Oh, hearing sleep, and sleeping hear, The while we dare to call thee dear, So may thy dreams be good, altho' The loving power thou dost not know. As music parts the silence,--lo! Through heaven the stars begin to peep, To comfort us that darkling pine Because those fairer lights of thine Have set into the Sea of Sleep. Yet closèd still thine eyelids keep; And may our voices through the sphere Of Dreamland all as softly rise As through these shadowy rural dells, Where bashful Echo somewhere dwells, And touch thy spirit to as soft replies. May peace from gentle guardian skies, Till watches of the dark are worn, Surround thy bed, and joyous morn Makes all the chamber rosy bright! Good-night!--From far-off fields is borne The drowsy Echo's faint 'Good-night,'-- Good-night! Good-night! [Decoration] _ACROSS THE SEA._ I walked in the lonesome evening, And who so sad as I, When I saw the young men and maidens Merrily passing by. To thee, my Love, to thee-- So fain would I come to thee! While the ripples fold upon sands of gold, And I look across the sea. I stretch out my hands; who will clasp them? I call,--thou repliest no word. Oh, why should heart-longing be weaker Than the waving wings of a bird! To thee, my Love, to thee-- So fain would I come to thee! For the tide 's at rest from east to west, And I look across the sea. [Illustration: Full-page Plate] There 's joy in the hopeful morning, There 's peace in the parting day, There 's sorrow with every lover Whose true love is far away. To thee, my Love, to thee-- So fain would I come to thee! And the water 's bright in a still moonlight, As I look across the sea. [Decoration] [Decoration] SIR EDWIN ARNOLD. 1832. _SERENADE._ Lute! breathe thy lowest in my Lady's ear, Sing while she sleeps, "Ah! belle dame, aimez-vous?" Till, dreaming still, she dream that I am here, And wake to find it, as my love is, true; Then, when she listens in her warm white nest, Say in slow music,--softer, tenderer yet, That lute-strings quiver when their tone 's at rest, And my heart trembles when my lips are set. Stars! if my sweet love still a-dreaming lies, Shine through the roses for a lover's sake And send your silver to her lidded eyes, Kissing them very gently till she wake; Then while she wonders at the lay and light, Tell her, though morning endeth star and song, That ye live still, when no star glitters bright, And my love lasteth, though it finds no tongue. [Decoration] _A LOVE SONG OF HENRI QUATRE._ Come, rosy Day! Come quick--I pray-- I am so glad when I thee see! Because my Fair, Who is so dear, Is rosy-red and white like thee.