Which drives them on their path, while they
  Believe their own swift wings and feet
  The sweet desires within obey;
  And so they float upon their way,
  Until, still sweet, but loud and strong,
  The storm of sound is driven along,
  Sucked up and hurrying; as they fleet
  Behind, its gathering billows meet
  And to the fatal mountain bear
  Like clouds amid the yielding air.

FIRST FAUN
  Canst thou imagine where those spirits live
  Which make such delicate music in the woods?
  We haunt within the least frequented caves
  And closest coverts, and we know these wilds,
  Yet never meet them, though we hear them oft:
  Where may they hide themselves?

SECOND FAUN
  'T is hard to tell;
  I have heard those more skilled in spirits say,
  The bubbles, which the enchantment of the sun
  Sucks from the pale faint water-flowers that pave
  The oozy bottom of clear lakes and pools,
  Are the pavilions where such dwell and float