University of Virginia Library

SCENE THE THIRD.

A pleasure-ground in the suburbs of a great city laid out in a natural style 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.
Voice of a Spirit in the air.
Mabiel!

Voice of another Spirit out of the trees.
Who calls?

Phaniel.
'Tis I,
Here—two lark-ascensions high,
Watching tow'rds the sunny sea
To tell the approach of Liberty.
Have you done what she desired?

Mabiel.
Every thing. All spots admired
Have I plied my wings about
To find the best and greenest out,
And on this have fix'd 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.
Doubly therefore, as I go,
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.

Phan.
Come along, and share my view.

Mabiel flies up across the scene, whisking his coloured wings in the sunshine.
The same scene. Enter the Three Shepherds with Eunomus and Myrtilla.
1st Shep.
Now, Sir, rest here,—upon this shady bank.

Eun.
I will:—this heavenly season, and the sight
Of my Myrtilla's face against the sun
Touch'd with a morning eagerness, inspired me
Beyond my strength. (Sits down.)
I should apologize
Once more for thus—

2d Shep.
Pray, Sir, think well of us,
We'll take the balmy welcome of the spot.

1st Shep.
'Tis one not to be hurried from.

Eun.
Well, well,
My manly friends, I know what you think requisite
To your true pleasures, and shall not dispute.
'Tis a sweet spot.

2d Shep.
And with a lady in it
Wants no perfection. We have come, I think,
Through nothing but sweet spots from first to last.
What think you, Madam? Those are not sad tears
That flash above your smiling.

Myrt.
Tears of joy, Sir,
To see the world with such a happy look.
May you be happy all.

2d Shep.
(Aside to the others.)
She thinks a moment
Of her lost kindred,—but in what a spirit!

1st Shep.
O yes,—her heart is full, but love for all
Swims at the top, and helps to shake these tears
Over the brim.

Myrt.
(To Eunomus.)
Now you will smile at me,
And so would our friends too, but that they're younger
And cannot yet afford to look such truths
At a fair lady,—but you've heard me, Sir,
In my young fancy picture out a world,
Such as our present-timed, unfinal eyes,
Knowing but what they see,—and not even that,—
Might gather from the best of what's before them,
Leaving out evil as a vexing thorn,
Whose use they know not;—

2d Shep.
Such a world, you say,
This change appears!

Myrt.
I do; it seems to me,
In it's fresh whisper, and delighted eye,
And all this burst of out-o'-door enjoyment,
Just like a new creation,—Spring and Summer
Married, and Winter dead to be no more.
Was ever so much horror, at the best,
Follow'd by such a time,—change, wonderous change
In what has busied all your talk by the way,
And with it all this luxury,—flowers, blossoms,
And heaps of leafiness on every side
About and overhead, with beams between,
And quick-voiced birds that steep the trees in music,
Green fields, and crystal waters, and blue skies,
With here and there a little harmless cloud
That only wants a visible cherub on it
To ride its silver;—happy human beings
O'ertaking us meantime at every step
With smile that cannot help itself, and turning,
As they pass quick, with greeting of the day,
Exchanging blessedness:—Oh Sir, Oh father,
There's such a look of promise all about us,
A smile so bidding, something that almost
Seems to say yes to what the tip-toe heart,
Hanging on Nature's neck, would ask of her,
Even to the raising of a buried joy,
That I could fancy—but—forgive me, pray,
For talking of those things.

Eun.
Talk on, my child,
And let the young hope, that is natural
Both to thy age and sweetness, come about thee.
Me too the season moves—What said you, Sir?
(Catching hold of a Shepherd's arm.)
My senses quicken at the name you spoke,
Or else I'm losing them.

3d Shep.
I saw a figure,
Leaping the stile just now 'twixt yonder trees,
Whom, if I make not miserable error,
Was your son Philaret—

1st Shep.
This lady's husband,—
I saw him too—there!—darting through the limes.

2d Shep.
And there!—he knows us, and makes joyful sign
With a wild arm;—nay, Sir, you need not rise,—
Do not;—dear lady too—

Myrt.
Tis he! 'Tis he!
Risen out of buried thousands to come back to us!

