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Here is the Goddess that shall grant your wish,
Our Lady Artemis.
Agläia:
The boy is craz'd
Poor child, with over much devotion.
I will indulge him.
Ion.(Dreamily to himself):
She commun'd with me,
Last night in vision that was not a dream.
Bending she kissed me, calling me her child,
Promising me that I should be with her
Before her crescent waxed to full of moon.
Agläia.(Tenderly):
Ah, gentle Boy, I'll pray a grace of her.
I would my dove would wing again to me,
My coral-footed snowy-throated dove,
Whose ruby eyes would mark my home-coming,
Whose croon relieved my labour at the loom.
