Feel, feel, the air is teeming with the perfume of fresh-woven garlands!
Beautiful earth! The home of light and life, the home of joy, the home of happiness and beauty;—what thou wast shalt thou again become!—In the embrace of the Sun-King! Mithra, Mithra!
Forward on our victorious way!
[The procession moves on again, amid the plaudits of the crowd; those in front come to a stop at the mouth of the narrow street, through which another procession enters the market-place.
Julian.
What hinders us?
Hekebolius.
Gracious lord, there is something amiss in the other street.
Song.
[Far off.