Chthonoe

From my heart a cry-- Send me back, Goddess, ere I die To those dear places and clean things-- To see my people, feel the wings Of the gray night fold over me, And touch my mother's knees, and be Her child, as long ago I was Before I lay burning in Ilios!

[They hide their faces in their knees. Then one by one they sing.]

Let me sing an old sweet air, Mother of Argos, to Thee, For hope in my heart is fair As light on the hills seen from afar at sea; And my weary eyes turn there As to the haven where my soul would be.