Our Antonius, Our faithful friend of Rome, tho’ Rome may set A free foot where she will, yet of his courtesy Entreats he may be present at our marriage. CAMMA. Let him come—a legion with him, if he will. (_To ANTONIUS._) Welcome, my lord Antonius, to our Temple. (_To SYNORIX._) You on this side the altar. (_To ANTONIUS._) You on that. Call first upon the Goddess, Synorix. [_All face the Goddess. Priestesses, Children, Populace, and Guards kneel—the others remain standing._ SYNORIX. O Thou, that dost inspire the germ with life, The child, a thread within the house of birth, And give him limbs, then air, and send him forth The glory of his father—Thou whose breath Is balmy wind to robe our hills with grass, And kindle all our vales with myrtle-blossom, And roll the golden oceans of our grain, And sway the long grape-bunches of our vines, And fill all hearts with fatness and the lust Of plenty—make me happy in my marriage! CHORUS (_chanting_). Artemis, Artemis, hear him, Ionian Artemis! CAMMA. O Thou that slayest the babe within the womb Or in the being born, or after slayest him As boy or man, great Goddess, whose storm-voice Unsockets the strong oak, and rears his root Beyond his head, and strows our fruits, and lays Our golden grain, and runs to sea and makes it Foam over all the fleeted wealth of kings And peoples, hear. Whose arrow is the plague—whose quick flash splits The mid-sea mast, and rifts the tower to the rock, And hurls the victor’s column down with him That crowns it, hear. Who causest the safe earth to shudder and gape, And gulf and flatten in her closing chasm Domed cities, hear. Whose lava-torrents blast and blacken a province To a cinder, hear. Whose winter-cataracts find a realm and leave it A waste of rock and ruin, hear. I call thee To make my marriage prosper to my wish! CHORUS. Artemis, Artemis, hear her, Ephesian Artemis! CAMMA. Artemis, Artemis, hear me, Galatian Artemis! I call on our own Goddess in our own Temple. CHORUS. Artemis, Artemis, hear her, Galatian Artemis! [_Thunder. All rise._ SYNORIX (_aside_). Thunder! Ay, ay, the storm was drawing hither Across the hills when I was being crown’d. I wonder if I look as pale as she? CAMMA. Art thou—still bent—on marrying? SYNORIX. Surely—yet These are strange words to speak to Artemis. CAMMA. Words are not always what they seem, my King. I will be faithful to thee till thou die.