Oh! would I were only a spirit of song,
I'd float forever around, above you:
If I were a spirit, it wouldn't be wrong,
It couldn't be wrong, to love you!
I'd hide in the light of a moonbeam bright,
I'd sing Love's lullaby softly o'er you,
I'd bring rare visions of pure delight
From the land of dreams before you.
Oh! if I were only a spirit of song,
I'd float forever around, above you,
For a musical spirit could never do wrong,
And it wouldn't be wrong to love you!
The next, an exquisitely beautiful song, suggests its own music:
She loves him yet!
I know by the blush that rises
Beneath the curls
That shadow her soul-lit cheek;
She loves him yet!
Through all Love's sweet disguises
In timid girls,
A blush will be sure to speak.
But deeper signs
Than the radiant blush of beauty,
The maiden finds,
Whenever his name is heard;
Her young heart thrills,
Forgetting herself—her duty—
Her dark eye fills,
And her pulse with hope is stirr'd.
She loves him yet!—
The flower the false one gave her,
When last he came,
Is still with her wild tears wet.
She'll ne'er forget,
Howe'er his faith may waver,
Through grief and shame,
Believe it—she loves him yet.
His favorite songs
She will sing—she heeds no other;
With all her wrongs
Her life on his love is set.
Oh! doubt no more!
She never can wed another;
Till life be o'er,
She loves—she will love him yet!
And this is not less remarkable for a happy adaptation of sentiment to the sound:
Low, my lute—breathe low!—She sleeps!—
Eulalie!
While his watch her lover keeps,
Soft and dewy slumber steeps
Golden tress and fringed lid
With the blue heaven 'neath it hid—
Eulalie!
Low my lute—breathe low!—She sleeps!—
Eulalie!
Let thy music, light and low,
Through her pure dream come and go.
Lute on Love! with silver flow,
All my passion, all my wo,
Speak for me!
Ask her in her balmy rest
Whom her holy heart loves best!
Ask her if she thinks of me!—
Eulalie!
Low, my lute!—breathe low!—She sleeps!—
Eulalie!
Slumber while thy lover keeps
Fondest watch and ward for thee,
Eulalie!