Wake thee, my dear--thy dreaming
Till darker hours will keep;
While such a moon is beaming,
'Tis wrong towards Heaven to sleep.
Moments there are we number,
Moments of pain and care,
Which to oblivious slumber
Gladly the wretch would spare.
But now,--who'd think of dreaming
When Love his watch should keep?
While such a moon is beaming,
'Tis wrong towards Heaven to sleep.
If e'er the fates should sever
My life and hopes from thee, love,
The sleep that lasts for ever
Would then be sweet to me, love;
But now,--away with dreaming!
Till darker hours 'twill keep;
While such a moon is beaming,
'Tis wrong towards Heaven to sleep.
THE BOY OF THE ALPS.
Lightly, Alpine rover,
Tread the mountains over;
Rude is the path thou'st yet to go;
Snow cliffs hanging o'er thee,
Fields of ice before thee,
While the hid torrent moans below.
Hark, the deep thunder,
Thro' the vales yonder!
'Tis the huge avalanche downward cast;
From rock to rock
Rebounds the shock.
But courage, boy! the danger's past.
Onward, youthful rover,
Tread the glacier over,
Safe shalt thou reach thy home at last.
On, ere light forsake thee,
Soon will dusk o'ertake thee:
O'er yon ice-bridge lies thy way!
Now, for the risk prepare thee;
Safe it yet may bear thee,
Tho' 'twill melt in morning's ray.
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