O’er sensual folly and intemperance. 975
The dances ended, the Spirit epiloguizes.
Spir. To the ocean now I fly,
And those happy climes that lie
Where day never shuts his eye,
Up in the broad fields of the sky.
There [I suck the liquid air], 980
All amidst [the gardens fair]
[Of Hesperus, and his daughters three]
That sing about [the golden tree].