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!