ACT V

EnterKandaules,Thoasfollowing.

Kandaules.

Where’er I go you’re hard at heels. What would you?No heart to open speech with me, old man,Because I was a trifle rough with you?Speak—on with what you’d say. I’ll keep my soulIn patience and give ear though you should needThe length of time that turns a grape from greenInto the purple ere you’ve reached the end.

Where’er I go you’re hard at heels. What would you?

No heart to open speech with me, old man,

Because I was a trifle rough with you?

Speak—on with what you’d say. I’ll keep my soul

In patience and give ear though you should need

The length of time that turns a grape from green

Into the purple ere you’ve reached the end.

Thoas.

Sire, have I ever yet accused a man?

Kan.

No, Thoas.

Thoas.

Have I slurred a man’s good name?

Kan.

Why, surely not.

Thoas.

Or picked up heated words,Such as wroth lips are like to drop on earth,To fling them in your ear and fan their flame?

Or picked up heated words,

Such as wroth lips are like to drop on earth,

To fling them in your ear and fan their flame?

Kan.

Never.

Thoas.

Good; then I know at seventy yearsI’ll not do what I have not done at twenty,Since more than fifty years I’ve served your house.

Good; then I know at seventy years

I’ll not do what I have not done at twenty,

Since more than fifty years I’ve served your house.

Kan.

I know it, trusty henchman.

Thoas.

Earth brings forthAnd ceases not, all one to her if kingsBe slain or crowned. She suffers not the treesTo wither out nor berries to run sapless,And none the more she holds her fountains backIf one should chance to give her blood for drink.

Earth brings forth

And ceases not, all one to her if kings

Be slain or crowned. She suffers not the trees

To wither out nor berries to run sapless,

And none the more she holds her fountains back

If one should chance to give her blood for drink.

Kan.

That’s true as well.

Thoas.

Ay, true. All would remainAs now, I think, so far as touches me.For there’s the luck of slaves like us, that weFret little at a red moon in the heavens,And that more coolly than the greedy dogsWaiting in hope for tit-bits they may snap,We watch the sacrifice nor ask in dreadIf there be good or evil prophesied.

Ay, true. All would remain

As now, I think, so far as touches me.

For there’s the luck of slaves like us, that we

Fret little at a red moon in the heavens,

And that more coolly than the greedy dogs

Waiting in hope for tit-bits they may snap,

We watch the sacrifice nor ask in dread

If there be good or evil prophesied.

Kan.

Greybeard, what would you say?

Thoas.

Your father had meAlways about him, none the less if heWent banqueting than if he took the field;I dared not be remiss, to-day I reachedHis goblet and to-morrow shield and spear.I too it was prepared his funeral-pyreAnd gathered up with my old stiffened fingersHis handful of white dust in the brown urn,For such was his behest—and why was this?

Your father had me

Always about him, none the less if he

Went banqueting than if he took the field;

I dared not be remiss, to-day I reached

His goblet and to-morrow shield and spear.

I too it was prepared his funeral-pyre

And gathered up with my old stiffened fingers

His handful of white dust in the brown urn,

For such was his behest—and why was this?

Kan.

The grape is turned to red by now.

Thoas.

You’re like him,Maybe—I’ve ne’er yet seen you draw the sword.He drew it oft and gladly, nor at timesWith any ground, I grant it if you will,And yet ’twas good, maybe you’re fully like him;God give his fate be yours.

You’re like him,

Maybe—I’ve ne’er yet seen you draw the sword.

He drew it oft and gladly, nor at times

With any ground, I grant it if you will,

And yet ’twas good, maybe you’re fully like him;

God give his fate be yours.

Kan.

Is it not mine?

Thoas.

Who knows? I reckon in its end as well.Forgive me, Sire; I have a laggard brain,An understanding slow, and dull device,Who calls me fool insults me not thereby.But sturdy men have come to me ere nowTo seek advice, and when I hemmed and hawedThey said to me:—“The simplest aged manWho counts his seventy years and keeps his sensesHas greater wisdom in a hundred thingsThan even the shrewdest who is still a youth.”Well, then, I think I keep my senses still,So hearken to me.

Who knows? I reckon in its end as well.

Forgive me, Sire; I have a laggard brain,

An understanding slow, and dull device,

Who calls me fool insults me not thereby.

