Now all the world is sleeping, love,

But the Sage, his star-watch keeping, love,
And I, whose star

More glorious far

Is the eye from that casement peeping, love.
Then awake!-till rise of sun, my dear,

The Sage's glass we'll shun, my dear,
Or in watching the flight

Of bodies of light

He might happen to take thee for one, my dear!

Thomas Moore [1779-1852]

"ROW GENTLY HERE"

Row gently here,

My gondolier,

So softly wake the tide,

That not an ear,

On earth, may hear,

But hers to whom we glide.

Had Heaven but tongues to speak, as well
As starry eyes to see,

Oh think what tales 'twould have to tell
Of wandering youths like me!

Now rest thee here,

My gondolier;

Hush, hush, for up I go,

To climb yon light
Balcony's height,

While thou keep'st watch below.
Ah! did we take for Heaven above

But half such pains as we

Take, day and night, for woman's love,
What angels we should be!

Thomas Moore [1779-1852]

A SERENADE

AWAKE! The starry midnight hour

Hangs charmed, and pauseth in its flight;

In its own sweetness sleeps the flower,

And the doves lie hushed in sweet delight!

Serenade

Awake! Awake!

675

Look forth, my love, for Love's sweet sake!

Awake!-Soft dews will soon arise

From daisied mead, and thorny brake;

Then, Sweet, uncloud those eastern eyes,
And like the tender morning break!
Awake!

Awake!

Dawn forth, my love, for Love's sweet sake!

Awake! Within the musk-rose bower

I watch, pale flower of love, for thee;

Ah, come, and show the starry hour

What wealth of love thou hid'st from me!
Awake!

Awake!

Show all thy love, for Love's sweet sake!

Awake!-Ne'er heed, though listening night
Steal music from thy silver voice:

Uncloud thy beauty, rare and bright,

And bid the world and me rejoice!

She comes, at last, for Love's sweet sake!
Bryan Waller Procter [1787-1874]

SERENADE

SOFTLY, O midnight Hours!

Move softly o'er the bowers

Where lies in happy sleep a girl so fair!

For ye have power, men say,

Our hearts in sleep to sway,

And cage cold fancies in a moonlight snare.

Round ivory neck and arm

Enclasp a separate charm;

Hang o'er her poised, but breathe nor sigh nor prayer:

Silently ye may smile,

But hold your breath the while,

And let the wind sweep back your cloudy hair!

Bend down your glittering urns,

Ere yet the dawn returns,

And star with dew the lawn her feet shall tread;

Upon the air rain balm,

Bid all the woods be calm,

Ambrosial dreams with healthful slumbers wed;
That so the Maiden may

With smiles your care repay,

When from her couch she lifts her golden head;
Waking with earliest birds,

Ere yet the misty herds

Leave warm 'mid the gray grass their dusky bed.

Aubrey Thomas De Vere [1814-1902]

LINES TO AN INDIAN AIR

I ARISE from dreams of thee
In the first sweet sleep of night,
When the winds are breathing low,
And the stars are shining bright.
I arise from dreams of thee,
And a spirit in my feet.

Has led me who knows how?
To thy chamber window, sweet!

The wandering airs they faint
On the dark, the silent stream;
The champak odors fail

Like sweet thoughts in a dream;
The nightingale's complaint,
It dies upon her heart,

As I must die on thine,

O beloved as thou art!

O lift me from the grass!

I die, I faint, I fail!

Let thy love in kisses rain

On my lips and eyelids pale.

My cheek is cold and white, alas!

My heart beats loud and fast;
Oh! press it close to thine again,
Where it must break at last.

Percy Bysshe Shelley [1792-1822]

Serenade

677

GOOD-NIGHT

GOOD-NIGHT? ah! no; the hour is ill
Which severs those it should unite;
Let us remain together still,

Then it will be good night.

How can I call the lone night good,
Though thy sweet wishes wing its flight?
Be it not said, thought, understood,
Then it will be good night.

To hearts which near each other move
From evening close to morning light,
The night is good; because, my love,

They never say good-night.

Percy Bysshe Shelley [1792-1822]

SERENADE

From "Sylvia"

AWAKE thee, my lady-love,

Wake thee and rise!

The sun through the bower peeps

Into thine eyes!

Behold how the early lark

Springs from the corn!

Hark, hark how the flower-bird

Winds her wee horn!

The swallow's glad shriek is heard

All through the air;

The stock-dove is murmuring

Loud as she dare!

Apollo's winged bugleman.

Cannot contain,

But peals his loud trumpet-call

Once and again!

Then wake thee, my lady-love

Bird of my bower!

The sweetest and sleepiest

Bird at this hour!

George Darley [1795-1846]

SERENADE

Ан, sweet, thou little knowest how
I wake and passionate watches keep;
And yet, while I address thee now,
Methinks thou smilest in thy sleep.
'Tis sweet enough to make me weep,
That tender thought of love and thee,
That while the world is hushed so deep,
Thy soul's perhaps awake to me!

Sleep on, sleep on, sweet bride of sleep!
With golden visions for thy dower,
While I this midnight vigil keep,

And bless thee in thy silent bower;
To me 'tis sweeter than the power
Of sleep, and fairy dreams unfurled,
That I alone, at this still hour,
In patient love outwatch the world.

Thomas Hood (1799-1845]

SERENADE

Look out upon the stars, my love,
And shame them with thine eyes,
On which, than on the lights above,
There hang more destinies.
Night's beauty is the harmony

Of blending shades and light:
Then, lady, up,-look out, and be
A sister to the night!

Sleep not!-thine image wakes for aye

Within my watching breast;

Sleep not!-from her soft sleep should fly,

Who robs all hearts of rest.