Saint Cloud

Soft spread the southern sumer night     Her veil of darksome blue;     Ten thousand stars combined to light     The terrace of Saint Cloud.     The evening breezes gently sigh'd,     Like breath of lover true,     Bewailing the deserted pride     And wreck of sweet Saint Cloud.     The drum's deep roll was heard afar,     The bugle wildly blew     Good-night to Hulan and Hussar     That garrison Saint Cloud.     The startled Naiads from the shade     With broken urns withdrew     And silenced was that proud cascade,     The glory of Saint Cloud.     We sate upon its steps of stone,     Nor could its silence rue     When waked, to music of our own,     The echoes of Saint Cloud.     Slow Seine might hear each lovely note     Fall light as summer dew     While through the moonless air they float     Prolong'd from fair Saint Cloud.     And sure a melody more sweet     His waters never knew,     Though music's self was wont to meet     With Princes at Saint Cloud.     Nor then, with more delighted ear,     The circle round her drew,     Than ours, when gather'd round to hear     Our songstress at Saint Cloud.     Few happy hours poor mortals pass     Then give those hours their due,     And rank among the foremost class     Our evenings at Saint Cloud.