I was the only one of us all, Eros, who anticipated
this change. High up above the glaciers of Olympus, where the warm crystal shone like ice, and the faint cumuli rained jasmine on us, and the blue light was like the cold acid of a fruit, in the midst of our incomparable felicity I pondered on the vicissitude of things.
Eros.
You only, I remember, ever heeded the foolish screaming oracle that moaned for mortals. You always had something of the mortal temperament, Pallas. It jarred upon my mother that you seem to shudder even at the voluptuous turmoil of the senses. She said you always looked old. You look younger now than she does, Pallas.
Pallas.
I am neither old nor young. I know not what I am. But this grey colour and those
blowing woods are not unpleasing to me. I can be myself, even here, on a beech-wood peak in the cold sea.
[Enter up the steps Zeus, leaning heavily on Ganymede, and attended by many other Gods.]
Eros, Poseidon, and Pallas.
Hail! father and king!