They leap forward, though no wind is blowing.
Circe.
They are arranged in order, and they bend upwards and now outwards.
Hera.
The colours of them are those which adorn my bird.
Pallas.
Ah! wonder of wonders! These have joined one another, see, and now they shoot forward together in a vibrating ribband of delicious lustre, and now it is arched to our shore, and descends at the lowest of these our woodland stairs.
Zeus.
A vast rainbow from the three white vessels to this island!... And behold, a figure steps from it. She is robed to the feet in palest watchet blue, and her face is like a rosy star, and she waves her violet wings in the incommunicable speed of her ascent. My children, it is Iris, our lost daughter, our ineffable messenger. Let us await in silence the tidings which she brings.