University of Virginia Library

Scene 2:

Seacoast. Twilight before dawn. Chorus of the Winds, in long dark robes and hoods; they dance round and round, chanting these stanzas.
Left.
I know that doth please me well.

Right.
[Nodding]
So do I—so do I.

Left.
I know that I will not tell.

Right.
So do I—so do I.

One.
Wrath and wrong and scorn and hate,
Wefted in one web of Fate,
I know that shall plague the State.

All.
Ay, that know we all!
[Second stanza, etc., in the same way]
Hooded messengers of ill,
Here we go, here we go,
Working more than mortal will,
Working woe, working woe,
He who called us from the main,
Glad would yield his right to reign,
Could he send us back again.

All.
That he cannot do.

3RD.
Fool to speak the hasty word,
We obey, we obey,
Bringing judgment undeferred,
Have thy way, have thy way:
Firmer than your turrets are,
Fate doth fix the frantic prayer,
For the Deities of Air
Never more unsay.

4TH.
Come, ye spirits of the deep,
Athens mourns, Athens mourns!
Rouse Poseidon from his sleep
With your melancholy horns!
Father! Thou a father hearest,
When he bids thee lose his dearest,
Nor the mortal's grief thou fearest,
That thy greatness scorns. [Enter Artemis]


Art.
Be still, ye wild and turbulent natures, still!
The work ye have to do is terrible,
Exult not to fulfill it.

All.
Dost thou weep?
A goddess weep?

Art.
Forbidden by my birth,
See, my grief's passion breaks Jove's ordinance,
And like a mortal, I must agonize,

One Spirit.
Venus hath done this!

Art.
By the will of Jove
She conquers, but th' avenging years draw nigh,
Unseen of her. Hark, spirits, in my woods
The boar lies suckling that shall pierce the thigh
Of young Adonis. I will vow such thorns
Among the roses on her painted brow,
That she shall shriek through all the dismal night,
And follow Death as wild Bacchantes dance
After the god that maddens them. But ye,
Go bind th' unseemly bosom of the deep
With the blue zone of calmness, while I stay
To sprinkle silver on the fatal sands,
And do my faithful office to the end.

Chorus.
[Divided as before]
One is mightier than thou,
Hist! We fly—hist! We fly,
But he loves thy moonèd brow,
Drawing nigh, drawing nigh.
Doom is fixed, our master saith,
Counted pulse, and measured breath,
But we'll keep the hush of death,
Till thy darling die. [They dance off]


Art.
I hear the springing footstep that respects
The lightest dewdrop on my virgin flowers.
Let me withdraw, and yet be near his words.

[She passes out of sight]