so well to music by Tod B. Galloway. His mother had taught him the song, and he loved it.
“I arise from dreams of thee In the first sweet sleep of night, When the winds are breathing low And the stars are shining bright. I arise from dreams of thee, And a spirit in my feet Hath led me—who knows how? To thy chamber-window, Sweet!”
Two of the boys, who had heard Hugh sing the song before, hummed a soft accompaniment. When he began the second verse several more began to hum; they had caught the melody. The couples on the veranda moved quietly to the porch railing, their chatter silent, their attention focused on a group of dim figures standing in the shadow of an elm. Hugh was singing well, better than he ever had before. Neither he nor his audience knew that the lyric was immortal, but its tender, passionate beauty caught and held them.
“The wandering airs they faint On the dark, the silent stream—• The champak odors fail Like sweet thoughts in a dream; The nightingale’s complaint It dies upon her heart, As I must die on thine O beloved as thou art!