Enter Philaret rushing towards his father, and kneeling under his embrace, his arm at the same time clasping his wife.
Eun.
My boy!—What then escaped!—alive once more!—
Come to lay smooth my old locks, ere I die!

3d Shep.
(Aside.)
Mark how his hand quivers and slips about
To grasp his son all close to him.

2d Shep.
Hush, hush;
It is a sight to make our joy complete.

Phil.
(Still kneeling.)
Let me see both your faces—both at once;—
Oh, I see how it was,—you thought me dead,
And so!—

Myrt.
But now! Oh now!

Eun.
Ay, this quits all;—
Yes, all;—I have not, cannot cease to think
Of others, but I'm grateful,—and a joy
Despair'd of comes to us like Heaven's own message
To bid us be content.—And yet I've wanted not
An angel with me:—ay, my boy, do thank her;—
She need not turn from you, as she was wont
To do from me sometimes, her watery cheek;
Or manage, with a lovely, pale pretence
Of unconcern, to draw from out your sight
The ring that slips upon her wasted finger.

Phil.
Did she do so? Did you do thus, my best
And tenderest heart,—my wife?—May Heaven for this,
If only this, bring out that cheek again
Into it's dimpled outline,—Heaven for this
Cool the dear hand I grasp with health and peace,
Bless thee in body and mind, in home and husband,—
And when old age, reverencing thy looks
In all it can, comes with his gentle withering,
Some thin and ruddy streaks still lingering on thee,
May it, unto the last, keep thee thy children,
Full-number'd round about thee, to supply
With eyes, feet, voice, and arms, and happy shoulders
Thy thoughts, and wishes, books, and leaning-stocks,
And make the very yielding of thy frame
Delightful for their propping it.—Come, come,
We will have no more tears.—My old companions,
Generous, I see, as ever, pray forgive me;
I had not overlook'd you, but for these;
And now for these, as well as for old times,
My hand must grapple with you. Ah, Damætas,
You've not forgotten your old shake, I find,—
The cordial crush that used to lay one's hand up.

3d Shep.
Pray take it, Sir, for all the shakes I owe you.

2d Shep.
And now we'll leave, Sir, to your better keeping
Our happy friends:—we had not staid thus long,
But that we fear'd you might have thought us careless.

Phil.
Nay, if you go, you'll only come again;
For as I heard, the pomps were just prepared
To leave the city, and strike hereabouts.

Flourish of a pipe in the air;—the voice of Phaniel is heard.
Ambriel, Ambriel, brother scout,
O'er the city looking out,
I discern above the sea
Light, that dawns for you and me,
Of our mistress Liberty.
Shoot your slender voice below,
And let the pomps and triumphs know.

Flourish of a distant pipe; and after a little pause, grand music approaching from the city. Enter the foremost part of the crowd of spectators on each side of the scene, congratulations passing between them; when suddenly, in the midst of the coming music, and to the attraction of all eyes, a purple light rises in the west, with winged cherubs touching away the little coloured clouds on either side; and the figure of Liberty is seen advancing on her cloud of silver. The acclamations of the crowd suddenly burst into a
Chorus.
O Goddess dear, our hearts leap up before thee,
And on our feet like men, we best adore thee!

By this time the cloud has descended to the back of the front scene, the cherubs seating themselves playfully about it, with Phaniel and Mabiel. The music, which seemed about to enter, suddenly ceases, and Liberty speaks:—
Well met, my friends! After long centuries
The unprison'd airs here freshen once again,
And feel as they were fit for hearts and eyes
To breathe and sparkle in. You thank me nobly.
Now let the doers of my glorious work,
Those Spirits of the Nations, whom I taught
The way to conquer for themselves and you,
Come in their pride before me, and receive
The crowning thanks I owe them.
A blast of trumpets. The music strikes up into a Prussian march, and one of the four Genii, or Spirits of the Nations, who overthrew the Enchanter, enters in a low chariot sculptured with instruments of war, and formed after the fashion of those in Homer, that is to say, a mere shell for a standing-place, open at the back, and drawn by a couple of white palfreys. He is habited in a short girdled vest, leaving his arms, knees, and throat naked, with a head of manly curls, a star gleaming on his forehead, and two large and dark wings at his shoulders,—altogether presenting the appearance of an angel in the bloom of manhood,—immortal spirits not being outwardly touched, like men, by the cares of their respective employments. On the front edge of his car is an eagle carved in ebony. Liberty, as he stops in passing, presents him with a crown of laurel, which he holds in his hands while she addresses him:—
Genius of a suffering land,
Whom the curst Enchanter's hand
Vex'd with bonds and worse disdain,
Well have you dash'd off your chain,—
Well have you repaid him now,
And must wear a laurell'd brow
Of a grace and of a hue,
Such as Conquest's merer crew
Never could have won for you.
Only when you take to wing,
And return to governing,
Recollect for those you rule,
What you learnt in Sorrow's school,
And acquaint their homes with me,
Triumph-teaching Liberty.
Seat you now in well-earn'd state,
While the pomps we celebrate.

