And all Earth's sweetest sounds are heard,
Save thy sweet voice.
Wake, Lady! wake! thy lover waits,
Thy steed stands saddled at the gates;
Here is a garment, rich and rare,
To wrap thee from the cold night-air;
Th' appointed hour is flown.
Danger and doubt have vanish'd quite,
Our way before lies clear and right,
And all is ready for the flight,