Thy Guardians are asleep,
⁠So I'm come to bid thee rise;
Thou hast a holy vow to keep,
⁠Ere yon crescent quit the skies.

Though clouds careering wide
⁠Will hardly let her gleam,
She's bright enough to be our guide
⁠Across the mountain stream.

O waken, dearest, wake!
⁠What means this long delay?
Say, wilt thou not for true love's sake
⁠Chase idol fears away?

Think not of future grief
⁠Entailed on present joy;
An age of woe were only brief
⁠Its memory to destroy.

And neither Hell nor Heaven,
⁠Though both conspire at last,
Can take the bliss that has been given,
⁠Can rob us of the past.