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FAREWELL SERENADE.
Sleep, sleep, if the visions around thee that hover
Are fair as thy form, never more for my sight!—
If bright as the orbs which thy soft eyelids cover,
Or pure as the soul whence they borrow their light!
O, sleep, if the lone one who breathes his faint numbers
Through night's solemn shade as the stars dimly beam,
Whilst thou from the world art locked up in thy slumbers,
May once pass before thee, portrayed in a dream!
Are fair as thy form, never more for my sight!—
If bright as the orbs which thy soft eyelids cover,
Or pure as the soul whence they borrow their light!
O, sleep, if the lone one who breathes his faint numbers
Through night's solemn shade as the stars dimly beam,
Whilst thou from the world art locked up in thy slumbers,
May once pass before thee, portrayed in a dream!
Yet who will be near him when morning is breaking,
And pours forth its splendor these shades to dispel,—
To hail its new glories when thou art awaking,
O, who'll be with him, of thy visions to tell?
Its breeze, from these rose-buds the dew-sparkles brushing,
May waft back a sigh from my desolate breast;
But far, ere the dawn is the orient flushing,
My feet will have passed from the turf where they rest.
And pours forth its splendor these shades to dispel,—
To hail its new glories when thou art awaking,
O, who'll be with him, of thy visions to tell?
Its breeze, from these rose-buds the dew-sparkles brushing,
May waft back a sigh from my desolate breast;
But far, ere the dawn is the orient flushing,
My feet will have passed from the turf where they rest.
I go,—but thine image, my spirit attending,
Is still to be near me, where'er I may stray;
In sunshine, beloved,—'mid my darkness, descending,
An angel of light unrevealed in the day!
Farewell! while my bark in its frailty is tossing,
The sport of the billows, on life's stormy sea,
And on the cold stream that admits no recrossing,
I'll hope, past them all, a blest meeting with thee.
Is still to be near me, where'er I may stray;
In sunshine, beloved,—'mid my darkness, descending,
An angel of light unrevealed in the day!
Farewell! while my bark in its frailty is tossing,
The sport of the billows, on life's stormy sea,
And on the cold stream that admits no recrossing,
I'll hope, past them all, a blest meeting with thee.
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