A SERENADE.

BY my darling’s poignant glances,

By her curling ringlet’s snare,

By the shafts her eyebrow lances,

By her witching eyes I swear

With her charms and spells she slays me,

Prostrate in the dust she lays me.

By the white rose that her face is,

By the black night of her hair,

By the shackles of her tresses,

By my heart-suspense I swear

Lowly in the dust I’m lying,

And my only cure is—dying.

By the darkling eye that hatches

Raid and rapine in its lair,

By her Hindu beauty-patches,

By her pouting lips I swear

Her fell cruelty consumes me,

To perpetual torture dooms me.

By her wit that gleams and flashes,

By the lustre of her pearls,

By the arrows of her lashes,

By the lassoes of her curls,

I’m her captive, captivated

By those lips with honey baited.

By thy cheeks of pale enamel,

By thy moon-like beauty pure,

By the souls that Love doth trammel,

By his slain I thee adjure

Come and fill my heart with gladness,

Rescue me from grief and madness.

By the spell of woven tresses,

By that Tartar musk of thine,

By the craft of thy caresses,

By thine eyebrows’ billowy line

Ever hoping, weeping, sighing,

Yearning for thy lips I’m dying.

By the loftiest heaven’s splendour,

By all heaven’s infinity,

By the Truth and Truth’s Defender,

By the lamp of prophecy

Abject at thy feet I’m kneeling,

One kind look is all my healing.