The Troubadour; Catalogue of Pictures, and Historical Sketches/Serenade

by Letitia Elizabeth Landon

For works with similar titles, see Serenade.

SERENADE.

    Sleep, ladye! for the moonlit hour,
    Like peace, is shining on thy bower;
    It is so late, the nightingale
    Has ended even his love tale.

    Sleep, ladye! 'neath thy turret grows,
    Cover'd with flowers, one pale white rose;
    I envy its sweet sighs, they steep
    The perfumed airs that lull thy sleep.

    Perchance, around thy chamber floats
    The music of my lone lute notes,—
    Oh, may they on thine eyelids fall,
    And make thy slumbers musical!

    Sleep, ladye! to thy rest be given
    The gleamings of thy native heaven,
    And thoughts of early paradise,
    The treasures of thy sleeping eyes.

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