Ay, there they crown him.
[Crowd without shout, “Synorix! Synorix!”
Camma (rises).
[A Priestess brings a box of spices to Camma, who throws them on the altar flame.
Rouse the dead altar-flame, fling in the spices,
Nard, cinnamon, amomum, benzoin.
Let all the air reel into a mist of odour,
As in the midmost heart of Paradise.
Lay down the Lydian carpets for the king.
The king should pace on purple to his bride,