floating drapery of blue, and playing on a golden lyre, the cloud in the meantime closing under her, and furnishing her with a throne. Ceasing to play, she begins to descend very slowly towards the left hand of Liberty, and again passing her hand across the strings with a hasty prelude, and then waving it commandingly in the air, a concert seems to pour in from all quarters, till it swells into a complete pomp of harmony, the whole closing as the cloud finally mingles with that of Liberty, and Music has taken her seat.

Lib. Circler of the ear with bliss,
Sweetest Goddess, thanks for this!
Now for the eye's rich artifice.

THE SECOND SONG OF PEACE.

Oh many-blushing beauty, born

Of Iris and the Prince of Morn,

PAINTING, Vision's choice completeness,

With sweepy shape, and summer lips,

And hand, that into roses dips

It's careless-playing finger tips,

Contrasting sweetness;

O wheresoe'er thou look'st from air,

Shaping the clouds that purple there,

Or shedding landscapes in the fountains,
Or shewing sights of tow'r and tree

In fairy mirror o'er the sea

Of wonder-eyed Parthenope,

And her red mountains;

O sparkler of the sapphire sphere,

Visit us here!

CHORUS.

Earth is worthy now of thee,

And only waits thy brilliancy.

The cloud, on which the celestial visitors are sitting, is suddenly tinged about with the prismatic colours, and a rainbow half appearing towards the side, and pitching it's tip on the right of Liberty, PAINTING is seen in a mixed habit of purple and yellow, gliding down over it on another cloud. She makes an obeisance to Liberty, and keeps in motion a hand-mirror, which

at first only throws out a vanishing light on the objects below, like a jack-o'-lantern, but upon being raised a little higher and held steadily opposite to the horizon in the back-ground, suddenly reflects upon that quarter a clear and exact representation of the whole scene, only rendered more beautiful and gorgeous. Then turning her glass again, the picture vanishes, and having by this time descended, she takes her seat on the right of Liberty, the rainbow relapsing into air.

Lib. Filler of the eye with bliss,
Brightest Goddess, thanks for this!
Now for the thought's free artifice.

THE THIRD SONG OF PEACE.

O best Enchantress, unconfin'd,
Full of all the Mighty Mind,-
Lustrous forehead laurel-leav'd,
Whom Psyche of her Love conceiv'd
In the voicefull, golden house,
When first he came mysterious

O spare us from addressing thee,

All accomplished POETRY,

And turning quick eye, deep and clear,
Glance thee down here!

CHORUS.

Earth is worthy now of thee,

And only waits thy witchery.

A sudden flash of radiance with sweet sounds and perfumes, and to the transport of the beholders, who all start forward except Liberty, Poetry breaks at once from out the air, lying as it were upon her wings, and looking with bright-eyed earnestness upon the scene. She is in a robe of carnation or flesh colour, scarfed with green, her wings like the bird of Paradise, her head crowned with laurel and surmounted by a lambent fire, and a magic wand in her hand. After a moment's pause, during which those who had risen reseat themselves, she takes off her crown with an obeisance to Liberty, and then replacing it, and calling up, with a motion of her wand, a portion of the cloud

underneath her, reclines in a noble attitude, and recites to an accompaniment of unseen harps the following

verses ;

From isles that streak the mellowing west,
And enclosing bowers of rest,
By whose doors pellucid streams
Break on pebbled pearl in beams,
Hither with a thought am I

At call of Peace and Liberty.
There I left on rosy beds
The poets with their laurell'd heads,
Who when on earth gave happy voice
To Truth and Right, and now rejoice
Each with her he lov'd the best,
Pleasure-eyed, in perfect rest,

Till by length of lovely deeds,

Such as mortal guess exceeds,

Both earn them wings, and hand in hand

Start for still diviner land.

There too on appointed days,

Their opening ears discern the praise,