{174}
Where even one flower falls, or one soft petal,
Next year shall see a hundred.
[As they turn to go, enter LUCIA in hunting dress,
with bow in hand and a hound by her side. FLORA
rises to meet her, and recalls her maidens.]
Stay! attend me.
LUCIA. Greeting, fair ladies; you, I think, must be
Daughters of this green Earth, and one of you
The sweet Dame Flora.
FLORA. Your true servant, madam.
But if my memory be not newly withered
I have not known the pleasure. . . .
LUCIA. Yes, you have seen me—
At least, you might have seen me; I am Lucia,
Lady of Moonlight, and I often hunt
These downs of yours with all my nightly pack
Of questing beams and velvet-footed shadows.
FLORA. I fear at night. . . .
LUCIA. Oh, yes! at night you are sleeping!
And I by day am always rather faint;
So we don't meet; but sometimes your good folk
Have torn my nets by raking in the water;
And though their neighbours laughed, there are worse ways
Of spending time, and far worse things to rake for
Than silver lights upon a crystal stream.
But come! My royal Sire, the Man in the Moon—
He has been here?
FLORA. So many kings come here,
I can't be sure; I've heard the Man in the Moon
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Did once come down and ask his way to Norwich.
But that was years agone—hundreds of years—
It may not be the same—I do not know
You royal father's age. . . .