This night eventful—and to after times
In sweetest numbers sing, what now thou dream'st.
Tell them of Oberon and Titania's strife
And their glad reconcilement—This, the meed
Of thanks, thou shalt requite our gifts withal.—
Now dawn, soft blushing, calls the slumbering day;
The moon looks pale, faint gleams the morning star,
Back to our woods we Fairies must away;—
But often near thee, gentle Boy, will I
Hovering, fill all thy soul with keen delight.
On moonlight nights, when pensively thou sit'st
Musing beside some silver rill, or rov'st
In spring-tide, drinking in with ravished ear
The song of Philomel—I will be by.
OBERON.
Now fare thee well! Thou spirit-favoured child;
I too will visit thee, when with deep awe
Thou mark'st the cataract leap o'er some tall rock,
Or silent track'st the forest solitudes,
Or climb'st the mountain peak, to watch the clouds
