Arise, arise!

[They all stand waiting.]

Myrtilla

Hark! Her footfall like the dew—

Pasiphassa

As a flower by frost made sere
Long before the sun breaks through,
Feeleth him, I know her near.

[Helen stands in the doorway.]

Chthonoë

This is she, the source of light,
Source of light and end of it,
Argive Helen, slim and sweet,
For whose bosom and delight,
For whose eyes, those wells of peace,
Paris wrought, as well he might,
Ten years' woe for Troy and Greece.

Rhodope