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Awake!-- soft dews will soon arise

From daisied mead and thorny brake :
Then, sweet, uncloud those eastern eyes,
And like the tender morning break !

Awake! awake!
Dawn forth, my love, for Love's sweet sake !

To paint that living light I see,

And fix the soul that sparkles there." His prayer as soon as breathed was heard ;

His pallet touched by Love grew warm, And painting saw her thus transferred

From lifeless flowers to woman's form. Still, as from tint to tint he stole,

The fair design shone out the more, And there was now a life, a soul,

Where only colors glowed before. Then first carnation learned to speak,

And lilies into life were brought ; While mantling on the maiden's cheek,

Young roses kindled into thought : Then hyacinths their darkest dyes

Upon the locks of beauty threw ; And violets transformed to eyes,

Inshrined a soul within their blue.

Awake!- within the musk-rose bower

I watch, pale flower of love, for thee. Ah, come ! and show the starry hour What wealth of love thou hid'st from me!

Awake! awake!

Show all thy love, for Love's sweet sake! Awake ! — ne'er heed though listening night

Steal music from thy silver voice ;
Uncloud thy beauty, rare and bright,
And bid the world and me rejoice!

Awake! awake ! -
She comes at last, for Love's sweet sake.

CHORUS.

• BARRY CORNWALL

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UP! QUIT THY BOWER. UP! quit thy bower ! late wears the hour, Long have the rooks cawed round the tower ; O'er flower and tree loud hums the bee, And the wild kid sports merrily. The sun is bright, the sky is clear ; Wake, lady, wake! and hasten here. Up, maiden fair ! and bind thy hair, And rouse thee in the breezy air ! The lulling stream that soothed thy dream Is dancing in the sunny beam. Waste not these hours, so fresh, so gay : Leave thy soft couch, and haste away ! Up! Time will tell the morning bell Its service-sound has chiméd well ; The aged crone keeps house alone, The reapers to the fields are gone. Lose not these hours, so cool, so gay : Lo! while thou sleep'st they haste away!

JOANNA BAILLIE.

Samiasa !
I call thee, I await thee, and I love thee;

Many may worship thee, that will I not;
If that thy spirit down to mine may move thee,
Descend and share my lot !
Though I be formed of clay,

And thou of beams
More bright than those of day

On Eden's streams,
Thine immortality cannot repay

With love more warm than mine
My love. There is a ray

In me, which, though forbidden yet to shine,

I feel was lighted at thy God's and thine. It may be hidden long : death and decay Our mother Eve bequeathed us, but

my

heart Defies it; though this life must pass away,

Is that a cause for thee and me to part ? Thou art immortal ; so am I : I feel

I feel my immortality o'ersweep All pains, all tears, all time, all fears, and peal,

Like the eternal thunders of the deep, Into my ears this truth, — “Thou liv'st forever !"

BYRON

FOR LOVE'S SWEET SAKE.

FLY TO THE DESERT, FLY WITH ME.

SONG OF NOURMAHAL IN “THE LIGHT OF THE HAREM."

AWAKE ! — the starry midnight hour

Hangs charmed, and pauseth in its flight ;
In its own sweetness sleeps the flower,
And the doves lie hushed in deep delight.

Awake! awake !
Look forth, my love, for Love's sweet sake !

“Fly to the desert, fly with me,
Our Arab tents are rude for thee ;
But oh ! the choice what heart can doubt
Of tents with love or thrones without!

“Our rocks are rough, but smiling there
Th’ acacia waves her yellow hair,
Lonely and sweet, nor loved the less
For flowering in a wilderness.
“Our sands are bare, but down their slope
The silvery-footed antelope
As gracefully and gayly springs
As o'er the marble courts of kings.
“Then come, — thy Arab maid will be
The loved and lone acacia-tree,
The antelope, whose feet shall bless
With their light sound thy loneliness.

Oh ! there are looks and tones that dart
An instant sunshine through the heart,
As if the soul that minute caught
Some treasure it through life had sought ;
As if the very lips and eyes
Predestined to have all our sighs,
And never be forgot again,
Sparkled and spoke before as then !
“So came thy every glance and tone,
When first on me they breathed and shone ;
New, as if brought from other spheres,
Yet welcome as if loved for years !

“Then fly with me, if thou hast known
No other flame, nor falsely thrown
A gem away, that thou hadst sworn
Should ever in thy heart be worn.
Come, if the love thou hast for me
Is pure and fresh as mine for thee,
Fresh as the fountain underground,
When first 't is by the lapwing found.
“But if for me thou dost forsake
Some other maid, and rudely break
Her worshipped image from its base,
To give to me the ruined place ;
“ Then, fare thee well !-I'd rather make
My bower upon some icy lake
When thawing suns begin to shine,
Than trust to love so false as thine !"

As if 't were fixed by magie there',
And naming her, so long unnamed,
So long unseen, wildly exclaimed,
“O Nourmahal ! O Nourmahal !

