O sweet hour! In yonder heaven deep the stars are lit For evening service of seraphic quires-- Eternal pomp of serried, blazing worlds, The heraldry of God, ere yet Time was. The moon hangs low, her golden orb impearl'd In a sweet iris of delicious light, That leaves the eye in doubt, as swelling die Round trills of music on the raptur'd ear, Where it doth fade in blue, or softly quicken. How, through each glade, her soft and hallowing ray Stole like a maiden tiptoe, o'er the ground, Till every tiny blade of glittering grass Was doubled by its shadow. Can it be, That evil hearts throb near a scene like this? And yet how soon comes the Medusa, Thought, To chill the heart's blood of sweet fantasy! For, O bright orb! That glid'st along the fringe of those tall trees, Where a child's thought might grasp thee, Art thou not This night in thousand places hideous? To think Where thy pale beams _may_ revel--on the brow Of ghastly wanderers, with the frozen breast And grating laugh, in murder's rolling eye, On death, corruption, on the hoary tomb, Or the fresh earth-mould of a new-made grave, On gaping wounds, on strife,--the pantomime Of lying lips, and pale, deceitful faces-- Ay! searching every scene of rank pollution, In each foul corner busy as at play, With new horror gilding vice, disease, decay, Boast not, pale moon! to me thy harlot ray! [_Enter WILLIAM, R._] _Will._ Sir, they come! Your collar is unfasten'd and your hair disorder'd. Let me--[_Attempts to adjust AUTHUR'S dress._] _Arth._ Heed it not! I thought you knew me better. _Will._ Just a moment.-- _Arth._ No! yet will I meet her softly. She is the only creature of her sex, For whom I feel some kindness; 'tis because I knew her ere I knew the world beside, And all the lie of passion, that is nurs'd For long in early blighted hearts alone, Whom rank possession of the thing they pin'd for, Had cured in one short month.--Well, I'll be kind, Nay more, affectionate-- [_Enter FLORENCE and BARBARA, R. He salutes her distantly._] Fair mistress, thus I claim a young acquaintance, that hath grown Old in long absence. _Flor._ [_Rushing to him_] Arthur! dearest. Arthur! How strange! Dear cousin! Sir! I wish'd to see you, Needing protection--nay! I was to blame, Too hasty, you must think me bold indeed! _Arth._ [_Aside_] Is all her nature, art?--How beautiful! [_Aloud._] Dear Florence. [_Attempts to take her hand warmly, she bows._] I have scarcely words to speak. Cousin! I'll be your champion. [_Aloud._] _Flor._ There is nought In which you can assist me? I have come Here, cousin, to entreat you, take this money. Indeed, you can repay me quite soon, when Your brother is more just. It is for him That I would give it-- _Arth._ For him? yes! you are Betroth'd? _Flor._ My father wills so-- _Arth._ I need not This money-- _Flor._ Cousin, take it. You are proud. Will you refuse me?