TRANSLATION FROM UHLAND. THE SERENADE. What soft low strains are these I hear That come my dreams between? Oh! mother, look! who may it be That plays so late at e'en? "I hear no sound, I see no form; Oh! rest in slumber mild: They'll bring no music to thee now, My poor, my sickly child!" It is not music of the earth That makes my heart so light; The angels call me with their songs, Oh! mother dear, good night!