_Serena._ While o'er the land the blood of her dear sons— Conquest's sad recompense—in horror runs. Forbear, Rubina! Gracious mistress, might Should ever wield its strong arm for the right. Let not Rubina's counsel carry weight, Lest angry discord rend your lofty state. _Rubina._ Insult again— _Gloria._ Nay, nay, Rubina. Pause: Thou hast had ample time to urge thy cause. With patience curb a while thy fiery mood; We'll ponder well thy influence for good. Speak thou, Serena. Canst thou find release For our perplexity in ways of peace? _Serena._ Ay, peace, fair mistress, is the fount of health, Whence flow the streams of happiness and wealth That bless a nation. In its waters fair, Drowned are the pangs of life-corroding care; Cheered and refreshed is duty's faithful heart, In labor's trials strong to take its part. O happy Gloria! o'er this blest domain, With Peace thy minister, forever reign. Its power can bless thy state with bright renown, And deck with radiant gems thy royal crown. Let not bold War thy quiet glades invade, To ruthless revel in thy marts of trade, Affront thy people with its thundering peal, And grind the harvests 'neath its iron heel. For Peace is mighty to achieve all ends, And highest good with grandest triumph blends. _Rubina._ Ignoble Toil, Serena, grovels low, And on the race no glory can bestow. _Serena._ Toil is the power that tears the rock away, And brings rare jewels to the light of day. _Rubina._ 'Tis base! _Serena._ 'Tis noble! _Gloria._ Silence, I entreat! Counsel is vain when angry passions meet. In patience we have heard: in patience wait, Till we have pondered on this strange debate, And made our choice. Anon we'll make it known. Await our pleasure. We would be alone. (_Repeat chorus, "Blest is the land," &c., and march off_ R., RUBINA _and_ ATTENDANTS; L., SERENA _and_ ATTENDANTS. GLORIA _sits on bank_.) _Gloria._ O doubting heart! the battle to repeat, Within thy depths Content and Conquest meet. Upon the field where Conscience sits enthroned, One must be victor crowned, and one disowned. When Wisdom all its arguments hath plied, Thou, judge impartial, must the case decide. Upon thy fiat hangs a nation's fate: Give me the power to make my people great. _Song; air, "Oh, come ye into the summer woods:"_ QUEEN MAB _and_ DREAM-SPIRITS. Oh, sink you into soft slumber's arms! There dwelleth no annoy; There freely rove the Dreamland sprites, And sweet rest is full of joy. _Gloria_ (_slowly sinks to rest, speaking softly, with closed eyes_). Soft, drowsy spirits o'er my senses creep, And bear me captive to the realm of sleep.