When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music

She floats upon the river of his thoughts.

Dreams of the summer night! Tell her, her lover keeps Watch! while in slumbers light She sleeps.

Stars of the summer night! Far in yon azure deeps, Hide, hide your golden light! She sleeps! My lady sleeps!

Music is the universal language of mankind — poetry their universal pastime and delight.

They are dead; but they live in each Patriot's breast, And their names are engraven on honor's bright crest.

Never here, forever there, Where all parting, pain, and care, And death, and time shall disappear,— Forever there, but never here! The horologe of Eternity Sayeth this incessantly,—