The Genius here gracefully making an obeisance moves on towards the side-scene, and then, quitting his chariot, which is borne away, turns round and ascends for his throne a portion of the cloud, which the cherubs roll off for that purpose. When he is seated, he puts on his crown, and Mabiel proclaims,—
So our Goddess, wise and free,
Wills that every crown should be:—
This is the true sovereignty.

Trumpets as before:—an Austrian march;—enter a similar Genius in a car sculptured with instruments of war and music, a silver eagle standing on the front edge. Liberty in the same manner presents him with a crown, and addresses him:—
Genius of a suffering land,
Whom the curst Enchanter's hand
Pluck'd from your old towering height,
Well have you return'd to light!—
Well have you repaid him now,
And must wear a laurell'd brow
Of a grace and of a hue,
Such as Conquest's merer crew
Never could have won for you.
Only this remember well
For your surest counter-spell,—
'Tis not age and height alone
Can secure the staidest throne
From the reach of Change or Death,—
But an eye to all beneath,
And an air kept pure for me
Life-supplying Liberty.
Seat you now in well-earn'd state,
While the pomps we celebrate.

The Genius takes his seat by the side of the preceding one, and puts on his laurel, upon which Phaniel proclaims,—
So our Goddess, wise and free,
Wills that every crown should be:—
This is the true sovereignty.

Trumpets as before:—a Russian march;—enter a similar Genius in a car of crystal ice sculptured with instruments of war and with scaffolded cities, a golden eagle standing on the front edge. Liberty presents him with the crown, and addresses him:—
Genius of a rising land,
Whom the foil'd Enchanter's hand
Reach'd but to recoil with pain,
Well have you repulsed his chain!—
Well have you repaid him now,
And must wear a laurell'd brow
Of a grace and of a hue,
Such as Conquest's merer crew
Never could have won for you.
Would you make it nobler still?—
There's a land was heap'd with ill
By sinning pow'rs that ruled before you,
Whose repentant pains implore you,
Joining with this free-voiced season,
And your own asserted reason,
To restore it. Do,—and blest
For this good deed and all the rest;
Be esteem'd; and may the ray
Which you have help'd to clear away,
Stretch into your distant sphere,
Without the storms that brought it here.
Seat you now in well-earn'd state,
While the pomps we celebrate.

The Genius here moves round the scene, so as to return to the side at which he entered, and seats himself opposite to the preceding one; then putting on his laurel, Mabiel proclaims:—
So our Goddess, wise and free,
Wills that every crown should be:—
This is the true sovereignty.

Trumpets as before:—‘Britons, strike home;’—enter a similar Genius, but with a laurel already on his head, and a halo of light also about it. He is in a car sculptured with emblems of all the arts, a golden lion standing on the front edge. Liberty smilingly spreads forth her hand at his approach, and addresses him:—
Genius of a glorious land,
Whom the vex'd Enchanter's hand
Never yet could venture near,
Spell-bound with a marble fear,
(For he felt a strange impression
From your eyes' free self-possession,
And the ring of watery light
Rippling round your forehead white,)
Long have you my laurels worn;
And though some under leaves be torn
Here and there, yet what remains
Still it's pointed green retains,
And still an easy shade supplies
To your calm-kept, watchful eyes.
Only would you keep it bright'ning,
And it's power to shake the light'ning
Harmless down it's glossy ears,
Suffer not so many years
To try what they can bend and spoil,
But oftener in it's native soil
Let the returning slip renew
It's upward sap and equal hue;
And wear it then, with glory shaded,
Till the spent earth itself be faded.
Seat you now in your old state,
While the pomps we celebrate.