But sturdy men have come to me ere now

To seek advice, and when I hemmed and hawed

They said to me:—“The simplest aged man

Who counts his seventy years and keeps his senses

Has greater wisdom in a hundred things

Than even the shrewdest who is still a youth.”

Well, then, I think I keep my senses still,

So hearken to me.

Kan.

Why, I do.

Thoas.

And ply notThe rack for reasons. Be not overhastyTo think me wrong, although I shut my lips,Because a “why” of thus and thus much dramsIs lacking me when you would weigh my word.It’s true enough, if birds refuse to flyAs pleases you, when questioned by your seer,That you can launch a single shot from bowAnd scatter them, as many have done in wrath.But does the ill-luck they portended comeThe less for that? Then do not say to me,“What would you? He is valiant, good, and true!”I know’t myself, nay more—would swear the same,Yet all the more I speak my warning word:—Be on your guard with Gyges!

And ply not

The rack for reasons. Be not overhasty

To think me wrong, although I shut my lips,

Because a “why” of thus and thus much drams

Is lacking me when you would weigh my word.

It’s true enough, if birds refuse to fly

As pleases you, when questioned by your seer,

That you can launch a single shot from bow

And scatter them, as many have done in wrath.

But does the ill-luck they portended come

The less for that? Then do not say to me,

“What would you? He is valiant, good, and true!”

I know’t myself, nay more—would swear the same,

Yet all the more I speak my warning word:—

Be on your guard with Gyges!

[Kandauleslaughs.

Ah, I thought it.I tell you once again—be on your guard!Yet take my words aright. I say as wellHe’ll never stretch his hand to grasp your crown,He’ll spend his very latest drop of bloodIn your defence, and yet he is for youMore dangerous than all who yesterdayWith looks and words were hatching to your hurtTheir plots. Oho, they’ll never do you harmAs long as he’s not here. Then get his riddanceSoon as you can, for if he bides much longerAnd, wearing all the garlands he has won,Goes up and down among them as he does,There’s much can happen.

Ah, I thought it.

I tell you once again—be on your guard!

Yet take my words aright. I say as well

He’ll never stretch his hand to grasp your crown,

He’ll spend his very latest drop of blood

In your defence, and yet he is for you

More dangerous than all who yesterday

With looks and words were hatching to your hurt

Their plots. Oho, they’ll never do you harm

As long as he’s not here. Then get his riddance

Soon as you can, for if he bides much longer

And, wearing all the garlands he has won,

Goes up and down among them as he does,

There’s much can happen.

Kan.

That means?

Thoas.

Why, I see it.They whisper and compare, they shrug their shoulders,And clenching fists, have a sly nod with each other.You’ve given them all too sore offence, and ifThe Greek should feel some morning when he wakensHis step go sudden-stumbling o’er a crownSet by some hand at night to catch his feet,Should he still spurn it?—Is the man a fool?He does not rob you of it, that’s enough.Your heir he can be and your heir he will be,His stars ascend, you do not dream how high,Else would they mock him for a zither-twangerAnd they’d believe, as I myself believe,That only birds possess the songful throatWhose claws are clipped by shears that know their work,But now they deem him, since he’s apt at song,If not yet Phoebus’ self, at least his son.

Why, I see it.

They whisper and compare, they shrug their shoulders,

And clenching fists, have a sly nod with each other.

You’ve given them all too sore offence, and if

The Greek should feel some morning when he wakens

His step go sudden-stumbling o’er a crown

Set by some hand at night to catch his feet,

Should he still spurn it?—Is the man a fool?

He does not rob you of it, that’s enough.

Your heir he can be and your heir he will be,

His stars ascend, you do not dream how high,

Else would they mock him for a zither-twanger

And they’d believe, as I myself believe,

That only birds possess the songful throat

Whose claws are clipped by shears that know their work,

But now they deem him, since he’s apt at song,

If not yet Phoebus’ self, at least his son.

Kan.

That mazes you? Why, he has conquered them.How could sheer mortal be their conqueror?

That mazes you? Why, he has conquered them.

How could sheer mortal be their conqueror?

Thoas.

Still, still! Yet this much stands, he’s good and true.Then hear my words and all may yet go wellUnless the gods should send a chastisementAnd you next year make them and us at one.

Still, still! Yet this much stands, he’s good and true.

Then hear my words and all may yet go well

Unless the gods should send a chastisement

And you next year make them and us at one.

[EnterGyges.

