A SERENADE.
Wake, Lady, wake! the midnight Moon
Sails through the cloudless skies of June;
The Stars gaze sweetly on the stream,
Which in the brightness of their beam,
One sheet of glory lies;
The glow-worm lends its little light,
And all that's beautiful and bright
Is shining in our world to-night,
Save thy bright eyes,
Wake, Lady! wake! the nightingale
Tells to the Moon her love-lorn tale;
Now doth the brook that's hush'd by day,
As through the vale she winds her way,
In murmurs sweet rejoice;
The leaves, by the soft night-wind stirr'd,
Are whispering many a gentle word,
And all Earth's sweetest sounds are heard,
Save thy sweet voice.
Wake, Lady! wake! thy lover waits,
Thy steed stands saddled at the gates;
Here is a garment, rich and rare,
To wrap thee from the cold night-air;
Th' appointed hour is flown.
Danger and doubt have vanish'd quite,
Our way before lies clear and right,
And all is ready for the flight,
Save thou alone!
Wake, Lady! wake! I have a wreath
Thy broad fair brow should rise beneath;
I have a ring that must not shine
On any finger, Love! but thine—
I've kept my plighted vow;
Beneath thy casement here I stand,
To lead thee by thine own white hand,
Far from this dull and captive strand—
But where art thou?
Wake, Lady! wake! She wakes! she wakes!
Through the green mead her course she takes;
And now her lover's arms enfold
A prize more precious far than gold,
Blushing like morning's ray;
Now mount thy palfrey, Maiden kind!
Nor pause to cast one look behind,
But swifter than the viewless wind,
Away! away!
Ibid.