SONG AND TRIO.

Call the Loves around, Let the whispering sound Of their wings be heard alone. Till soft to rest My Lady blest At this bright hour hath gone, Let Fancy's beams Play o'er her dreams, Till, touched with light all through. Her spirit be Like a summer sea, Shining and slumbering too. And, while thus husht she lies, Let the whispered chorus rise— "Good evening, good evening, to our Lady's bright eyes."

But the day-beam breaks, See, our Lady wakes! Call the Loves around once more, Like stars that wait At Morning's gate, Her first steps to adore. Let the veil of night From her dawning sight All gently pass away, Like mists that flee From a summer sea, Leaving it full of day. And, while her last dream flies, Let the whispered chorus rise— "Good morning, good morning, to our Lady's bright eyes."