SCENE VII.

Chorus of Sylphs.

STROPHE.

Sea-born gales that gently sweep

O'er the broad Atlantic deep,
Rifling fragrance, as ye rove
From the myrrh and citron grove,
From the manioc and the maze,
And Anana's burnish'd blaze

Haste, the swelling sails expand-
Waft them to their native land:

There, where Tagus proudly rolls

O'er his gold-bespangled shoals,

See she weighs she tacks—she veers

Eastward as the pilot steers.

Mortals farewell-nor Heav'n's high Will arraign,

Which but ordain'd a trial in your pain.

ANTISTROPHE.

Yes, 'tis our's to yield the meed

To victorious worth decreed;

Worth, that, all her ordeals past,

Ever triumphs at the last :

E'en tho' Fate protract the doom

Past the limits of the tomb.

Sylphs, 'tis done-we mount-we fly,

Airy tenants of the sky—

Hence afar a better home

Smiles in Kingston's happy dome.
There we'll tend a virtuous pair,

Valiant sons and daughters fair,

A matchless throng of gay benignant elves, With kindred hearts as spotless as ourselves.

EPODE.

There beneath their feet we'll strew

Flow'rs that never cease to blow,

Such as sweetest breath dispense
Of uncanker'd innocence.

There shall blush the richest bloom,
Wrought in young Hygeia's loom :
There shall nature's power impart,
Heighten'd by the touch of art,

Whatsoe'er of magic grace,

Thought can reach, or pencil trace.

Music there in choicest Measures

Still shall breathe convivial pleasures,

And filial love, and fond parental care,

Source of domestic bliss, shall harbour there.

BAUCIS AND PHILEMON,

A BURLETTA.

Mille domos clausere seræ ; tamen una recepit

Parva quidem.

OVID. METAMORPH. lib. viii. 1. 629.

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