V.

Where'er thou art, enchanting maid,
Thou foon wilt fmile in Harewood's fhade:
Soon will thy fairy feet be seen,
Printing this dew-impearled green;
Soon fhall we mark thy gestures meek,
Thy glitt'ring eye, and dimpled cheek,
What time thou feek'ft, with willing hafte,
Thy lovelieft throne, ELFRIDA's breaft.
There feated on that iv'ry shrine,

Where all the Loves and Graces lye,

With them your hands fhall mutual chaplets twine, And weave immortal wreaths of peace and joy.

VIr

And, hark, compleating our prophetic strain,
The fleet hoof rattles o'er the flinty plain;
Now nearer, and now nearer founds.

Avaunt! ye vain, delufive fears.

Hark! Echo tells thro' Harewood's ampleft bounds, That Love, Content, and ATHELWOLD appears.

CHORUS III.

ON CONSTAN Ç Y..

I.

Whence does this sudden luftre rife,

That gilds the grove? not like the noon-time beam Which sparkling dances on the trembling stream, Nor the blue lightning's flafh fwift-shooting thro'

the skies.

But fuch a folemn steady light,

As oe'r the cloudlefs azure fteals,

When CYNTHIA riding on the brow of night,
Stops in their mid career her filver wheels.

II.

Whence can it rife but from the fober pow'r
Of CONSTANCY? fhe, heav'n-born queen
Descends, and in this* woodbine-vested bower
Fixes her ftedfast reign:

Stedfaft, as when her high command

Gives to the starry band

Their radiant stations in heav'n's ample plain.

* In which ATHELWOLD and ELFRIDA had been juft exchanging profeffions of their mutual fidelity.

Stedfaft, as when around this nether sphere,
She winds the purple year.

Tells what time the fnow-drop cold
Its maiden whitenefs may unfold,
When the golden harvest bend,
When the ruddy fruits descend.
Then bids pale Winter wake to pour

The pearly hail's translucent fhow'r,

To caft his filv'ry mantle o'er the woods,
And bind in crystal chains the slumb'ring floods.

III.

The foul, which she infpires, has pow'r to climb
To all the heights fublime

Of Virtue's tow'ring hill.

That hill, at whofe low feet weak-warbling strays The fcanty stream of human praise,

A fhallow trickling rill.

While on the fummits hov'ring angels fhed,
From their bleft pinions, the nectareous dews,
Of rich immortal Fame: from these the mufe
Oft fteals fome precious drops, and blends with art
With those the lower ftreams impart ;
Then show'rs it all on some high-favor'd head.
But thou, ELFRIDA, claim'ft the genuine dew;
Thy worth demands it all,

Pure, and unmixt on thee the facred drops fhall fall.

CHORUS IV.

ATHELWOLD SUSPECTS THE CONSTANCY OF ELFRIDA.

I.

Say, will no white-rob'd son of light,
Swift-darting from his heav'nly height,

Here deign to take his hallow'd stand;
Here wave his amber locks, unfold
His pinions cloath'd with downy gold;
Here fmiling ftretch his tutelary wand?

And you, ye hoft of faints, for ye have known
Each dreary path in life's perplexing maze,
Tho' now ye circle yon eternal throne
With harpings high of inexpreffive praise,
Will not your train defcend in radiant ftate,
To break with Mercy's beam this gathering cloud
of fate?

II.

'Tis filence all. No fon of light Darts fwiftly from his heav'nly height.

No train of radiant faints defcend.

"Mortals, in vain ye hope to find,

"If guilt, if fraud have ftain'd your mind, "Or faint to hear, or angel to defend."

Р

So Truth proclaims. I hear the facred found Burst from the centre of the burning throne. Where aye fhe fits with ftar-wreath luftre crown'd,

A bright fun clasps her adamantine zone.

So Truth proclaims: her awful voice I hear, With many a folemn pause it slowly meets my ear. III.

Attend, ye fons of men; attend, and say," Does not enough of my refulgent ray

Break thro' the veil of your mortality!

Say does not reason in this form defcry Unnumber'd, nameless glorics, that furpafs The Angel's floating pomp, the Seraph's glowing

grace?

IV.

Shall then your earth-born daughters vie
With me? Shall fhe, whose brighteft eye
But emulate's the diamond's blaze,
Whose bofom mocks the fleecy fnow,
Whose cheek the rofe's damask glow,

Whose melting voice the warbling woodlark's lays;
Shall he be deem'd my rival? * Shall a form
Of elemental drofs, of mould'ring clay,

Vie with thefe charms imperial? The poor worm Shall prove her conteft vain. Life's little day

*

ATHELWOLD had been guilty of a lye, that he might poffefs ELFRIDA.