Odora sings.

    When winds are bleak, and snows are deep,
        And waters frozen dumb;
    And voiceless insects snugly sleep,
        Where beam can never come: 
    The daisy blooms beneath some tree,
        That screens her form from harm;—­
    So, love!  I nestle near to thee,
        And live beneath thy arm.

Oh! angel! thou dost sing a meaning lay,
And teachest wisdom, in sweet poetry. 
But whence, my fair philosopher, thy lore,
Hath God bestowed such deep laid knowledge on
A light and playsome girl, whose pranks and wiles
Have quite bewitched my would-be firmer soul. 
Methinks thou singest well to-night; adieu,
And may pure angels bring thee radiant dreams.

SCENE III.  AN EVENING IN SUMMER.  A GARDEN.—­LOVER ALONE, AND READING A BOOK.

A tale of happy love!  ’Tis like my fate. 
Two youthful beings, yearning each for love,
Met by a haunted stream, with ivied banks,
Beneath the evening star—­the star of love. 
Their souls fled to each other suddenly: 
So that they felt they were ordained of old,
To twain be one, one flesh, one bone, one soul. 
They loved, and dwelt among the grassy hills,
By lakes that mirrored all their trees and flowers. 
A happy life, and curly-headed boys
Were round their steps, their walks, their cottage door,
Filling the air with laughter, silvery sweet. 
Gay spring, bright summer, autumn, winter passed,
And found and left them happy, So time flew,
Till both were old, their hearts yet light and gay. 
Then, they slept sweetly, side by side, near by
A favorite stream they oft had gazed upon,
Meek christians said they hoped that love so rare
Had full fruition found, in brighter worlds. 
It is a happy story, and my eyes,
Have poured their pearl upon these pages here,
That tell so dear a tale.  Oh!  God be praised,
If such a fate befall my love and me. 
I will go seek Odora, and return
To talk with her amid this fragrant bower,
Of what a book has charmed my sighing soul. 
I found it here.  Perchance she read it first. 
How that one thought which doth fill up the mind,
Will color outward objects, circumstance,
And accident, with tincture of itself.

  He goes—­then Odora and he re-enter the garden.

Lover speaks.—­I here have found, Odora, love, this book,
Which tells a strange, sweet tale of happy love,
How two young beings found a heaven on earth,
Cans’t tell me, whence it came, if fact or dream?

Odora speaks.—­It is a happy story.  In my father’s room
Of precious volumes late I fell on this;
And read it in this garden; sweet romance,
It brought the love-beats to my heart, drops to mine eyes.

SCENE IV.—­ODORA AND LOVER IN A FIELD UNDER A PERFECT RAINBOW. (LOVER SPEAKS.)