SEMELE. By Zeus! by mine own Zeus!
JUNO. (Shrieking.) Thou swearest?
Unhappy one!
SEMELE. (In alarm.) What meanest thou, Beroe?
JUNO.
Repeat the word that dooms thee to become
the wretchedest of all on earth's wide face!—
Alas, lost creature! 'Twas not Zeus!
SEMELE. Not Zeus?
Oh, fearful thought!
JUNO. A cunning traitor 'twas
From Attica, who 'neath a godlike form,
Robbed thee of honor, shame, and innocence!—
[SEMELE sinks to the ground.
Well mayest thou fall! Ne'er mayest thou rise again!
May endless night enshroud thine eyes in darkness,
May endless silence round thine ears encamp!
Remain forever here a lifeless mass!
Oh, infamy! Enough to hurl chaste day
Back into Hecate's gloomy arms once more!
Ye gods! And is it thus that Beroe
Finds Cadmus' daughter, after sixteen years
Of bitter separation! Full of joy
I came from Epidaurus; but with shame
To Epidaurus must retrace my steps.—
Despair I take with me. Alas, my people!
E'en to the second Deluge now the plague
May rage at will, may pile mount Oeta high
With corpses upon corpses, and may turn
All Greece into one mighty charnel-house,
Ere Semele can bend the angry gods.
I, thou, and Greece, and all, have been betrayed!
SEMELE. (Trembling as she rises, and extending an arm towards her.)
Oh, Beroe!
JUNO. Take courage, my dear heart!
Perchance 'tis Zeus! although it scarce can be!
Perchance 'tis really Zeus! This we must learn!
He must disclose himself to thee, or thou
Must fly his sight forever, and devote
The monster to the death-revenge of Thebes.
Look up, dear daughter—look upon the face
Of thine own Beroe, who looks on thee
With sympathizing eyes—my Semele,
Were it not well to try him?
SEMELE. No, by heaven!
I should not find him then—
JUNO. What! Wilt thou be
Perchance less wretched, if thou pinest on
In mournful doubt?—and if 'tis really he,—