Arethuse monologue (Act 2) — Proserpine and Midas

Sit, Goddess, Upon this mossy bank, beneath the shade Of this tall rock, and I will tell my tale. The day you lost your child, I left my source. With my Alpheus I had wandered down The sloping shore into the sunbright sea; And at the coast we paused, watching the waves Of our mixed waters dance into the main:— When suddenly I heard the thundering tread Of iron hoofed steeds trampling the ground, And a faint shriek that made my blood run cold. I saw the King of Hell in his black car, And in his arms he bore your fairest child, Fair as the moon encircled by the night,— But that she strove, and cast her arms aloft, And cried, “My Mother!”—When she saw me near She would have sprung from his detested arms, And with a tone of deepest grief, she cried, “Oh, Arethuse!” I hastened at her call— But Pluto when he saw that aid was nigh, Struck furiously the green earth with his spear, Which yawned,—and down the deep Tartarian gulph His black car rolled—the green earth closed above.