The music, and the banquet, and the wine-- The garlands, the rose odors, and the flowers, The sparkling eyes, and flashing ornaments-- The white arms and the raven hair--the braids, And bracelets; swan-like bosoms, and the necklace, An India in itself, yet dazzling not.

Now I shall go to sleep. Goodnight.

On the ear Drops the light drip of the suspended oar.

The light of love, the purity of grace, The mind, the Music breathing from her face, The heart whose softness harmonised the whole — And, oh! that eye was in itself a Soul!

'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark our coming, and look brighter when we come.

Fare thee well, and if for ever Still for ever fare thee well.

Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels.