COME to the casement to-night,
And look out at the bright lady-moon;
Come to the casement to-night,
And I'll sing you your favorite tune!
Where the stream glides beside the old tower,
My boat shall be under the wall,—
Oh, dear one! be there in your bower,
With Byron, a lamp, and your shawl.
Oh! come where no troublesome eye
Can look on the vigil love keeps;
When there is not a cloud in the sky,
What maid, but an old maiden, sleeps?
And you know not how sweet is the tone
Of a song from a lip we have press'd,
When it breathes it "by moonlight alone,"
To the ear of the one it loves best.
Oh! daylight love's music but mars,
(As it breaks up the dance of the elves!)
The moon and the stream and the stars,
Should hear it alone with ourselves:
And who'd be content with "I may,"
If they only would think of "I might?"
Or who'd listen to music by day,
That had listened to music by night?
The Opera's over by one,
Lady Jersey's grows stupid at two;
I'll dance just one waltz, and have done,
Then be off, on the pony, for Kew!
My boat holds a cloak—a guitar,
And it waits by that dark bridge for me:
And I'll row, by the light of one star,
Love's own, to the old tower, by three!
I'll bring you that sweet canzonette,
That we practiced together last year;
And my own little miniature set
Round with emeralds—tis such a dear!
You promised you'd love me as long
As your heart felt me close to it, there;
And, dear one! for that and the song,
Won't you give me the locket of hair?
Farewell, sweet! be not in a fright,
Should your grandmamma bid you beware
Of a youth, who was murdered one night,
And whose ghost haunts the dark waters there:
For you know, ever since his decease,
Of a harmless young ghost that's allow'd
To go, by the River Police,
Serenading about in his shroud!
[From the Dublin University Magazine.]
THE MYSTIC VIAL:
OR, THE LAST DEMOISELLE DE CHARREBOURG.
I.—THE GAME OF BOWLS.