SPIRIT.

Virgin, daughter of Locrine, Sprung of old Anchises' line, 47

48

May thy brimméd waves for this

Their full tribute never miss

From a thousand petty rills,

That tumble down the snowy hills :
Summer drouth, or singéd air,

Never scorch thy tresses fair,

Nor wet October's torrent flood

Thy molten crystal fill with mud:
May thy billows roll ashore

The beryl, and the golden ore;

May thy lofty head be crowned.

With many a tower and terrace round,

And here and there thy banks 49

With groves

upon

of myrrh and cinnamon.

Come, lady, while Heaven lends us grace,

Let us fly this cursed place,

Lest the sorcerer us entice

With some other new device.

Not a waste or needless sound

Till we come to holier ground;

I shall be your faithful guide

Through this gloomy covert wide;
And not many furlongs thence

Is your father's residence,

Where this night are met in state

Many a friend to gratulate

His wished presence; and, beside,
All the swains that near abide,

With jigs and rural dance resort:
We shall catch them at their sport ;
And our sudden coming there

Will double all their mirth and cheer.

Come, let us haste, the stars grow high,

But Night sits monarch yet in the mid sky.

[The scene changes, presenting Ludlow town and the PRESIDENT's castle; then come in country dancers; after them the ATTENDANT SPIRIT, with the two BROTHERS and the LADY.]

Song.

SPIRIT.

Back, shepherds, back! enough your play,

Till next sunshine holiday:

With the mincing Dryades,

On the lawns, and on the leas.50

[This second Song presents them to their Father and Mother.]

Noble lord, and lady bright,

I have brought ye new delight;
Here behold, so goodly grown,
Three fair branches of your own;

Heaven hath timely tried their youth,

Their faith, their patience, and their truth,
And sent them here through hard assays

With a crown of deathless praise,

To triumph in victorious dance

O'er sensual Folly and Intemperance.

[The dances ended, the SPIRIT epiloguises.]

SPIRIT.

To the ocean now I fly,5 51
And those happy climes that lie
Where Day never shuts his eye,
Up in the broad fields of the sky :