Paian, Paian, the pure!
Thou art here, thou art sure,
Immortally tall, fair tressed, crowned with bay.
God of the far-borne voice,
So dost thou capture with valiance the place of thy choice—
Delphi, murmuring, golden.
Hail to thee—God of Day!
[1] Loxias, Son of Leto, Archer God, Paian, son of Zeus—all are affectionate, worshipful names of Apollo.
To the end she sang it. Not with Dryas’s sensitive handling but with a dramatic power, possessive, from within, making it inalienably her own.
Then she seemed to waken. She looked around. Her father stood with bowed head and hidden face. Melantho was weeping. Lycophron motioned a slave to shut the door lest someone come upon them, and Dryas sat gazing at the ground with an expression of misery and defeat which scattered the last vestige of Theria’s creative joy.