(_Exit_.) INO. How lovely is this plain!—Nor Grecian vale, Nor bright Ausonia’s ilex bearing shores, The myrtle bowers of Aphrodite’s sweet isle, Or Naxos burthened with the luscious vine, Can boast such fertile or such verdant fields As these, which young Spring sprinkles with her stars;— Nor Crete which boasts fair Amalthea’s horn Can be compared with the bright golden[7] fields Of Ceres, Queen of plenteous Sicily. PROSERPINA. Sweet Ino, well I know the love you bear My dearest Mother prompts your partial voice, And that love makes you doubly dear to me. But you are idling,—look[,] my lap is full Of sweetest flowers;—haste to gather more, That before sunset we may make our crown. Last night as we strayed through that glade, methought The wind that swept my cheek bore on its wings The scent of fragrant violets, hid Beneath the straggling underwood; Haste, sweet, To gather them; fear not—I will not stray. INO. Nor fear that I shall loiter in my task. (_Exit_.) (By Shelley.) PROSERPINA. _(sings as she gathers her flowers.)_ Sacred Goddess, Mother Earth, Thou from whose immortal bosom Gods, and men, and beasts have birth, Leaf, and blade, and bud, and blossom, Breathe thine influence most divine On thine own child Proserpine. If with mists of evening dew Thou dost nourish these young flowers Till they grow in scent and hue Fairest children of the hours[,] Breathe thine influence most divine On thine own child Proserpine. (she looks around.) My nymphs have left me, neglecting the commands Of my dear Mother. Where can they have strayed? Her caution makes me fear to be alone;— I’ll pass that yawning cave and seek the spring Of Arethuse, where water-lilies bloom Perhaps the nymph now wakes tending her waves, She loves me well and oft desires my stay,— The lilies shall adorn my mother’s crown. (_Exit_.) (After a pause enter Eunoe.) EUNOE. I’ve won my prize! look at this fragrant rose! But where is Proserpine? Ino has strayed Too far I fear, and she will be fatigued, As I am now, by my long toilsome search. Enter Ino. Oh! you here, Wanderer! Where is Proserpine? INO. My lap’s heaped up with sweets; dear Proserpine, You will not chide me now for idleness;— Look here are all the treasures of the field,— First these fresh violets, which crouched beneath A mossy rock, playing at hide and seek With both the sight and sense through the high fern; Star-eyed narcissi & the drooping bells Of hyacinths; and purple polianthus, Delightful flowers are these; but where is she, The loveliest of them all, our Mistress dear? EUNOE. I know not, even now I left her here, Guarded by you, oh Ino, while I climbed Up yonder steep for this most worthless rose:— Know you not where she is? Did you forget Ceres’ behest, and thus forsake her child?