ion has, without question, produced this
fortunate effect. This little bird, halfway on the road between
the nightingale and the cicada, is doubtless an enchanter, and one
whose art possesses a more than respectable property. My sister's
attention should be drawn to this highly interesting circumstance.
Selene! Selene!

[_He calls and waits. From the upper woods_ SELENE _slowly
descends, wrapped in long white garments_.]

PHOEBUS.

Sister, behold the throne that once was thine.

SELENE.

And now, a rocking cinder, fouls the skies.

PHOEBUS.

A magian sweeps its filthy ash away.

SELENE.

There is no magic in the bankrupt world.

PHOEBUS.

Nay, did'st thou hear this twittering peal of song?

SELENE.

Some noise I heard; this glen is full of sounds.

PHOEBUS.

Fling back thy veil, and staunch thy tears, and gaze.

SELENE.

At thee, my brother, not at my darkened orb.

PHOEBUS.

Gaze then at me. What seest thou in mine eyes?

SELENE.

Foul ruddy gleams from what was lately pure.

PHOEBUS.

Nay, but thou gazest not. Look up, look at me!

SELENE.

But on thy sacred eyeballs fume turns fire.

PHOEBUS.

Nay, then, turn once and see thy very moon.

SELENE [_turning round_].

Ah! wonder! the volcanic glare is gone.

PHOEBUS.

The wizard bird has sung the fumes away.

SELENE.

Empty it seems, and vain; but foul no more.

PHOEBUS [_approaching her, and in a confidential tone_].

I will not disguise from you, Selene, my apprehension that the
hideous colour may return. Your moon is divorced from yourself,
and can but be desecrated and forlorn. But at least it should
be a matter of interest to you--yes, even of gratification, my
sister--that this little bird, if it be a bird, has an enchanting
power of temporarily relieving it and raising it.

[SELENE, _manifestly more cheerful, ascends to the wood on
the left_. PHOEBUS, _turning again to the moon_,]

I have observed that this species of mysterious agency has a very
salutary effect upon the more melancholy of our female divinities.
They are satisfied if they have the felicity of waiting for
something which they cannot be certain of realising, and which they
attribute to a cause impossible to investigate. [_To_ SELENE,
_raising his voice_.] Whither do you go, my sister?

SELENE.

I am searching for this little bird. I propose to discuss with
it the nature of its extraordinary, and I am ready to admit it