A voice pronounce my name:
Nor long upon my ear it dwelt,
When round me 'gan the air to melt.
And motion once again I felt
Quick circling o'er my frame.

Again it call'd; and then a ray,
That seem'd a gushing fount of day,
Across the cavern stream'd.
Half struck with terror and delight,
I hail'd the little blessed light,
And follow'd 'till my aching sight
An orb of darkness seem'd.

Nor long I felt the blinding pain;
For soon upon a mountain plain
I gaz'd with wonder new.
There high a castle rear'd its head;
And far below a region spread,
Where every Season seem'd to shed
Its own peculiar hue.

Now at the castle's massy gate,
Like one that's blindly urged by fate,
A bugle-horn I blew.
The mountain-plain it shook around,
The vales return'd a hollow sound,
And, moving with a sigh profound.
The portals open flew.

Then ent'ring, from a glittering hall
I heard a voice seraphic call,
That bade me "ever reign,
All hail!" it said in accent wild,
"For thou art Nature's chosen child,
Whom wealth nor blood has e'er defil'd,
Hail, Lord of this Domain!"

And now I paced a bright saloon,
That seem'd illumin'd by the moon,
So mellow was the light.
The walls with jetty darkness teem'd,
While down them chrystal columns streamed,
And each a mountain torrent seem'd.
High-flashing through the night.

Rear'd in the midst, a double throne.
Like burnish'd cloud of evening shone;
While, group'd the base around,
Four Damsels stood of Faery race;
Who, turning each with heavenly grace
Upon me her immortal face,
Transfix'd me to the ground.

And _thus_ the foremost of the tram:
Be thine the throne, and thine to reign
O'er all the varying year!
But ere thou rulest the Fates command;
That of our chosen rival band
A Sylph shall win thy heart and hand,
Thy sovereignty to share.

For we, the sisters of a birth,
Do rule by turns the subject earth
To serve ungrateful man;
But since our varied toils impart
No joy to his capricious heart,
'Tis now ordain'd that human art
Shall rectify the plan.

Then spake the Sylph of Spring serene,
'Tis _I_ thy joyous heart I ween,
With sympathy shall move:
For I with living melody
Of birds in choral symphony,
First wak'd thy soul to poesy,
To piety and love.

When thou, at call of vernal breeze,
And beck'ning bough of budding trees,
Hast left thy sullen fire;
And stretch'd thee in some mossy dell.
And heard the browsing wether's be