COME, TOUCH THE HARP! COME, touch the harp, my gentle one! That smile of thine is all too bright 256 COME, TOUCH THE HARP! Yet, weep not thus, my gentle girl! Then, strike the lyre, and let it wile ANACREONTIC. THE MOON IS UP! THE moon is up!—and while the cars Send round the bowl, and show the stars What vigils earthly spirits keep! And, if the vines, in yonder sky, Weep, for their host, such purple tears, The poet's tale may be no lie, That paints them 'singing in their spheres'! 258 THE MOON IS UP! Shall we, because hope's fount is dry, If eyes be dim, that, once, were bright, At least, we'll strive to make them lighter! Fill high the glass !-to-night we'll try, To gather gladness where we may, SLUMBER LIE SOFT ON THY BEAUTIFUL EYE! SLUMBER lie soft on thy beautiful eye! Spirits, whose smiles are-like thine-of the sky, But loving and loved like a child of the earth! Why is that tear ?-art thou gone, in thy dream, |