He comes. Was this vain talk? Sire, do not smile.’Tis just on walls saltpetre-crystals form,Then wherefore not the salt o’ the time on me?

He comes. Was this vain talk? Sire, do not smile.

’Tis just on walls saltpetre-crystals form,

Then wherefore not the salt o’ the time on me?

[He retreats into the background.

Kan.

You’ve touched my quick more nearly than you think—Well, Gyges?

You’ve touched my quick more nearly than you think—

Well, Gyges?

Gyges.

Sire, I have been seeking you.

Kan.

Not more than I’ve been seeking you. Say on,What brings you here? You’re dumb and turn away.Whate’er it be I have the strength for much.

Not more than I’ve been seeking you. Say on,

What brings you here? You’re dumb and turn away.

Whate’er it be I have the strength for much.

Gyges.

Oh, had you but received my sacrifice!

Kan.

I ne’er will rue that thus I have not done,But had it been received, what profit there?That night suspicion inextinguishableTook kindle in her bosom from your sigh.But cease this feud of conscience. Where’s the manThat is a man and had not sighed like you?

I ne’er will rue that thus I have not done,

But had it been received, what profit there?

That night suspicion inextinguishable

Took kindle in her bosom from your sigh.

But cease this feud of conscience. Where’s the man

That is a man and had not sighed like you?

Gyges.

No blessed day was that on which the KingOf Lydia first met with Grecian Gyges.

No blessed day was that on which the King

Of Lydia first met with Grecian Gyges.

Kan.

I curse it not.

Gyges.

Your own hand had the powerTo shield you from that couched and glowering tiger,And I by launching my unwanted dartBecame not your deliverer from destructionBut robber of your master-shot.

Your own hand had the power

To shield you from that couched and glowering tiger,

And I by launching my unwanted dart

Became not your deliverer from destruction

But robber of your master-shot.

Kan.

’Tis true.I had him fully marked and was prepared,But when I saw your eyes in eager glitter,The glow upon your cheeks, the heave of breast,I banished from my lips a quiet smileAnd gave you thanks.

’Tis true.

I had him fully marked and was prepared,

But when I saw your eyes in eager glitter,

The glow upon your cheeks, the heave of breast,

I banished from my lips a quiet smile

And gave you thanks.

Gyges.

Ever this noble mind.E’en when I dreamt not of it! Can I then?

Ever this noble mind.

E’en when I dreamt not of it! Can I then?

Kan.

And the first glance told me another thing,That should there come on me a greater perilYou’d do the deed again and make it braver.And if it has not come you bear no guilt.

And the first glance told me another thing,

That should there come on me a greater peril

You’d do the deed again and make it braver.

And if it has not come you bear no guilt.

Gyges.

Sire, speak no more. ’Tis even as you say,Against a single hair from off your headI would have staked my blood—yet now—yet now—So wills the curse, I must demand your life.

Sire, speak no more. ’Tis even as you say,

Against a single hair from off your head

I would have staked my blood—yet now—yet now—

So wills the curse, I must demand your life.

Kan.

My life?

Gyges.

Even so, if she is not to die.The sun already dips to his descent,And if your eye still sees the evening starThen hers shall never see it, nevermore.

Even so, if she is not to die.

The sun already dips to his descent,

And if your eye still sees the evening star

Then hers shall never see it, nevermore.

Kan.

Then if you kill not me she kills herself?

Gyges.

She does. How else could I stand thus before you?

Kan.

No other sacrifice requites her vengeance?

Gyges.

I offered her the dearest, but in vain.

Kan.

Ah, then she will refuse me even farewell!

Gyges.

I fear she’ll flee your face into the grave.

Kan.

No more, then. Take my life.—You start aback?

Gyges.

So willing with the gift?

Kan.

Who does a sinDoes penance too. Who smiles not in atonementMakes no atonement. Am I known so illAnd held so light by you that such a wordAstounds, nay more, affrights you? Where’s my heartThat I should force her with her rosy fingers,Too tender even for plucking of a flower,To stretch them for a dagger and to proveIf she be skilled to find her heart?

Who does a sin

Does penance too. Who smiles not in atonement

Makes no atonement. Am I known so ill

And held so light by you that such a word

Astounds, nay more, affrights you? Where’s my heart

That I should force her with her rosy fingers,

Too tender even for plucking of a flower,

To stretch them for a dagger and to prove

If she be skilled to find her heart?

