THE SERENADE.
To F. B., who, just as I was speaking of her, late at night, with a friend, began to sing under the window. There were two ladies with her, dressed in white. As soon as we spoke to them, they disappeared. They sang The Swiss Boy, Fidolino, and a German love song.
List! list, lady fair, to a tale of the hill,
If to you, are all mysteries dear;
A tale, that with wonder thy bosom shall fill,—
Not of yore, but of yesterday—hear.
If to you, are all mysteries dear;
A tale, that with wonder thy bosom shall fill,—
Not of yore, but of yesterday—hear.
If you think of a spirit—I tried it last night—
And to speak to it freely, you long:
It comes at your bidding, as swiftly as light,
And pours forth a soul-touching song.
And to speak to it freely, you long:
It comes at your bidding, as swiftly as light,
And pours forth a soul-touching song.
Now sweetly it swells on the night breeze; and, hark!
The Swiss boy arose with his pail;
The fisherman floats in his beautiful bark,
And the pleadings of love do not fail.
The Swiss boy arose with his pail;
The fisherman floats in his beautiful bark,
And the pleadings of love do not fail.
With two sister spirits it came, all in white;
I saw them; I opened the door;
I spoke, and they flitted; again it was night,
And as silent and dark as before.
I saw them; I opened the door;
I spoke, and they flitted; again it was night,
And as silent and dark as before.
