Bacchus. Well, runagate, who are your friends? Silenus. My foes: They fell at the first bottle: I have won. Scaramouch [aside]. I could drink him out in brandy; but these planetary wines are not for this world. Bacchus. How often have you run away? Silenus. Seven times. Bacchus. Seven times you've risked disaster. You are old, Feeble and foolish---- Silenus. Oh! not foolish, Bacchus! Bacchus. Hare-brained at least---- Ariadne. But chide him not, dear lord. Bacchus. Well, then, I will not: he is found. Be wise, My ancient friend, and know your happiness. [Bacchantes surround Silenus and bind him with ivy. Scaramouch [aside]. These are gentle divinities. Ariadne. Here, by this sea, I waked, how long ago! Here, by this sea, you found me. Bacchus. Would you be My bride again? Ariadne. O no! each day, each hour I am your bride; and as the days and years Gather behind us, every happiness-- And that is every minute of my life-- Doubles the joy of that which went before: And yet the past is as a galaxy Wherein no star excels the radiant throng. Bacchus. Not that fair hour when first you loved me? Ariadne. No: I have no memory. I am striving now To summon up the time when here you came, And made me an immortal and your bride. I might as well compel my thoughts to search For some unnoted dream that I forgot The moment after I had told you, love, New wakened from the sleep I dreamed it in. Bacchus. But memory goes afoot--invalid here: Love has a high-commanding minister, Imagination; and it serves alone Beings who yield their moods and bow their minds To its obedient masterdom: stout thought, That trudges, blind and lame, the dusty way, And memory, that casts its broken net In Lethe's waves, keep not among your train-- Fit servants these for mortals. Ariadne. So I do-- I banish them: but still there clings to me Something of earth. Bacchus. I love you best for that. A goddess born is tame, secure of heaven, And there is nothing to endow her with; But you derive divinity from me, Yet keep the passionate heart that mortals have.-- Now, I am at the morn I found you here: Come, Ariadne, leap into the past. Ariadne. I cannot. Bacchus. See, the flying traitor's sail! Ariadne. No, no! This night--this hour is in my blood. The brine, the sea-pinks, and the soaring moon Seem thoughts of mine which now I body forth; And these, and all the beauties of the world Breathe of my love for you. Bacchus. I found you here With crimson cheeks and nostrils wide, asleep; Your hair dishevelled, and your mantle torn. Ariadne. No, no! You cannot drive me back. I see, indeed, A picture of our meeting; but not mine.