The Genius here rides round the scene like the former one, and then takes his seat opposite to the one that entered first, so as to be the nearest on the right hand of Liberty; upon which Phaniel proclaims,—
So our Goddess, wise and free,
Wills that every crown should be:—
This is the true sovereignty.

A flourish of concluding music from the Genii. Liberty speaks:—
Phaniel and Mabiel, sparkling servants mine,
You know what blessing we must first invoke
From the clear sky. These noble Spirits here
Will join to charm her down. She is all heart,
Affectionate and quick, and only waits
A tender word to slip from heav'n with smiles.

Duet.— Phaniel and Mabiel sing.
O wrapping looks and balmy tongue,
Sweet as summer air through tree,
Remember'd when this age was young,
Like sights beheld in infancy,—
O Peace, whose very name's a pleasure,
Re-appear
To bless us here,
And light with silken foot upon our leisure!

First Genius
speaks.
By the last tear that hangs to day,
For thy kiss to clip away;

Second Genius.
By the toil of struggling hearts,
That rest them from their final parts;

Third Genius.
By hopes, that wait in rising lands
A blessing from thy gentle hands;

Fourth Genius.
By home-delights, and spirits free,
And one full sigh of earth and sea,
And victorious Liberty;

The two Spirits taking up the song again.
Re-appear! Re-appear!

Chorus of Spectators.
Earth is worthy to regain thee,
And hopes it may not always pain thee.

A pause of listening silence, and then an exquisite voice in the air:—
Greatest Goddess of our sphere,
Elves, and human beings dear,
I am here! I am here!

A descent of turtle doves, who sweep gently off in pairs on either side, and a couple of snowy feet are discerned treading the air, as it were, softly downwards. The whole figure soon appears, and a strain of flutes welcomes the arrival of Peace. She is habited in white like an angel, with dove-coloured wings, on which she comes hovering down, a sheep-bell hanging on one of the fingers of her right hand, and a wreath of olive and myrtle on her head. As she descends, she spreads her hands hither and thither with gestures of benediction, and alighting at the foot of Liberty, embraces her with upward-looking affection and reverence, taking her seat there in conclusion. The spectators stretch out their hands in an attitude of eager and mute worship.
Liberty.

Peace.
I obey; and thus commence
With one shall freshen unexerted sense.
She sings.

Chorus of Cherubs.
Earth is worthy now of thee,
And only waits thy harmony.

A sweet sound in the air, gradually descending, and growing louder, the winds themselves making a harmony as they swell among the trees. A cloud then appears from the top of the scene, and bursting open with a fullness of fine sounds, Music issues forth in a floating drapery of blue, and playing on a golden lyre, the cloud in the mean time 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.

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, unconfined,
Full of all the Mighty Mind,—
Lustrous forehead laurel-leaved,
Whom Psyche of her love conceived
In the voiceful, 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 loved 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,
And their far-off eyes the worth,
Of those whom they delight on earth,
Which all the while, by charm serene,
Is amply yet minutely seen
In the blue depths rolling green.
Then before me they appear,
Each with his divinest dear,
And in friendly zeal contend,
Which of all, to some great end
Of good and just, can raise to sight
Happiest visions of delight,
By themselves perhaps to be
After made reality.
But I may not fetch ye those.—
Come then, old poetic shows,
Shadows of abstracted things,
That with your different colourings
Have in different ages been
The pomp and service of your Queen;
And with ye come, to close your trains,
Those who ruled your several reigns,
And best disposed ye, or indued,
To charm the thought-struck multitude.

