Or in graver mood take wing

Beyond the bounds of every thing,

And look in, with half-check'd sight,
On the unform'd infinite,

Where with his eternal ear

Time is listening.-Mortals dear,

Think on all I've done and said,

And keep my blessings on your head.

Here the great cloud, on which Liberty is seated, begins to disengage itself from the others,-Peace and the rest of the Goddesses joining in a

All the sounds of lofty pleasure,
Pipes of deep continuous blow,

Fuming ventage, stately bow,

Ivory dint of dancing fingers,

Touch that leaves, and voice that lingers,
Hands that plunge in panting wires,—

Till our own full voice aspires

To attend our sovereign Queen,

With vows and lifted looks between,

Up into the blue serene.

The cloud begins to rise with Liberty and her attendant spirits, and all the spectators burst into the

FINAL CHORUS.

O dear Goddess, wherever we are,

We'll never forget thee, we'll never forget thee;

Spots may come over our mortal star,

But a light must remain upon all who have met thee. Rise, rise,

To thine airy skies,

With the bliss of good deeds in thy bosom and eyes.

Thou hast taught us a lesson our children shall learn, And made the homes happy to which we return.

[Exeunt Omnes.

EPILOGUE.

POETA LOQUITUR.

"Tis done. The vision from my fancy's eye
Fades, gleam by gleam, into the closing sky;
And the far sounds, touching from sphere to sphere
With upward lessening, baffle the fix'd ear.

But not directly does the earthly chain,

That holds me here, come closing round again;
Not instantly the darkening wall comes nigh;
The brighten'd spot yet breathes of Liberty;
The fine and holier circle charms me still,
Drawn by the quickness of the Muse's quill;
And Silence, listening as at dead of night,
Sits with her finger up, hushing Delight.

C. H. Reynell, Printer, 21, Piccadilly, London.

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