82 COME FORTH! FOR THE MORNING IS BREAKING.

2

Come forth! The brisk bee for the lily
Already has quitted the cell,

And the snail, though so tardy and silly,
Is trying to creep from its shell :

Then leave your dark chamber, and stay not
To lace up your bodice and shoon;

And to braid your dark tresses delay not,
For the breeze will unravel them soon.

3

Pretty sluggard! Unheeded the linnets
At your casement their madrigal sing,
And I too have play'd here some minutes
On the lute which you ask'd me to bring:
So good-bye! Though I'll come back to morrow
With my lute at this hour if I may;

And perhaps some new chords I will borrow,

And ask you to sing while I play.

COME FORTH FOR THE MORNING IS BREAKING. 83

4

But no, as you

then may

be dreaming,

I will come to you, dear, while the light Of the kind star of eve is still gleaming,

Ere your lattice is closed for the night. Meanwhile I will learn a new ditty,

Or I'll bring you a song of my own, In the hope I may move you to pity,

And for calling you early atone.

AND PUNCTUAL I WENT TO THE

BOWER.

1

AND punctual I went to the bower,
Expecting to find her alone,

With my lute and my song at love's hour,
But the bird which I look'd for was flown.

I heard merry sounds in short distance,
And the hall was ablaze like midnoon,
And I thought I might lend some assistance

With my chords, or beat time to the tune.

AND PUNCTUAL I WENT TO THE BOWER.

85

2

When I enter'd my heart went much faster
Than viol, triangle, or drum,

For I saw that no waltzer surpass'd her,

And no eyes flash'd like hers in the room.

Her hair which was cunningly braided,

Wore a wreath, but more sweet was her sigh;

The rose on her cheek had not faded,

With her bosom no lily could vie.

3

No diamond her swan-neck encumber'd,
Her bodice was wound to a turn,

Her sandals-I wish'd she still slumber'd

Made me feel as they twinkled quite stern.
Nay, worse, as she went by me spinning
She gave me a quizzical glance,
While unconsciously I was beginning

Like a mesmerised bumpkin to dance.

4

In vain at the dawn near her pillow,
Said I, the blithe linnets will sing;
My lute I may hang on the willow,

And my verse in the stream I may fling.
Could I waltz like her partner audacious,
Whose clasp now encircles her waist,
I might then hope to find her more gracious,
And my arm not less lovingly placed.

5

So I vow'd I would seek a French tutor
To teach me the use of my feet,

As my own rustic ways did not suit her,

And her dreams in the morning were sweet.

I would visit her only by starlight,

And sing her some soft Southern lay,

Or would dance with her into the far night,
And take her safe home with the day.