Restore my innocence, recall the past?

Yet save my Locrine, and I bear to live."

"Daughter," she cried, "what frantic words are these?

No crime is thine, for 'tis no crime to love.

What though the banish'd Guendolen behold

With impotence of rage, and envious eyes,
Thy beauty grace her abdicated throne,

Exult, my child, and thank the bounteous gods,
Who crown with fair success thy noble love,
And bid the poor dejected captive rise

A glorious queen, and spurn her haughty foe.
Futurity's dark volumes to thy view

Soon shall my art unfold, and let fair hope
Glow on thy cheek, and lighten in thine eyes.
When the black frown of jealous Guendolen
Gloom'd on thy stolen joys, and with pale fear
Chill'd all the raptures of thy secret bower;
Frustrate by me, the ill to thee design'd

Recoil'd

upon herself, and from her brow

I tore the diadem to beam on thine.

And though Cornubia, arming in her cause,
Point all her vengeance at thy Locrine's head,
My spells can turn the thirsty dart aside,
And from the gloomy Hela's drear abode

Call forth those dreadful ministers of wrath,

At whose approach the central earth is mov'd,

And the great sun grows pale." While yet she speaks, Estrildis' colour glows, and fades, by turns.

Her bosom heaves with kindling hope, and fear

Subsides, and busy conscience stings no more.

Silent awhile she stood, and doubting still.

But Boarex, who with attentive eye

Had mark'd the secret workings of her mind.

Her rising spirit, and her bright'ning eyes,

Well knew her purpose gain'd, and ere the train

Of melancholy thought, and fears prophetic,

Could o'er her breast resume their sway, with words Of cheering import, as might best confirm

i Hela was the goddess of death among the northern nations.

Her hopes new entertain'd, she thus pursu'd.

"Not with vain sounds, my daughter, to beguile

Thy credulous ear, but with performance full

To satisfy thy wish, have I approach'd thee.

For this, when night descends, and o'er our heads
The moon rides high, upon the silent stream
Spreading her glimm'ring rays, and rightly call'd

Aids the slow-mutter'd charm, seek we the

grove,

And with observance due, and powerful verse,
Invoke the dreadful deities, who weave

The fatal web. Their potent ministers,

Slaughter, and flight, attend their high behest,
Spare whom they favour, won by sacrifice

And prayer, and whom they hate with death confound.
These shall befriend us. I will teach thy hand

To trace the backward spell, and by what art

Compell'd, the spirits that haunt the earth, or tend

The gliding wave, or play in floods of fire,

k See Gray's Poems.

Or ride upon the stormy winds, assist

The dark designs, and work the will of man."
She ended, and Estrildis, re-assur'd,

And confident in hope, thus answer'd glad.

"Oh more than mother, who to second life
Hast wak'd me, sitting in the shade of death,
Or worse than death, in comfortless despair!"
Speaking she rose.

Meanwhile th' attendant train

Pensive before the fair pavilion stood,

In silent expectation, and with tears

Deplor❜d the sorrows of their queen; when lo

The sounding doors unfold, and forth she comes
Radiant with blooming beauty. Joy divine

Fills every breast, as when a god appears.

The veil, thrown backward from her heav'nly face,

Part loosely falling, in transparent folds,

Upon her snowy breast, which gently rose,

Half hid from mortal view the dazzling charm:

Part mingled graceful with her glossy hair,
Below her slender waist, in easy ringlets

Flowing with artful negligence. Her eyes
Sparkled with liquid fire, and darted quick
Contagious madness, thrilling ecstasies,

And love inevitable. On her cheek

Sported the dimpled smile; and her sweet lips
Breathe fragrance, like the tepid breeze that steals

O'er eastern seas, and from his dewy wings
Shakes spices, and forewarns the mariner
Of Ceylon, or the rich Moluccan coast;

Or that which sooths th' Arabian youth, reclin'd
Beneath the spreading palm, and singing loud
In glowing numbers rapturous tales of love.
She moves like Venus, when expecting joy
She sought the Cyprian bow'r. Before her flew
Fair hope, and wanton mirth, and gay desire.
The waving myrtles bow'd their fragrant heads
In sign of worship, and the lovely rose

Put forth spontaneous, while the busy zephyr
Gather'd their several sweets, and wafted round
Ambrosial odours. Thither soon the graces,