Elfrida

ORGAR. How nobly does this venerable wood, Gilt with the glories of the orient sun, Embosom yon fair mansion! The soft air Salutes me with most cool and temp'rate breath; And, as I tread, the flow'r-besprinkled lawn Sends up a gale of fragrance. I should guess, If e'er Content deign'd visit mortal clime, This was her place of dearest residence. Grant Heav'n! I find it such. 'Tis now three months, Since first Earl Athelwold espous'd my daughter. He then besought me, for some little space The nuptials might be secret; many reasons, He said, induc'd to this: I made no pause, But, resting on his prudence, to his will Gave absolute concurrence. Soon as married, Which hears this vow, punish its violation As heav'nly justice ought.

CHORUS. Hear, Angels, hear, Hear from these nether thrones of light, And O in golden characters record, Each firm, immutable, immortal word. Then wing your solemn flight Up to the heav'n of heav'ns, and there Hang the conspicuous tablet high, 'Mid the dread records of Eternity.