Though his altars should weep
With the crimson atonement, should veil them in clouds of the hecatomb-sheep.
(Ant. 2)
Ah, once there was one!—
Were life's light in the eyes
Of Phœbus's son,
Then our darling might rise 125
From the mansions of darkness, through portals of Hades return to our skies;
For he raised up the dead,
Ere flashed from the heaven,
From Zeus' hand sped,
That bolt of the levin.
But now what remaineth to wait for?—what hope of her life is given? 130
No sacrifice more
Unrendered remaineth:
No God, but the gore
From his altars down-raineth:
Yet healing is none for our ills, neither balm that the spirit sustaineth. 135
[Enter Handmaid.
But hither cometh of the handmaids one,
Weeping the while. What tidings shall I hear?
To grieve at all mischance unto thy lords
May be forgiven; but if thy lady lives
Or even now hath passed, fain would we know. 140
Handmaid.
She liveth, and is dead: both may'st thou say.
