University of Virginia Library

Scene 1:

Music. The Temple of Diana. Priestess and Virgins bearing offerings.
Priest.
Daughter of Jove, Artemis, virgin-eyed,
Swift-footed goddess of the sylvan shade,
Release the fawn within thy silver leash,
Restrain th' impatience of thy bounding feet,
And gladden her who brings thee votive gifts. [Enter Artemis, C.]


Art.
With joy I answer to your duteous greeting;
Where are the offerings?

Priest.
At thy feet we lay them,
Flowers from the chaste, the huntsman's spear and shaft,
And cakes, the timid offering of a slave,
Who for libation poured abundant tears,
And prayed protection from her master's will.

Art.
Nor shall she want it. Heaven o'erwhelm the man,
Who with unholy purpose dares o'erstep
The sad defenses of captivity.
What hast thou else?

Priest.
An arrow tipped with flame,
All vibrant with the light of shining gold,
For thee, the fairest.

Art.
From his hand it comes!
The Athenian youth—has he then passed this way?

Priest.
With eyes averted he approached the shrine
At early dawn—upon his buskined feet
The dew shone pearl-like, in his locks as well.
The breeze scarce stirred their golden cinctured wealth,
His eye and cheek were fresher than the dawn.
Aurora, passing in her purple car,
Stooped to caress them, every god looked down,
And envied Artemis her worshipper.

Art.
So young, so wise? with eyes averted came he?
Relate his words, as thou art wont to do.

Priest.
He seemed intent upon the holy rite,
For long he stood and bowed his head before thee,
But taking voice at last, with ringing speech:
“Artemis, reign within this heart forever!
Thou art the chosen goddess of my faith.”
He cried: “Oh! take my life ere other love
Than thine, profane the breast I vow to thee!”

Art.
And then he passed?

Priest.
A bugle note did sound
From the green-roofed recesses of the wood,
And reverent he departed.

Art.
'Tis enough.
[Priestess retires, with Virgins]
The gods have written that Hippolytus
Die young, but I will intercede with Jove
To stretch the golden spanning of his years
To utmost bound of Fate. Then, what's too short
In length of days, I'll piece with length of fame.
Immortal love shall hedge thy path about.
The evil shall not taint thee with their breath,
Nor to vile passion bend thy hero soul.
And dying, thou shalt live before men's eyes,
The fairest thing remembered as a man.
Come hither, Priestess—come, ye virgin bands!
Ourselves are harnessed for the chase to-day,
And we must find our quarry in the woods
Before the heats compel to bower and bath.
Sound out our summons! What? Away, away.