The prince and his beloved! [Cinthio and Faustine conceal themselves. Rupert. Sit, Eulalie; this tree-trunk bids us rest. Hush! hark! the nightingale, the lover's bird, The throbbing pulse of night, panting its joy. About this season he expects his mate, And spends all day and night in rapturous toil Upon a bridal-song to greet her with. I think those twinkling midnight birds up there, The stars, that seem to nestle in the leaves, Utter such dulcet strains could we but hear.-- Now, tell me softly; did'st thou dream to-night? Eulalie. Thou should'st have first inquired if I did sleep. Whether I slept or not, I dreamt a dream, The most entrancing and most lovable. Rupert. Did'st thou indeed! What was it all about? Eulalie. I laid me on my bed, and couched the rose That thou had'st given me in my bosom. Then Its odour, packed with semblances of bliss, Far-off delights, remembrances of songs, And nameless sweets, all woven in a charm Of strange awakening scent alone bestows, Grew brightly visible; and in that halo Sleep realised a shining rainbow crowd Of gay unearthly beings, who, to notes That never lark or nightingale imagined, Tripped in the mazes of a wildering dance-- A poem in mute show.--Hark! some one comes. [Rupert and Eulalie retire. Re-enter Celio and Sylvia. They seat themselves on the tree vacated by Rupert and Eulalie. Torello. Sweet voices! Methought I heard Eulalie's. O, come my love! Shemhamphorash. Sylvia. Had any one save thee told me this tale Discredit would have paid his waste of breath. So dark that grove is, and its air so full Of night's fantasticism, thy whispers low May have been rounded to a meaning big With sense that had no birth in thy intendment. Did'st thou not tell me of a peopled star? If there be such a jewel in the heavens, Point out its light. Celio. That magnate brilliant, Gleaming, opalesque, red, white, and blue, Quivering and shuddering in its loveliness, That star's inhabited. Sylvia. It is, indeed, A bright, first-water sphere. And in it dwell Oberon and Titania, and their elves. Did'st thou say that? Celio. I said it, and it's true. Sylvia. King Oberon, a many years ago, Divining that this grass-green, sea-green earth, This emerald that sets off the golden sun, Should be by mankind sadly under-priced; That this fair hanging garden, swung for elves And men to revel in, this glorious stage In heaven's theatre, so gallantly Hung out and decked for elves and men to grace, This temple, wherein all might minister, Should be o'er-rioted, abused, profaned; That this globe, frescoed round by Nature's art, Should lose its beauty in the sight of men-- Men's eyes being jaundiced by a golden lust To prize much more the hills' bright excrement, Than their elate and sun-gilt brows of strength; That men, like children wearied of a toy, Would spoil its loveliness, in pieces rending To put it to some use, or ravish out