Hark! now the lark has met the clouds,
And rains his sheer melodious flood;
The green earth casts her mystic shrouds
To meet the flaming god!
Alas, for me there is no dawn
If Glaia come not with the sun.
[Enter Glaia. The king kneels as she approaches]
Gla. 'Tis you!
Hen. [Leaping up] Pardoned! Queen of this bowerland,
Your glad eyes tell me that I have not sinned.