They are of vesper’s hymns and harmonies:
Leave me not yet!
My thoughts are like those gentle sounds, dear love!
By day shut up in their own still recess;
They wait for dews on earth, for stars above,
Then to breathe out their soul of tenderness:
Leave me not yet!
THE ORANGE BOUGH.
Oh! bring me one sweet orange-bough,
To fan my cheek, to cool my brow;