THE SERENADE.

Innocent dreams be thine! The silver night Is a fit curtain for thy lovely sleep. The stars keep watch above thee, and the moon Sits like a brooding spirit up in Heaven, Ruling the night's deep influences, and life Hath a hushed pulse, and the suspended leaves Sleep with their whisperings as if the dew Were a soft finger on the lip of sound. Innocent dreams be thine! thy heart sends up Its thoughts of purity like pearly bells Rising in crystal fountains, and the sin That thou hast seen by day, will, like a shade, Pass from thy memory, as if the pure Had an unconscious ministry by night. Midnight—and now for music! Would I were A sound that I might steal upon thy dreams, And, like the breathing of my flute, distil Sweetly upon thy senses. Softly, boy! Breathe the low cadences as if the words Fainted upon thy lip—I would not break Her slumber quite—but only, as she dreams, Witch the lull'd sense till she believes she hears Celestial melody:—

"Sleep, like a lover, woo thee, Isabel! And golden dreams come to thee, Like a spell By some sweet angel drawn! Noiseless hands shall seal thy slumber, Setting stars its moments number, So, sleep thou on! The night above thee broodeth, Hushed and deep; But no dark thought intrudeth On the sleep Which folds thy senses now. Gentle spirits float around thee, Gentle rest hath softly bound thee, For pure art thou! And now thy spirit fleeth On rare wings, And fancy's vision seeth Holy things In its high atmosphere. Music strange thy sense unsealeth, And a voice to thee revealeth What angels hear. Thou'lt wake when morning breaketh, Pure and calm; As one who mourns, awaketh When the balm Of peace hath on him fell. Purer thoughts shall stir within thee, Softer cords to virtue win thee— Farewell! Farewell!"