I2 
THE WORLD’S TRAGEDY. 
 
EVADNE 
 
Chrysis !  could one weary of 
All thine opulence of love ? 
 
CHRYSIS 
 
I am fair ;  I cannot fear. 
Was my tongue too eager, dear ? 
 
EVADNE 
 
Never, never, never !  Here, 
Coil the roses close, a cluster 
In the flax, the lyric lustre ! 
 
CHRYSIS 
 
In the white waves that carouse 
On the satyr’s beetle brows, 
Plait a wreath of laurustine 
With the broad leaves of the vine ! 
 
SALMACIS 
 
Sweet Lysander, now thou knowest 
All the oracle obscure !