Tis Now the Promised Hour. A Serenade.

The fountains serenade the flowers,         Upon their silver lute--     And, nestled in their leafy bowers,         The forest-birds are mute:     The bright and glittering hosts above         Unbar their golden gates,     While Nature holds her court of love,         And for her client waits.     Then, lady, wake--in beauty rise!         'Tis now the promised hour,     When torches kindle in the skies         To light thee to thy bower.     The day we dedicate to care--         To love the witching night;     For all that's beautiful and fair         In hours like these unite.     E'en thus the sweets to flowerets given--         The moonlight on the tree--     And all the bliss of earth and heaven--         Are mingled, love, in thee.     Then, lady, wake--in beauty rise!         'Tis now the promised hour,     When torches kindle in the skies         To light thee to thy bower!