Wake! Dinah, Wake!
Wake! Dinah, wake! the bright moon is beaming
O’er the meadow, the corn-field, and the hill;
And the stars, though no brighter than thy bright eyes,
Are gleaming o’er the earth, all so calm and still.
The violet in the glade is sleeping,
The lily is bending o’er the rill,
The rose in tears of pearly dew-drops weeping,
Near the river that flows calmly by the mill.