Why four kisses--you will say--why four, because I wish to restrain the headlong impetuosity of my Muse--she would have fain said "score" without hurting the rhyme--but we must temper the Imagination, as the Critics say, with Judgment. I was obliged to choose an even number, that both eyes might have fair play, and to speak truly I think two a piece quite sufficient. Suppose I had said seven there would have been three and a half a piece--a very awkward affair, and well got out of on my side-- [Later.] CHORUS OF FAIRIES. 4--FIRE, AIR, EARTH, AND WATER--SALAMANDER, ZEPHYR, DUSKETHA, BREAMA. _Sal._ Happy happy glowing fire! _Zep._ Fragrant air, delicious light! _Dusk._ Let me to my glooms retire. _Bream._ I to greenweed rivers bright. _Salam._ Happy, happy glowing fire! Dazzling bowers of soft retire, Ever let my nourish'd wing, Like a bat's still wandering, Faintly fan your fiery spaces Spirit sole in deadly places, In unhaunted roar and blaze Open eyes that never daze Let me see the myriad shapes Of Men and Beasts and Fish and apes, Portray'd in many a fiery den, And wrought by spumy bitumen On the deep intenser roof, Arched every way aloof. Let me breathe upon my skies, And anger their live tapestries; Free from cold and every care, Of chilly rain and shivering air. _Zephyr._ Spright of fire--away away! Or your very roundelay Will sear my plumage newly budded From its quilled sheath and studded With the self-same dews that fell On the May-grown Asphodel. Spright of fire away away! _Breama._ Spright of fire away away! Zephyr blue-eyed faery turn, And see my cool sedge-shaded urn, Where it rests its mossy brim Mid water-mint and cresses dim; And the flowers, in sweet troubles, Lift their eyes above the bubbles, Like our Queen when she would please To sleep, and Oberon will tease-- Love me blue-eyed Faery true Soothly I am sick for you. _Zephyr._ Gentle Breama! by the first Violet young nature nurst, I will bathe myself with thee, So you sometime follow me To my home far far in west, Far beyond the search and quest Of the golden-browed sun. Come with me, o'er tops of trees, To my fragrant Palaces, Where they ever-floating are Beneath the cherish of a star Call'd Vesper--who with silver veil Ever Hides his brilliance pale, Ever gently drows'd doth keep Twilight of the Fays to sleep. Fear not that your watery hair Will thirst in drouthy ringlets there-- Clouds of stored summer rains Thou shalt taste before the stains Of the mountain soil they take, And too unlucent for thee make. I love thee, Crystal faery true Sooth I am as sick for you-- _Salam._