sound of distant and grand music, the other cloud, turning to a silvery hue, moves into the former's place over the city, and separates into four bright globes, on each of which sits a Genius, with one hand holding a thunderbolt carelessly on the thigh, and in the other lifting an olive-branch. They descend gradually into the city, amidst the far-off sound of bells and artillery.

2d Shep. More wonders' yet :-we three will first

return

To the anxious hearts that wait us in the wood,

Then join you in the city. Away, away!

(Exeunt severally.)

SCENE THE THIRD.

A PLEASURE-GROUND in the suburbs of a great city laid out in a natural stile with wood and turf, the spires and domes appearing over the trees toward the side, and the view opening to the western horizon in front.

Mabiel. Every thing. All spots admired

Have I plied my wings about

To find the best and greenest out,

And on this have fixed at last,

Where the meddling eastern blast

Through the myrtle and the bay

Shall not force his knify way

To nip the sides and shrug the shoulders Of our Lady's fair beholders.

Over all the beds and bowers

Have I broke my softest showers;
And the nearer breath of Spring

Is all that's wanting now to bring
Courage to their blossoming.
Look behind; for by the humming

Of the bees, I think she's coming.

}

Phan. Yes,-and is at hand already.

Scarcely can I keep me steady

For her wanton fays and elves,

Who'd have me dancing like themselves. Wags, be off; for though I'm free

As suits a sprite of Liberty,

You nor all your Lady's beauty

Must beguile me from my duty.

Mabiel, she's passing now.

Goddess of the sparkling brow,

Rosy lip, and springing bosom,

Please thee with all whitest blossom,
Warmest bud and coolest green,
To enrich this destined scene,
Where to-day our Lady great,

Liberty's to hold her state.

(A short flourish of flutes:—the voice of Spring is heard.)

Spring. Spirit, I have heard it all,

And shall add my service small
To content thy queen victorious,
Though herself is all that's glorious.
But I play not the bestower;

'Tis a gladsome task I owe her;
For without her what were I?

She it is that makes my sky

Happy to the eye that sweeps it,
And my bow'r to him that keeps it,

And my air to him that takes it,

And my verse to him that makes it.

Breathe I on the buds below

Warmth to set the prisoners free,
Peeping red from flow'r and tree;
And I shall have parted hence
Scarce a moment, ere thy sense
Fill with odours, rich and soft,
Which their young lips vent aloft.
Thank me not; I must be going
Now, my Joys, your music blowing,

Set the breeze, that wafts me, flowing..

Soft pipes going off to the gentle bowing of the trees, whose blossoms in the mean while spread forth. Spring and her train are seen to float over at a little distance.

Mab. Ha! you have petition'd well,

Frank and fine-voic'd Phaniel!

All around me start, and spread,

Bowering blossoms, white and red,
Some in frills and curious frets,

And some in cups and coronets,