Julian.
Hear and bethink you, you others
Agathon.
[To the prisoners.] Choose between Christ and the Emperor!
The Prisoners.
Glory to God in the highest!
Julian.
Terrible is the Galilean's power of delusion. It must be broken. Pass them by, the abominable crew! They cloud our gladness; they darken the day with their brooding death-hunger!—Flute-players—men, women—why are you silent? A song—a song in praise of life, and light, and happiness.
The Procession of Apollo.
[Sings.
Gladsome with roses our locks to entwine;
Gladsome to bathe in the sunlight divine!
The Procession of Prisoners.
Blissful to sleep 'neath the blood-reeking sod;
Blissful to wake in the gardens of God.
The Procession of Apollo.
Gladsome 'mid incense-clouds still to draw breath.
The Procession of Prisoners.
Blissful in blood-streams to strangle to death.
The Procession of Apollo.
Ever for him who his godhead adoreth
Deep draughts of rapture Apollo outpoureth.
