is an hour when angels keep
Familiar watch on men;
When coarser souls are wrapt in sleep,—
Sweet spirit, meet me then.
There is an hour when holy dreams
Through slumber fairest glide;
And in that mystic hour it seems
Thou shouldst be by my side.
The thoughts of thee too sacred are
For daylight's common beam;—
I can but know thee as my star,
My angel, and my dream!
And now, the example set, and the praises of the fair hostess exciting general emulation, the guitar circled from hand to hand, and each of the Italians performed his part; you might have fancied yourself at one of the old Greek feasts, with the lyre and the myrtle-branch going the round.
But both the Italians and the Englishman felt the entertainment would be incomplete without hearing the celebrated vocalist and improvvisatrice who presided over the little banquet; and Madame de Montaigne, with a woman's tact, divined the general wish, and anticipated the request that was sure to be made. She took the guitar from the last singer, and turning to Maltravers, said, "You have heard, of course, some of our more eminent improvvisatori, and therefore if I ask you for a subject it will only be to prove to you that the talent is not general amongst the Italians."
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