Shady nooks the bushes yield,
And with waving, silvery gleam,
Rocks the harvest in the field.
Wouldst thou wish for wish obtain,
Look upon yon glittering ray!
Lightly on thee lies the chain,
Cast the shell of sleep away!
Tarry not, but be thou bold,
When the many loiter still;
All with ease may be controll'd
By the man of daring will.
III. ARIEL.
HARK! the storm of hours draws near,
Loudly to the spirit-ear
Signs of coming day appear.
Rocky gates are wildly crashing,
Phoebus' wheels are onward dashing;
(A wonderful noise proclaims the approach of the sun.)