Here Poetry waves her wand, and several stately and gorgeous visions pass through the air, the actual back-ground of the scene changing with them. For the first, the back-ground changes into groves, temples, and mountains, such as those of Delphos and Parnassus; and a music striking up, consisting of pipes, lyres, and timbrels, with a smell of incense accompanying, there passes through the air a line of ancient deities, Jupiter, the Muses, Venus, Apollo, Mercury, Cupid and Psyche, &c. who, vanishing all at once, are succeeded by the forms of Homer, Pindar, Theocritus, and the Greek tragedians, all crowned with laurel, and seated on a cloud in chairs of marble.
These vanish in the same manner; the back-ground shifts into a delicious scene of gardens and palaces, with castles at intervals and spots of wildness; and the music, after a short and rustic amatory strain on the harp, changes into an ardent flourish of trumpets, when a vision, in two groups, of horse and horsemen appears, part riding with dignity, others with a lightsome ease, others with a forward or rearing eagerness. The horses are variously trapped, but the horsemen all mantled with red cloaks over their suits of armour; and by their banners are recognized, in the first group, King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table, Launcelot, Tristan, &c. and in the second, Charlemagne and his Peers, Roland, Rinaldo, and others. They are followed by bearded enchanters attired in long cloaks, and riding on griffins and other animals, with wands and books in their hands; when the whole suddenly vanishing are succeeded by the forms of Pulci, Ariosto, Tasso, and Spenser, crowned with laurel and seated on thrones of tapestry.
The back-ground then changes, for the third time, to an ethereal scene, in which hangs the Earth like a planet with the Moon moving round it; and to the sound of various and delightful music, a troop of fairies first cross the air with gestures of quaint pretension and tricksome loveliness,—then a company of ordinary human beings from the king to the peasant,—and then again, creatures of the fancy, Ariel, Caliban, Comus, &c. ending with the majestic but melancholy form of Satan, sailing along in a swarthy mist. These vanishing in their turn, are replaced by three Gothic seats, in which are enthroned the shapes of Chaucer, Shakspeare, and Milton, crowned with laurel, and holding globes in their hands,—the first a terrestrial, the third a celestial, and the second a double one of both. The whole then disappears; a tremulous and small music is heard as in conclusion: and while the original scene is returning in the back-ground, Poetry descends on the wing, and seats herself in a reclining posture, on an upper part of the cloud, a little behind the head of Liberty.
Lib.
Filler of deep thoughts with bliss,
Supplying what on earth we miss,
Finish'd Goddess, thanks for this!
She continues.
And now the two great blessings of the time,
Whom all may know,—the only true amenders,
The builders of glad homes,—let them appear,
And strike into our smiles security;—
Experience old the one, scar-cheek'd and sage,
Whose touch is thought;—the other a fresh knight,
Long tranced in Gothic sepulchre, now freed
And turn'd to youth again, whom this my champion,
The Genius with his ready-laurell'd hair,
Brought back to light victoriously, through crowds
Of grinning lumps and chattering enmities,
Who gnaw'd themselves for spite to view the arm
Should drive their ancient darkness,—Education.

Enter Experience crossing the stage, a troop of sorrowful spirits sailing before him, and another of joyful ones skimming after, the music shifting from grave to gay accordingly. He is a venerable figure, with a white uncovered head, a touchstone in one hand, a pilgrim's staff in the other, and wearing a grey robe over a suit of battered armour. As he goes by, he salutes Liberty with a gesture of benediction, the Goddess crossing her arms in return, and bending her pleased head in acknowledgment.
Education follows from the same side and in the same path; and is a smiling, manly youth, in a succinct habit, with a sheathed sword hanging behind him, and holding up in display a golden book, from which a light strikes on the faces of a troop of boys who precede him in babits of different colours, and who look back upon it as they go lightly along, holding each other's hands at arm's length. Two guardian angels follow on the wing, the one crowned with roses, the other bearing a light yoke on her neck, and resting her arm on her companion's shoulder, who turns affectionately to look at her. These are Pleasure and Duty.—As the youth passes, he bows his head reverently, and takes his benediction from Liberty, as she received hers from his fore-runner.
Lib.
These for the mind.—Now for the body's blessings,
Without whose help the over-conscious mind,
Prison'd from power of change, inhabits it
Like a sad spirit pent in his own wand,—
The thing which he should lightly bear about
For his free purposes. Summon them in,
Sweet Peace, and smoothe us with another song,
Then for my wisest contrast, and so finish.

The fourth Song of Peace.

