st all resolves of Fate.

HELENA

As phantom I myself, to him a phantom bound;
A dream it was--thus e'en the very words declare.
I faint, and to myself a phantom I become.
[She sinks into the arms of the semi-chorus._]

CHORUS

Silence! Silence!
False seeing one, false speaking one, thou!
Through thy horrible, single-tooth'd lips,
Ghastly, what exhaleth
From such terrible loathsome gulf!
For the malignant one, kindliness feigning,
Rage of wolf 'neath the sheep's woolly fleece,
Far more terrible is unto me than
Jaws of the hound three-headed.
Anxiously watching stand we here:
When? How? Where of such malice
Bursteth the tempest
From this deep-lurking brood of Hell?
Now, 'stead of friendly words, freighted with comfort,
Lethe-bestowing, gracious and mild,
Thou art summoning from times departed,
Thoughts of the past most hateful,
Overshadowing not alone
All sheen gilding the present,
Also the future's
Mildly glimmering light of hope.

Silence! Silence!
That fair Helena's soul,
Ready e'en now to take flight,
Still may keep, yea firmly keep
The form of all forms, the loveliest,
Ever illumined of old by the sun.

[HELENA _has revived, and again stands in the midst._]

* * * * *

(_The scene is entirely changed. Close arbors recline against a series
of rocky caverns. A shady grove extends to the base of the encircling
rocks_. FAUST _and_ HELENA _are not seen. The_ CHORUS _lies sleeping,
scattered here and there_.)

PHORKYAS

How long these maids have slept, in sooth I cannot tell;
Or whether they have dreamed what I before mine eyes
Saw bright and clear, to me is equally unknown.
So wake I them. Amazed the younger folks shall be,
Ye too, ye bearded ones, who sit below and wait,
Hoping to see at length these miracles resolved.
Arise! Arise! And shake quickly your crisped locks!
Shake slumber from your eyes! Blink not, and list to me!

CHORUS

Only speak, relate, and tell us, what of wonderful hath chanced!
We more willingly shall hearken that which we cannot believe;
For we are aweary, weary, gazing on these rocks around.

PHORKYAS

Children, how, already weary, though you scarce have rubbed your eyes?
Hearken then! Within these caverns, in these grottoes, in these bowers,
Shield and shelter have been given, as to lover-twain idyllic,
To our lord and to our lady--

CHORUS
How, within there?

PHORKYA