PRINCESS. O! 'tis from thee that I have drawn my being: Thou'st ta'en me from the path of savage error, Blood-stain'd and rude, where rove my countrymen, And taught me heavenly truths, and fill'd my heart With sentiments sublime, and sweet, and social. Oft has my winged spirit, following thine, Cours'd the bright day-beam, and the star of night, And every rolling planet of the sky, Around their circling orbits. O my love! Guided by thee, has not my daring soul, O'ertopt the far-off mountains of the east, Where, as our fathers' fable, shad'wy hunters Pursue the deer, or clasp the melting maid, 'Mid ever blooming spring? Thence, soaring high From the deep vale of legendary fiction, Hast thou not heaven-ward turn'd my dazzled sight, Where sing the spirits of the blessed good Around the bright throne of the Holy One? This thou hast done; and ah! what couldst thou more, Belov'd preceptor, but direct that ray, Which beams from Heaven to animate existence, And bid my swelling bosom beat with love! ROLFE. O, my dear scholar! PRINCESS. Prithee, chide me, love: My idle prattle holds thee from thy purpose. ROLFE. O! speak more music! and I'll listen to it, Like stilly midnight to sweet Philomel. PRINCESS. Nay, now begone; for thou must go: ah! fly, The sooner to return-- ROLFE. Thus, then, adieu! [_Embrace._ But, ere the face of morn blush rosy red, To see the dew-besprent, cold virgin ground Stain'd by licentious step; Oh, long before The foot of th' earliest furred forrester, Do mark its imprint on morn's misty sheet, With sweet good morrow will I wake my love. PRINCESS. To bliss thou'lt wake me, for I sleep till then Only with sorrow's poppy on my lids. _Music. Embrace; and exit ROLFE, followed by ROBIN; PRINCESS looks around despondingly._ But now, how gay and beauteous was this grove! Sure ev'ning's shadows have enshrouded it, And 'tis the screaming bird of night I hear, Not the melodious mock-bird. Ah! fond girl! 'Tis o'er thy soul the gloomy curtain hangs; 'Tis in thy heart the rough-toned raven sings. O lover! haste to my benighted breast; Come like the glorious sun, and bring me day! _Song._ When the midnight of absence the day-scene pervading Distils its chill dew o'er the bosom of love, Oh, how fast then the gay tints of nature are fading! How harsh seems the music of joy in the grove! While the tender flow'r droops till return of the light, Steep'd in tear drops that fall from the eye of the night.