_Th._ And so ye have found her. There was never more Of her ye have callèd Pyrrha than that robe. The golden-headed maiden, the enchantress, 1380 And laughter-loving idol of your hearts Had in your empty thought her only being. When ye have played with her, chosen her for queen, And leader of your games, or when ye have sat Rapt by the music of her voice, that sang Heroic songs and histories of the gods, Or at brisk morn, or long-delaying eve, Have paced the shores of sunlight hand in hand, ’Twas but a robe ye held: ye were deceived; There was no Pyrrha. 1390 _Ch._ What strange speech is this? Was there no Pyrrha? What shall we believe! _Deid._ Lady, thy speech troubles mine ear in vain. _Th._ ’Tis then thine ear is vain; and not my speech. _Deid._ My ears and eyes and hands have I believed, But not thy words. A moment since I held her. What wilt thou say? _Th._ That eyes and hands and ears Deceived thy trust, but now thou hearest truth. _Deid._ Have we then dreamed, deluded by a shade Fashioned of air or cloud, and as it seems Made in thy likeness, or hath some god chosen To dwell awhile with us in privity 1401 And mutual share of all our petty deeds? Say what thy dark words hint and who thou art. _Th._ I Thetis am, daughter of that old god, Whose wisdom buried in the deep hath made The unfathomed water solemn, and I rule The ocean-nymphs, who for their pastime play In the blue glooms, and darting here and there Checquer the dark and widespread melancholy With everlasting laughter and bright smiles. 1410 Of me thou hast heard, and of my son Achilles, By prescient fame renowned first of the Greeks: He is on this island: for ’twas here I set him To hide him from his foes, and he was safe Till thou betray’dst him—for unwittingly That hast thou done to-day. The seeming pedlar, To whom thou leddest Pyrrha, was Ulysses, Who spied to find Achilles, and thro’ thee Found him, alas! Thy Pyrrha was Achilles. _Chorus._ O daughter of Nereus old, 1420 Queen of the nymphs that swim By day in gleams of gold, By night in the silver dim, Forgive in pity, we pray, Forgive the ill we have done. Why didst thou hide this thing from us? For if we had known thy son We had guarded him well to-day, Nor ever betrayed him thus.