Enter Odora in the Dress of a Woodnymph

Transcendant vision! Even now I thought of thee, My mind, o'erheated, called—and thou art here. What blissful fate hath brought thee? Dost thou roam The scented hills at morn, to gather flowers; To gaze into the fountain's glassy mirror, Or list the sweet birds sigh on every bough, Thou art a woodnymph, speaks thy fair attire. Sweet fancy of a sweeter maidenhood, That thou dost walk at dawn a woodnymph wild. Here will I seal upon thy foam-white brow My flame again, which burns like yonder orb. Odora! speak to me! thy voice is sweet, As sounds of rescue to a ship-wrecked soul.