II.
Come forth, come forth, the flowers that fear
To blossom in the sun’s career
The moonlight with their odours greet;
Ah! Rosalie, one sigh from thee were far more sweet!
III.
Come forth, come forth, one hour of night,
When flowers are fresh and stars are bright,
Were worth an age of gaudy day;
Then, Rosalie, fly, fly to me, nor longer stay!
‘I hope the lady came,’ said Miss Temple, ‘after such a pretty song.’
‘Of course,’ said the Count, ‘they always come.’
‘Ferdinand, will you sing?’ said Miss Grandison.
‘I cannot, Katherine.’
‘Henrietta, ask Ferdinand to sing,’ said Miss Grandison; ‘he makes it a rule never to do anything I ask him, but I am sure you have more influence.’
Lord Montfort came to the rescue of Miss Temple. ‘Miss Temple has spoken so often to us of your singing, Captain Armine,’ said his lordship; and yet Lord Montfort, in this allegation, a little departed front the habitual exactitude of his statements.
‘How very strange!’ thought Ferdinand; ‘her callousness or her candour baffles me. I will try to sing,’ he continued aloud, ‘but it is a year, really, since I have sung.’
In a voice of singular power and melody, and with an expression which increased as he proceeded, until the singer seemed scarcely able to control his emotions, Captain Armine thus proceeded:—