PANTHEA
  The past Hours weak and gray,
  With the spoil which their toil
  Raked together
  From the conquest but One could foil.

IONE
  Have they passed?

PANTHEA
  They have passed;
  They outspeeded the blast,
  While 't is said, they are fled!

IONE
  Whither, oh, whither?

PANTHEA
  To the dark, to the past, to the dead.

VOICE OF UNSEEN SPIRITS
  Bright clouds float in heaven,
  Dew-stars gleam on earth,