Enter three rustic figures of Stout Heart, Toil, and Exercise, with a band of Reapers and Vine-gatherers, male and female,—the first a manly swain in corderoy with an oaken cudgel, the second in white with a fork over his shoulder, the third in green with a vaulting-staff, and buskined. The rest of the men have sickles and pruning-hooks at their side, handled like swords and hanging from sword-belts;—the women are in short white gowns with rose-coloured boddices, and straw hats with ribands. To them, overhead, enter Ceres, reclining on a horn of plenty, and gliding slowly along on a summer cloud. She is a plump and laughing figure, dressed in a loose green boddice, with bare shoulders, large auburn curls, and a crown of wheat. As she goes along, she makes joyful salutes to Peace and Liberty, and the back-ground breaks into golden fields of corn that wave in the sunshine, while vines run over a hill in the distance, and the trees in front are hung with them like garlands from bough to bough.
Trio and Chorus.

All joy to the giver of wine and of corn,
With her elbow at ease on her well-fill'd horn;
To the sunny cheek brown,
And the shady wheat crown,
And the ripe golden locks that come smelling of morn.

Stout Heart.
'Tis she in our veins that puts daily delight;

Toil.
'Tis she in our beds puts us kindly at night;

Exercise.
And taps at our doors in the morning bright.

Chorus.
Then joy to the giver, &c.


We'll sling on our flaskets, and forth with the sun,
With our trim-ancled yoke-fellows, every one;
We'll gather and reap
With our arm at a sweep,
And oh! for the dancing when all is done;

Exercise.
Yes, yes, we'll be up when the singing-bird starts;

Toil.
We'll level her harvests, and fill up her carts;

Stout Heart.
And shake off fatigue with our bounding hearts:

Chorus.
Then hey for the flaskets, &c.

By this time Ceres has crossed the scene; and a sunbeam suddenly striking down to the middle of it in front of Liberty, a lightsome figure with wings at her feet and shoulders comes rapidly tripping down it, and, taking a spring before she reaches the bottom, leaps into a graceful attitude of preparation.
Chorus
of a few voices male and female.
And see, to set us moving, here is Dancing here,
With the breezes at her ancles, and her winsome cheer,
With her in-and-out deliciousness, and bending ear;
Nay, trip it first awhile
To thine own sweet smile,
And we'll follow, follow, follow to thee, Dancing dear.

Here Dancing twirls round and makes an obeisance to Liberty, and then taking up the measure of the Chorus, which is that of a dance by a single person, performs a movement of that description, at the conclusion of which, the sunbeam suddenly striking down again, she spreads her wings, and glancingly returns up it. The Reapers and Vine-gatherers then join in a general dance, which is all at once interrupted by a loud noise, accompanied with groans and clashing of chains:—they separate in disorder.
Lib.
What's this that mars the time's new loveliness
With such return of horror?
Enter hastily a Sable Genius, with fetter-rings at his wrists, a few of the links not broken off; and prostrates himself in front of Liberty.
What again
The Southern Genius troubled! What has caused
This evil fear in thee, unhappy spirit?
Thy hands, though some remains of outrage gall them,
Tug not as heretofore, one with the other,
In linked anguish:—thou hast freer looks,
Spite of this posture, and a firmer presence.
I thought the noble heart here on the right,—
The ready-laurell'd,—had smoothed all for thee,
And left thee to new hopes and safer slumbers

