SONG.

“Sleep, like a lover, woo thee,

Isabel!

And golden dreams come to thee,

Like a spell

By some sweet angel drawn!

Noiseless hands shall seal thy slumber,

Setting stars its moments number,

So, sleep thou on!

The night above thee broodeth,

Hushed and deep;

But no dark thought intrudeth

On the sleep

Which folds thy senses now.

Gentle spirits float around thee,

Gentle rest hath softly bound thee,

For pure art thou!

And now thy spirit fleeth

On rare wings,

And fancy's vision seeth

Holy things

In its high atmosphere.

Music strange thy sense unsealeth,

And a voice to thee revealeth

What angels hear.

Thou'lt wake when morning breaketh,

Pure and calm;

As one who mourns, awaketh

When the balm

Of peace hath on him fell.

Purer thoughts shall stir within thee,

Softer cords to virtue win thee —

Farewell! Farewell!”