My prayers attend thee, though the feet may fly,
I hear thy music in the silent, sky.
I should like, however, to hear some notes of earthly music to-night. By the faint moonshine I can hardly see the banks; how they look I have no guess, except that there are trees, and, now and then, a light lets me know there are homes with their various interests. I should like to hear some strains of the flute from beneath those trees, just to break the sound of the rapids.
When no gentle eyebeam charms;
No fond hope the bosom warms:
Of thinking the lone mind is tired—
Nought seems bright to be desired;
Music, be thy sails unfurled,
Bear me to thy better world;