that was our pride.
She fed us, protected us, loved us, and killed us; now She has died.

  (The People without)
 She was so strong;
  But death is stronger.
 She ruled us long;
  But Time is longer.
 She solaced our woe
  And soothed our sighing;
 And what shall we do
  Now God is dying?

1. Fafaia
2. Kindliness
3. The Jolly Company
4. The Dance
5. The Vision of the Archangels

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