[So enraptured is he by the images before him that he notices not how her eyes grow sodden with tears unshed like bruised storm clouds that do not give up their rain.]

The gallant son of Menoetius...his name I have heard spoken, yes, the dear friend of my father. He is much esteemed by the Achaeans for his deeds in the bloody jaws of battle.

[At last he lifts his eyes to Sieglinde, this girl so delicate in appearance despite the grime of battle marring her beauty.]

And who are you, who knows my father as I never shall? This question you never answered.