SLUMBER LIE SOFT ON THY BEAUTIFUL EYE!

SLUMBER lie soft on thy beautiful eye!

Spirits, whose smiles are-like thine-of the sky,
Play thee to sleep, with their visionless strings,
Brighter than thou, but because they have wings!
Fair as a being of heavenly birth,

But loving and loved like a child of the earth!

Why is that tear ?-art thou gone, in thy dream,
To the valley far-off, and the moon-lighted stream,

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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!—
Blest be the dream that restores them to thee,

But thou art the bird and the roses to me!

And now, as I watch o'er thy slumbers, alone,
And hear thy soft breathing, and know thee mine own,
And muse on the wishes that grew in that vale,

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, sans déchirement, sans irritation.

MADAME DE STAEL.

THAT song again!-its wailing strain

Brings back the thoughts of other hours,-
The forms I ne'er may see again,→

And brightens all life's faded flowers!

In mournful murmurs, o'er mine ear
Remembered echos seem to roll,

And sounds I never more can hear,
Make music in my lonely soul!

That swell again!—now, full and high,
The tide of feeling flows along,

And many a thought that claims a sigh
Seems mingling with thy magic song!

The forms I loved-and loved in vain,
The hopes I nursed-to see them die,
With fleeting brightness, through my brain,
In phantom beauty, wander by!

Then touch the lyre, my own dear love !— My soul is like a troubled sea,

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 heavens weep dew on the flowers;

And the spirit of loneliness steals, with a moan,
Through the shade of the eglantine bowers :-

For, the moon is asleep on her pillow of clouds,
And her curtain is drawn in the sky;

And the gale, as it wantons along the young buds,
Falls faint on the ear-like a sigh!