Song.

"Sleep, like a lover, woo thee,                         Isabel!     And golden dreams come to thee,                         Like a spell     By some sweet angel drawn!     Noiseless hands shall seal thy slumber,     Setting stars its moments number,                         So, sleep thou on!     The night above thee broodeth,                         Hushed and deep;     But no dark thought intrudeth                         On the sleep     Which folds thy senses now.     Gentle spirits float around thee,     Gentle rest hath softly bound thee,                         For pure art thou!     And now thy spirit fleeth                         On rare wings,     And fancy's vision seeth                         Holy things     In its high atmosphere.     Music strange thy sense unsealeth,     And a voice to thee revealeth                         What angels hear.     Thou'lt wake when morning breaketh,                         Pure and calm;     As one who mourns, awaketh                         When the balm     Of peace hath on him fell.     Purer thoughts shall stir within thee,     Softer cords to virtue win thee -                         Farewell! Farewell!"