Page:Bijou 1828.pdf/6



ye forth to our revel by moonlight, With your lutes and your spirits in tune; The dew falls to-night like an odour, Stars weep o'er our last day in June. Come maids leave the loom and its purple, Though the robe of a monarch were there; Seek your mirror, I know 'tis your dearest, And be it to-night your sole care.

Braid ye your curls in their thousands, Whether dark as the raven's dark wing, Or bright as that clear summer colour, When sunshine lights every ring. On each snow ankle lace silken sandal, Don the robes like the neck they hide white; Then come forth like planets from darkness, Or like lilies at day-break's first light.