DEW-PLANT 
A Serenade. 
Low my lute—breathe low!—She sleeps 
Eulalie!— 
While his watch her lover keeps, 
Soft and dewy slumber steeps 
Golden tress and fringed lid 
With the blue heaven ’neath it hid— 
Eulalie!— 
Low my lute—breathe low!—She sleeps 
Eulalie! 
Let thy music, light and low, 
Through her pure dream come and go. 
Lute of Love!—with silver flow, 
All my passion, all my woe, 
Speak for me! 
Ask her in her balmy rest, 
Whom her holy heart loves best! 
Ask her if she thinks of me!— 
Eulalie!— 
Low my lute—breathe low!—She sleeps 
Eulalie!— 
Slumber while thy lover keeps 
Fondest watch and ward for thee, 
Eulalie! 
F. S. O 
