no other but Semele's name! The gods from the heavens shall even descend, And before thee their knees in deep homage shall bend, While mortals in silent submission abide The will of the giant-destroyer's loved bride; And when distant years shall see Thy last hour—     SEMELE. (Springing up, and falling on her neck.)            Oh, Beroe! JUNO. Then a tablet white shall bear This inscription graven there:       Here is worshipped Semele! Who on earth so fair as she? She who from Olympus' throne Lured the thunder-hurler down! She who, with her kisses sweet, Laid him prostrate at her feet! And when fame on her thousand wings bears it around, The echo from valley and hill shall resound. SEMELE. (Beside herself.)      Pythia! Apollo! Hear! When, oh when will he appear? JUNO. And on smoking altars they Rites divine to thee shall pay—     SEMELE. (Inspired.)       I will harken to their prayer, And will drive away their care,—    Quench with my tears the lightning of great Jove, His breast to pity with entreaty move! JUNO. (Aside.)    Poor thing! that wilt thou ne'er have power to do. (Meditating.)    Ere long will melt . . . yet—yet—she called me ugly!—    No pity only when in Tartarus!                          (To Semele.)    Fly now, my love! Make haste to leave this spot, That Zeus may not observe thee—Let him wait Long for thy coming, that he with more fire May languish for thee—     SEMELE. Beroe! The heavens Have chosen thee their mouthpiece! Happy I! The gods from Olympus shall even descend, And before me their knees in deep homage shall bend, While mortals in silent submission abide—    But hold!—'tis time for me to haste away!                      [Exit hurriedly. JUNO. (Looking after her with exultation.)    Weak, proud, and easily-deluded woman! His tender looks shall be consuming fire—    His kiss, annihilation—his embrace, A raging tempest to thee! Human frames Are powerless to endure the dreaded presence Of him who wields the thunderbolt on high!                   (With raving ecstasy.)    Ha! when her waxen mortal body melts Within the arms of him, the fire-distilling, As melts the fleecy snow before the heat Of the bright sun—and when the perjured one In place of his soft tender bride, embraces A form of terror—with what ecstasy Shall I gaze downwards from Cithaeron's height, Exclaiming, so that in his hand the bolt Shall quake: "For shame, Saturnius! Fie, for shame! What need is there for thee to clasp so roughly?"                        [Exit hastily.              (A Symphony.) 

             SCENE II. The Hall as 

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