Hadst thou but sung this witching strai.., I could forget — forgive thee all,

And never leave those eyes again."
The mask is off, the charm is wrought,
And Selim to his heart has caught,
In blushes, more than ever bright,
His Nourmahal, his Harem's Light !
And well do vanished frowns enhance
The charm of every brightened glance ;
And dearer seems each dawning smile
For having lost its light awhile ;
And, happier now for all her sighs,

As on his arm her head reposes,
She whispers him, with laughing eyes,

“ Remember, love, the Feast of Roses !"

THOMAS MOORE.

COME INTO THE GARDEN, MAUD. Come into the garden, Maud,

For the black bat, night, has flown ! Come into the garden, Maud,

I am here at the gate alone; And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad,

And the musk of the roses blown. For a breeze of morning moves,

And the planet of Love is on high, Beginning to faint in the light that she loves,

On a bed of datfodil sky, To faint in the light of the sun that she loves,

To faint in its light, and to die. All night have the roses heard

The flute, violin, bassoon ;
All night has the casement jessamine stirred

To the dancers dancing in tune,
Till a silence fell with the waking bird,

And a hush with the setting moon.
I said to the lily, “There is but one

With whom she has heart to be gay. When will the dancers leave her alone ?

She is weary of dance and play."
Now half to the setting moon are gone,

And half to the rising day ;
Low on the sand and loud on the stone

The last wheel echoes away.
I said to the rose, “ The brief night goes

In babble and revel and wine. 0

young lord-lover, what sighs are those

For one that will never be thine ? But mine, but inine," so I sware to the rose,

For ever and ever mine!”

There was a pathos in this lay,

That even without enchantment's art Would instantly have found its way

Deep into Selim's burning heart ; But breathing, as it did, a tone To earthly lutes and lips unknown ; With every chord fresh from the touch Of music's spirit, 't was too much ! Starting, he dashed away the cup,

Which, all the time of this sweet air, His hand had held, untasted, up,

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And the soul of the rose went into my blood, And the best of all ways
As the music clashed in the hall;

To lengthen our days
And long by the garden lake I stood,

Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear! For I heard your rivulet fall From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood, Now all the world is sleeping, love, Our wood, that is dearer than all ;

But the sage, his star-watch keeping, love,

And I, whose star, From the meadow your walks have left so sweet

More glorious far, That whenever a March-wind sighs,

Is the eye from that casement peeping, love. He sets the jewel-print of your feet

Then awake ! - till rise of sun, my dear, In violets blue as your eyes,

The sage's glass we'll shun, my dear, To the woody hollows in which we meet,

Or, in watching the flight And the valleys of Paradise.

Of bodies of light,

He might happen to take thee for one, my dear ! The slender acacia would not shake

THOMAS MOORE.
One long milk-bloom on the tree ;
The white lake-blossom fell into the lake,
As the pimpernel dozed on the lea ;

AH, SWEET KITTY NEIL!
But the rose was awake all night for your sake,
Knowing your promise to me ;

“Ah, sweet Kitty Neil ! rise up from your wheel, The lilies and roses were all awake,

Your neat little foot will be weary from spinThey sighed for the dawn and thee.

ning;

Come, trip down with me to the sycamore-tree ; Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls,

Half the parish is there, and the dance is Come hither ! the dances are done ;

beginning. In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls,

The sun is gone down ; but the full harvest moon Queen lily and rose in one ;

Shines sweetly and cool on the dew-whitened Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls,

valley ; To the flowers, and be their sun.

While all the air rings with the soft, loving things There has fallen a splendid tear

Each little bird sings in the green shaded alley." From the passion-flower at the gate.

With a blush and a smile, Kitty rose up the She is coming, my dove, my dear; She is coming, my life, my fate !

while, The red rose cries, “She is near, she is near";

Her eye in the glass, as she bound her hair, And the white rose weeps, “She is late";

glancing ; The larkspur listens, “I hear, I hear" ;

'T is hard to refuse when a young lover sues, And the lily whispers, “I wait."

So she could n't but choose to — go off to the

dancing She is coming, my own, my sweet !

And now on the green the glad groups are seen, — Were it ever so airy a tread,

Each gay-hearted lad with the lass of his choosMy heart would hear her and beat,

ing ; Were it earth in an earthly bed ;

And Pat, without fail, leads outsweet Kitty Neil, -My dust would hear her and beat,

Somehow, when he asked, she ne'er thought Had I lain for a century dead ;

of refusing
Would start and tremble under her feet,
And blossom in purple and red.

Now Felix Magee puts his pipes to his knee,
And, with flourish so free, sets each couple in

motion ;

With a cheer and a bound, the lads patter the THE YOUNG MAY MOON.

ground,

The maids move around just like swans on the The young May moon is beaming, love, The glowworm's lamp is gleaming, love, Cheeks bright as the rose, - feet light as the doe's, How sweet to rove

Now coyly retiring, now boldly advancing ; Through Morna's grove,

Search the world all around from the sky to the While the drowsy world is dreaming, love !

ground, Then awake !--the heavens look bright, my dear! No such sight can be found as an Irish lass 'T is never too late for delight, my dear !

dancing!

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ALFRED TENNYSON.

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