Sable Gen.
(Rising.)
He had, great Mistress, and I bless him for it.
But last night, burthen'd I could scarce tell how
With drooping recollections and heap'd thoughts,
I slept for sorrow; and the searching toil
Not having left, as it should seem, my mind
Even in that refreshment, I had dreams;
And dreams, thou knowest, though they play confused
About the grosser faculties of man
Like hints of other spheres, are to a spirit
Clear and true mirrors of impending fate,
Like wells, in which the looker-down perceives
What's passing o'er his head, or coming cloud.
Methought that on the breathing shore I sat
Of the wide sea, looking upon it now
With inward-smiling eye, and fresh-blown cheek,
And now reverting to the champain green
On which the untaught race, whose guard I am,
Danced at clear evening to their humming music
Midst their low cabins and tall-shafted trees.
On both I look'd; and these my brethren great
Bless'd in my heart, to think that they had made
The watery neighbourhood so sweet and safe,
When lo! while heart, and ear, and all was quiet,
Just in the pause of the resounding dance,
A horrid peal of laughter o'er the wave
Came clattering, and from out the liny distance
Some of those old and coast-descending monsters,
Whom we had all thought quell'd, rose to the light,
Swelling their ship's pale wings, and plunging fierce
It's hastening breast towards us;—all, at once,
Saw them and knew, and struck through knees and heart
With fear as with a trembling arrow, stood
Lost;—even I, though an immortal spirit
With storms familiar, who can catch the lightning,
And let the lion's voice lull me to sleep,
Felt the old spell upon me, and at thought
Of what my sons might suffer once again,
Of wives and children from each other torn
To glut th' accursed in their distant haunts,
Of stripes and sorrows, bitter-turning bloods,
Impatiencies, moist-covering agonies,—
Or if by death escaping,—suffocations
With struggling cheek under the hot pent boards,
Or home-sick hearts that break in the mid sea,
Was agitated so, and felt the suddenness
Athwart my nature with so keen an edge,
That I too rose bewildered, and stood staring
Till the foul vision to the shore came nigh;
With human voice it came, and cried aloud,
‘Twice are ye sold, ye wretches, twice are sold
To me and mine: fresh compact has been made,
Now that your fellow-creatures have grown happier,
Shaking all off in their own loose from care,
And I am here again:—bring out your wives,
Bring out your wives, ye husbands,—youths, your loves,
Mothers, your children,—that I may select
My victims, and with their united agonies
O'er the far sea return, leaving your eyes
And hearts to burst on the impossible shore!’
So saying, the Execrable, coming on,
Lifted, as he was wont, the mocking flag
That gave pretended colour to his crimes,
The ------

Lib.
Whose device was on that impious remnant?
What daring land's?

Sable Gen.
The land I tread on now:—
(A pause; Liberty looks about her with surprise and anger, and the spectators turn down their eyes.)
The sight of which, hearing what I had heard,
Of joy and freedom to this very land
Restored, such active rage flush'd into me,
That, turning to the rock by which I sat,
I grappled with a crag, thinking to whelm
Th' approaching horror in the wave before me,
When with the struggle suddenly I woke
Clasping my leaping temples, and sprang hither
Through the clear wind to come and call upon thee,
On thee, O Liberty, and thy great heart.

Lib.
Thy call shall not be useless.—To be sure,
Ye are strange creatures, mortals,—most of ye,—
And worth the laughter of immortal spirits,
Were fond self-love our sovereign principle,
As it seems yours:—but this remembrance checks
Both laughter and poor anger, and prevents
A wretched wish, to which this fearful dream
Had nigh degraded me,—a wish, almost,
That I had left th' oppressor to his work.
But it must not be so; all human good
Mounts by degrees, and those but slippery ones
Apt to slide back again, nor must I visit
Upon the thoughtless many the vile few.

Eun.
Blessings attend thee!

Lib.
Good old man, and thee,—
And thine, and mayest thou see deserving joy
Complete this land's security, and lead
It's proper dance on every lightsome green,
Thyself and such as thou sitting cool-hair'd,
In golden shade of arm-o'er-reaching boughs.
And, to this good end, hear me, Eunomus;—
What masters ye may choose for your new lords,
New or restored, is left, as best befits
The gifts of Liberty, to your free selves:—
But should this plague, as from the spirit's dream
I fear, again be loosed upon the south,
Whether from want of thought, or barbarous habits
Left by long war, or fear, self-realized,
That yields to evil from despair of good,
Or bitterer conclusion still, brought on
By diseased sorrow, arguing with itself,
Whose argument is it's disease's proof,
Wanting the cure of action,—whether this,
Or worse than all, whether from rank indifference,
Which neither joy nor sorrow, rain nor shine,
Can touch with kindliness for other's good,
Content to heave it's own gross uselessness
Out in the sun, and spoil the soil it swells on,—
Whether from this or that, from part or all,
It must and shall not be;—from this time forth
The few must know their service to the many:
Knowledge and I have given the world a voice
Fit for it's frame, nor at this special moment,
When one huge wrong, contemptuous of mankind,
Has been o'erthrown, shall they endure to see
Part of it's veriest slaves conspire another.
Be it thy task then, wise old man, and all
Who would scape blushing for their native land,
To spread this warning voice; and should at last
The dream come true, I will myself inspire
Those noblest of their race, who walk in lustre
Beneath the star of this my genius here,
To rise once more in their brave scorn, and win
One last, preventing, and perfecting triumph.