Gyges.

This too?Flinging the very garment’s shelter backAnd offering breast yourself?

This too?

Flinging the very garment’s shelter back

And offering breast yourself?

Kan.

I show the pathThat’s nearest to the goal, and make it smoothThat when you stand again before her sightThere’ll be at least one thing in me to praise.Here is the rushing fount of life you seek,You have the key yourself, then ope the lock!

I show the path

That’s nearest to the goal, and make it smooth

That when you stand again before her sight

There’ll be at least one thing in me to praise.

Here is the rushing fount of life you seek,

You have the key yourself, then ope the lock!

Gyges.

Not for the world!

Kan.

For her, my friend, for her!

[Gygesmakes a gesture of refusal.

Nay, I bethink me now. You wished to-dayWith your own hand to spill your youthful blood.Maybe I too can muster will; then goAnd take to her my latest-breathed farewell.’Tis even as though I now were stretched on earth.

Nay, I bethink me now. You wished to-day

With your own hand to spill your youthful blood.

Maybe I too can muster will; then go

And take to her my latest-breathed farewell.

’Tis even as though I now were stretched on earth.

Gyges.

No, no! I came to fight.

Kan.

Oho, the pride!In fight with me you cannot be defeated,Eh, friend?

Oho, the pride!

In fight with me you cannot be defeated,

Eh, friend?

Gyges.

You know me better.

Kan.

That as well!Should I be conqueror even there remainsNo less the other. Is not that the scentThe aloe sheds? It is; so soon the windCarries it from the garden. ’Tis unclosedOnly when night is near. The time is come.

That as well!

Should I be conqueror even there remains

No less the other. Is not that the scent

The aloe sheds? It is; so soon the wind

Carries it from the garden. ’Tis unclosed

Only when night is near. The time is come.

Gyges.

The ring—oh, oh!

Kan.

You mean ’twere better leftUnravished in its charnel? True it is.Rhodope’s dread presentience was no lie,Nor was your shudder empty monishment.Not for a game nor the mad pranks o’ the foolIts metal has been welded, and perchanceThere hangs on it the whole world-destiny.Methinks ’tis given me to dare the visionOf time’s most ancient gulfs, and see the fightThe young gods fought with the hoar gods of eld.Zeus, hurled aback full oft, comes climbing onToward the gold seat o’ the Father, in his handThe sickle of horror, and behind him creepsA Titan to the attack, sore-bowed with fetters.Why is he not perceived of Kronos? LoHe’s manacled and maimed and downward hurled!Wears he the ring? Gyges, he wore the ringAnd Gaia’s self had handed him the ring!

You mean ’twere better left

Unravished in its charnel? True it is.

Rhodope’s dread presentience was no lie,

Nor was your shudder empty monishment.

Not for a game nor the mad pranks o’ the fool

Its metal has been welded, and perchance

There hangs on it the whole world-destiny.

Methinks ’tis given me to dare the vision

Of time’s most ancient gulfs, and see the fight

The young gods fought with the hoar gods of eld.

Zeus, hurled aback full oft, comes climbing on

Toward the gold seat o’ the Father, in his hand

The sickle of horror, and behind him creeps

A Titan to the attack, sore-bowed with fetters.

Why is he not perceived of Kronos? Lo

He’s manacled and maimed and downward hurled!

Wears he the ring? Gyges, he wore the ring

And Gaia’s self had handed him the ring!

Gyges.

Then curséd be the man that brought it to you.

Kan.

And why? You did the right, and had I beenMade of your mould it had not worked its lure,In silence had I given it back to nightAnd all would now be as it was erewhile.Then seek not on the passive tool’s accountTo bargain for my sin. The guilt is mine.

And why? You did the right, and had I been

Made of your mould it had not worked its lure,

In silence had I given it back to night

And all would now be as it was erewhile.

Then seek not on the passive tool’s account

To bargain for my sin. The guilt is mine.

Gyges.

But ah, what guilt!

Kan.

