SERENADE.

BY THE LATE PROFESSOR FRISBIE.

WAKE, lady fair, and hear me sing-
Oh! can I dare disturb thy rest?
Yet would I touch the tuneful string
That wakes to pleasure all thy breast!
Now at this silent midnight hour,
Kindly receive the meed I bring,
And while my simple strain I pour,
Wake, lady fair, and hear me sing!

No sound now breaks the calm serene,
The heavens are gemm'd with twinkling light.
How bland the air! how sweet the scene!
How still, how tranquil is the night!
So still, so tranquil, be thy breast;
There let no passion rudely spring
To break thy peaceful bosom's rest:
Fair lady! hear you what I sing?

Now on the lawn and dewy flower,
The trembling moonbeams lightly sleep:

**

So sensibility-sweet power!

Seems loveliest when she bids us weep.
May she thy silent moments cheer,
Her radiance o'er thy prospect fling,
And beam her lustre through thy tear:
Fair lady! do you hear me sing?

But can the bosom peaceful be
That feeling sways with quick control?
Yes! if celestial piety

Shed her sweet influence o'er the soul.

May she thy sacred guide be given,

And resignation with her bring,

And hope, with eye that points to heaven— This is the fondest wish I sing.

How mild the lustre of this night,
Far lovelier than the brightest day:
Thus memory sheds a soften'd light,
Borrow'd from joys long pass'd away.
Thus melancholy sweet to me,

The thoughts that in my bosom spring,
Whene'er remembrance dwells on thee:
Still, lady, wake and hear me sing.

And now I'd soothe thee to repose;
Yet kindly what I've sung, receive.
May sweetest sleep thy eyelids close,
And sweetest dreams thy fancy weave-
Around thy couch good angels keep
Their silent watch, and spread the wing
To guard your slumbers while you sleep---
Sleep, lady, sleep, no more I sing.

BLANCHE OF CASTILE AND SAINT LOUIS.

LOUIS IX. was fortunate among princes, in having his mother for his nurse and chief instructer.

A curious anecdote is told of Blanche at the time of her nursing, which shows how strong were her maternal feelings; though it proves she was haughty and passionate. At one time, when she was sick of a fever, a lady of the court, who, in imitation of the queen, was nursing her own child, offered her breast to the royal infant, who languished for his accustomed food. When Blanche revived, and called for her son, he was already satisfied; and being told what had passed, she compelled the child to throw back the milk he had swallowed, saying, "No other woman should dare to dispute with her the title of mother to her son."

Saint Louis was but twelve years of age at the death of his father, who made Blanche regent of the kingdom and guardian of the young