113
Theonöe.(Wildly):
O Julian, your life was like a cup
For worship or libation master-chas'd,
Brimming with wine, held upward to the sky
Golden, and goldener gilded of the sun,
That now dips down to darkness and the deep,
Slipp'd from the hold of an uncareful hand
Lost to this light, and sunken in the sea.
(Asclepiades tries to silence her; failing, he retires into the Temple right.)
(Addresses the Image of Apollo.)
And this you suffer, O Effeminate God,
In chorick garment woman-like arrayed!
By your own music's beauty rapt and whelm'd,
Your lips half-parted, softly in a sigh,
Tranc'd by the passion of your lonely lyre,
Sole with your song within a world of dream
Where wakes alone your melody, and you!
