Might steal thee away to their home in the heaven.'
"'Rosabel,' said I, 'how can you refrain from jumping out the window when a pretty little man like Dove invites you to come forth and behold "thy lover adoring"?'
"'But,' said Rosabel, 'in the last verse he warns me not to venture.'
"'That is true,' said I; 'the little man manifests a wonderful solicitude for your safety. He is apprehensive lest you might be arrested as a runaway angel,—a fugitive from service.'
"'Hist! hist!' said Rosabel.
"'That is Love,' said I; and the voice of the serenader was heard singing,—
'The silvery cloudlets now are weeping, love,
Sweet dewdrops on the flowers,
And mellow moonlight now is creeping, love,
Under the ivy bowers.