THE SERENADE.

Innocent dreams be thine! The silver night

Is a fit curtain for thy lovely sleep.

The stars keep watch above thee, and the moon

Sits like a brooding spirit up in Heaven,

Ruling the night's deep influences, and life

Hath a hushed pulse, and the suspended leaves

Sleep with their whisperings as if the dew

Were a soft finger on the lip of sound.

Innocent dreams be thine! thy heart sends up

Its thoughts of purity like pearly bells

Rising in crystal fountains, and the sin

That thou hast seen by day, will, like a shade,

Pass from thy memory, as if the pure

Had an unconscious ministry by night.

Midnight — and now for music! Would I were

A sound that I might steal upon thy dreams,

And, like the breathing of my flute, distil

Sweetly upon thy senses. Softly, boy!

Breathe the low cadences as if the words

Fainted upon thy lip — I would not break

Her slumber quite — but only, as she dreams,

Witch the lull'd sense till she believes she hears

Celestial melody:—