Sable Gen.
And shall it then indeed be so?
Whither shall I turn to go?
Whither turn, or how depart,
Scatter'd with delight of heart?
But I lose my recollection.—
Goddess of all sound perfection,
Since thy sons will not forsake me,
Back again I now betake me
In a light and lifting breeze
O'er the lands that bask at ease
And the cool up-striking seas,
To revive with far-eyed coming
Dinning strings and tabors drumming,
And to set the fresh-limb'd pleasure
Up in many a desperate measure,
Till a thousand homely joys
Break abroad with giddy noise;
And the lover decks his maid
In the tall tree's lump of shade;
And the babe at the proud breast,
Open-lipp'd, goes safe to rest;
And all my lightsome race of jet
Shall rise in worth and knowledge yet.

Here making a farewell and grateful obeisance, the Sable Genius springs backward from the earth, and then turning in the air, goes off at the side-scene.
Lib.
This thoughtful interruption, though it break
Our joy's completeness, gives a double finish
To what concludes. Come forth, contrasting shows,
And with your moral this time's story close.

Enter a Vision of False Glory.
The back-ground changes into a city rich with palaces and triumphal arches, a smoky atmosphere rolling from behind it over a plain covered with burning cottages; and to the sound of trumpets and other warlike music, the front of the scene is crossed by a long train of laurelled soldiers, horse and foot. As they move onward, the word Slave is seen worked on their backs. To these succeeds a quantity of treasure in waggons, consisting of money, pictures, statues, &c. and then follows a number of painters, poets, and musicians, with the emblems of their respective arts, and attired in gorgeous robes; but the same word is discovered on them; and as they pass, the three Goddesses, who preside over them, turn down their eyes in disquiet. Lastly, comes a triumphal chariot, drawn by crowned monrachs, and containing the Conqueror dressed in purple, in a haughty attitude, with a crown of laurel on his head, and holding in his hand a globe with a figure of Victory. As he proceeds, a slender gilt chain is discerned reaching from the back of his neck into a dark cloud that follows, behind which are several turbulent, weeping, and indignant shapes, representing the Passions, Misery, Widowhood, &c. the first having hold of the chain, and the figure of Pity closing the whole.
Enter a Vision of Real Glory.
The back-ground keeps the palaces and triumphal arches, but changes farther back into fields of rural beauty; and the front scene is crossed in like manner by a train of yeomanry or armed peasants crowned with laurel, each bearing a sheathed sword in one hand and a bunch of wheat in the other. These are followed by poets, painters, and musicians, carrying the emblems of their respective arts, but wearing an air of frankness, and treading with a firm step. To these succeed a number of venerable old men, and then a train of marriageable young men and women, two by two, the former crowned with olive and the latter with roses; and after all, in a chariot drawn by white horses, and in a succinct habit of the same colour, appears the Conqueror, crowned with laurel and oak, and holding in his hand upon a globe a figure of Liberty. A snowy cloud follows, behind which are radiant angelic figures, Serenity, Happiness, &c. the whole concluding with the figure of Homage, bearing aloft a heart in his two hands, to which he looks upward with veneration.
A snatch of fine music:—Liberty speaks:—
All is finish'd. Now I rise
Back to my wide-breathing skies,
Where there is no hindering
To the heart or to the wing;
But the planets, round and free,
Lapse about eternally,
And the space through which they burn
Feels a thrill at my return,
And the never-tiring Joy,
Rosy and heart-dancing boy,
On continual errand runs
In and out a thousand suns.
There sometimes, when I have ended
What my daily task intended,
I sit looking, with still eyes,
At the many-starred skies,
Or go pace the central sun
With his gardens, every one,
Where the golden light is kept,
And the winds are music swept;
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
Chorus.
Call up then in gathering measure
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.