How deep ’tis hers to say,And keen I feel I have been sore at fault.What strikes me strikes me only as is meet.The plain word of my age-ennobled servantTaught me a thing. One should not always ask“What’s this or that?” but sometimes “What’s its import?”I know for very truth the time is comingWhen all will think as I do. Say, what virtueInheres in veils, in crowns or rusty swordsThat is eternal? But the weary worldO’er things like these is sunken into sleep;Things that she wrested in her latest throeAnd holds to fast. Who’d plunder her thereofWakes her. Then let that man first search himselfIf he be strong enough to hold her boundWhen, jolted half awake, she lays about her,And rich enough to offer her aught higher,If she be loath to let her trinket go.Herakles was the man, but I am not.Too proud to be his heir in lowly mindAnd far too weak to be his peer in deed,I’ve undermined the ground that held me firmAnd now its gnashing vengeance draws me down.

How deep ’tis hers to say,

And keen I feel I have been sore at fault.

What strikes me strikes me only as is meet.

The plain word of my age-ennobled servant

Taught me a thing. One should not always ask

“What’s this or that?” but sometimes “What’s its import?”

I know for very truth the time is coming

When all will think as I do. Say, what virtue

Inheres in veils, in crowns or rusty swords

That is eternal? But the weary world

O’er things like these is sunken into sleep;

Things that she wrested in her latest throe

And holds to fast. Who’d plunder her thereof

Wakes her. Then let that man first search himself

If he be strong enough to hold her bound

When, jolted half awake, she lays about her,

And rich enough to offer her aught higher,

If she be loath to let her trinket go.

Herakles was the man, but I am not.

Too proud to be his heir in lowly mind

And far too weak to be his peer in deed,

I’ve undermined the ground that held me firm

And now its gnashing vengeance draws me down.

Gyges.

Nay, nay!

Kan.

’Tis thus nor can be otherwise.The world has need of sleep as you and INeed ours; she grows like us and waxes strongWhen she would seem the prey of death and foolsAre moved to mirth. Yes, when a man lies prone,The arms erewhile so busy hanging slack,The eyes imprisoned fast and closed the mouth,Whose lips are knitted in convulsive twitchRetaining still perchance a withered roseleafAs though ’twere greatest treasure—that would giveA sight to raise the laugh of him who wakesAnd looks upon it. But were such a man,Some being born upon a stranger starAnd quite unwitting of our human wants,To come and cry at you—“Here’s fruit and wine,Arise, eat, drink!” What were you like to do?Why this, unless you choked him, ere you knew it,With a half-conscious grip and crushing hug,You’d answer:—“This is more than meat and drink!”And slumber calmly on until the morningThat summons not the one and not the other,Nay, but all mortals into freshened life.Just such a meddling mar-peace was myself.Now I am caught between Briareus’ handsAnd he will grind the insect that would sting.Then, Gyges, howsoe’er the wave of lifeMay lift you (and be sure ’twill rear your fateStill higher than you think) be bold of faithAnd do not tremble even before a crown;This only—never break the sleep o’ the world.And now——

’Tis thus nor can be otherwise.

The world has need of sleep as you and I

Need ours; she grows like us and waxes strong

When she would seem the prey of death and fools

Are moved to mirth. Yes, when a man lies prone,

The arms erewhile so busy hanging slack,

The eyes imprisoned fast and closed the mouth,

Whose lips are knitted in convulsive twitch

Retaining still perchance a withered roseleaf

As though ’twere greatest treasure—that would give

A sight to raise the laugh of him who wakes

And looks upon it. But were such a man,

Some being born upon a stranger star

And quite unwitting of our human wants,

To come and cry at you—“Here’s fruit and wine,

Arise, eat, drink!” What were you like to do?

Why this, unless you choked him, ere you knew it,

With a half-conscious grip and crushing hug,

You’d answer:—“This is more than meat and drink!”

And slumber calmly on until the morning

That summons not the one and not the other,

Nay, but all mortals into freshened life.

Just such a meddling mar-peace was myself.

Now I am caught between Briareus’ hands

And he will grind the insect that would sting.

Then, Gyges, howsoe’er the wave of life

May lift you (and be sure ’twill rear your fate

Still higher than you think) be bold of faith

And do not tremble even before a crown;

This only—never break the sleep o’ the world.

And now——

Gyges.

The sun goes down. The thing must be.

Kan.

Thoas!

[He takes off his crown.

Thoas.

What means this, Sire?

Kan.

I think you wishedTo see me fight. Be glad, then, for I do it.But this for payment—keep the crown in wardAnd give’t to whoso of the twain survives.(ToGyges.) If it be you, I grudge it not, and menWill see it on your brow with joy—Come, come!You say you’d never take it? Fie, oh fie!’Twould only lapse upon a lesser man.

