260 SLUMBER LIE SOFT ON THY BEAUTIFUL EYE! Where the sighing of flowers and the nightingale's song Fling sweets on the wave, as it wanders along!— But thou art the bird and the roses to me! And now, as I watch o'er thy slumbers, alone, And the fancies we shaped from the river's low tale, I blame not the fate which has taken the rest, Since it left, to my bosom, its dearest and best! Slumber lie soft on thy beautiful eye! Love be a rainbow, to brighten thy sky! Oh! not for sunshine and hope, would I part With the shade time has flung over all-but thy heart! Still art thou all which thou wert, when a child, Only more holy-and only less wild! THAT SONG, AGAIN! Chacun croit retrouver, dans la mélodie, comme dans l'astre pur et tranquille de la nuit, l'image de ce qu'il souhaite sur la terre. Le malheur, dans le langage de la musique, est sans amertume, déchirement, sans irritation. sans MADAME DE STAEL. THAT Song again!-its wailing strain Brings back the thoughts of other hours,― And brightens all life's faded flowers! 262 THAT SONG, AGAIN! In mournful murmurs, o'er mine ear And sounds I never more can hear, That swell again!-now, full and high, And many a thought that claims a sigh The forms I loved-and loved in vain, In phantom beauty, wander by! Then touch the lyre, my own dear love!— And turns from all below-above, In fondness, to the harp and thee! SERENADE. OH! COME AT THIS HOUR, LOVE!-THE DAYLIGHT IS GONE. Oh! come at this hour, love!--the daylight is gone, And the spirit of loneliness steals, with a moan, For, the moon is asleep on her pillow of clouds, And the gale, as it wantons along the young buds, The summer-day sun is too gaudy and bright For a heart that has suffered like mine; And methinks, there were pain, in the noon of its light, To a spirit so broken as thine!— The birds-as they mingled their music of joy, And the roses that smiled in the beam, Would but tell us of feelings for ever gone by, And of hopes that have passed like a dream! And the moonlight-pale spirit !—would speak of the time When we wandered beneath its soft gleam, Along the green meadows, when life was in prime, And worshipped its face in the stream ; When our hopes were as sweet, and our life-path as bright, And as cloudless, to fancy's young eye, As the star-spangled course of that phantom of light, Along the blue depths of the sky! |