I cling to the first altar; time hath mellowed
My hue of crime, and friendly men receive
The curse-beladen wanderer to their homes.
True to the god’s oracular command,
O’er land and sea with weary foot I fare,
To find thy shrine, O goddess, and clasp thine image;
And now redemption from thy doom I wait.
Enter Chorus.
Chorus.
’Tis well. The man is here. His track I know.