I think you wished

To see me fight. Be glad, then, for I do it.

But this for payment—keep the crown in ward

And give’t to whoso of the twain survives.

(ToGyges.) If it be you, I grudge it not, and men

Will see it on your brow with joy—Come, come!

You say you’d never take it? Fie, oh fie!

’Twould only lapse upon a lesser man.

Gyges.

Sire, swear you’ll do your honest part in fight.

Kan.

’Tis mine to show her I’ll not lightly loseSo dear a loveliness. I swear it then.And you?

’Tis mine to show her I’ll not lightly lose

So dear a loveliness. I swear it then.

And you?

Gyges.

She lives and dies with me. I must.And though at every cut and thrust I’m thinking“Liefer by far a kiss!” yet none the moreI’ll slack the force of any blow.

She lives and dies with me. I must.

And though at every cut and thrust I’m thinking

“Liefer by far a kiss!” yet none the more

I’ll slack the force of any blow.

Kan.

Then giveYour hand for this once more.—Now be for meA tiger. I for you a lion, and thisThe wildwood where we oft have led the chase.

Then give

Your hand for this once more.—Now be for me

A tiger. I for you a lion, and this

The wildwood where we oft have led the chase.

[They draw.

Gyges.

There’s one thing yet. Shame held it back. She meansTo wed with me if you be overcome.

There’s one thing yet. Shame held it back. She means

To wed with me if you be overcome.

Kan.

Ah, now I understand her!

Gyges.

On your guard!

[A fight, during which they disappear to the left.

Thoas.

He falls! The last o’ the Heraclids is fallen!

[Exit in their direction.

The Temple of Hestia. Evening: torches are lit. In the centre a statue of the goddess.Rhodopeappears from the right in solemn procession, with herLesbia,Hero,andKarna.

Rhodope.

Karna, the funeral-pyre—’tis being built?

Karna.

’Tis built ere now.

[Rhodopepaces into the temple and kneels before the statue of the goddess.

Hero.

She speaks of funeral-pyresInstead of bridal-chambers?

She speaks of funeral-pyres

Instead of bridal-chambers?

Lesbia.

What, amazed?There must be first one dead within this placeOr ever in this place there be a bride.

What, amazed?

There must be first one dead within this place

Or ever in this place there be a bride.

Hero.

I tremble, Lesbia. She questioned me,When I was tiring her, if in our gardenWere growing poison-berries——

I tremble, Lesbia. She questioned me,

When I was tiring her, if in our garden

Were growing poison-berries——

Lesbia.

What?

Hero.

And ifI might not go and bring her some of them,For every one she said she’d give a pearlThough there should be a hundred; but with speedIt must be done.

And if

I might not go and bring her some of them,

For every one she said she’d give a pearl

Though there should be a hundred; but with speed

It must be done.

Lesbia.

And you?

Hero.

I answered no,And thereupon she smiled and said, “I’m likeTo think it. I shall show you them to-morrow.”And yet I thought it strange.

I answered no,

And thereupon she smiled and said, “I’m like

To think it. I shall show you them to-morrow.”

And yet I thought it strange.

Lesbia.

And strange it is.

Hero.

Thereon she sent me from her, but I spiedAnd saw her take a poniard fine of pointAs though for test, no other word could name it,And scratch her arm.

Thereon she sent me from her, but I spied

And saw her take a poniard fine of point

As though for test, no other word could name it,

And scratch her arm.

Lesbia.

Hero!

Hero.

’Tis true. There cameRed blood as well.

’Tis true. There came

Red blood as well.

Lesbia.

Oh horror!

Hero.

Sooth it isShe honours equally with ours strange godsWe have no knowledge of; and so perchance’Tis some dark rite.

Sooth it is

She honours equally with ours strange gods

We have no knowledge of; and so perchance

’Tis some dark rite.

Lesbia.

No, no! Where sounds the fluteAnd where the pipe? Who sings the song of Hymen?Where is the band of dancers? I was blind!She has gone forth to turn her home no more.Queen, hearken to my prayer—relent!... And isA feast prepared?

No, no! Where sounds the flute

And where the pipe? Who sings the song of Hymen?

Where is the band of dancers? I was blind!

She has gone forth to turn her home no more.

Queen, hearken to my prayer—relent!... And is

A feast prepared?

Hero.

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