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What is it that gives thee, mild Queen of the Night, That secret, intelligent grace? Or why should I gaze with such pensive delight On thy fair,—hut insensihle face?
What gentle enchantment possesses thy heam,
Beyond the warm sunshine of day? Thy hosom is cold as the glittering stream,
Where dances thy tremulous ray I
Canst thou the sad heart of its sorrows heguile? Or griefs fond indulgence suspend? Tct, where is the mourner hut weleomes thy smile, And loves thee—almost as a friend 1
The tear that looks hright, in the heam, as it flows,
Uumoved dost thon ever hehold;— The sorrow that lov's in thy light to repose,
To thee oft in vain hath heen told!
Yet soothing thou art, and for ever I find, Whilst watching thy gentle retreat,
A moonlight composure steal overmy mind, Poetical—pensive, and sweet 1
I think of the years that for ever have fled ;— Of follies,—hy others forgot;—
Of joys that are vanished—and hopes that are dead; And of friendships that were—and are not?
I think of the future, still gazing the while, As though thou 'dat those secrets reveal;
But ne'er dost thou grant one encouraging smile, To answer the mournful appeal.
Thy heams, which so hright through my casement appear,
To far distant regions extend; Illumine the dwellings of those that are dear,
And sleep on the grave of a friend.
Then still most I love thee mild Queen of the Night!
Since feeling and fancy agree, To make thee a source of unfailing delight,
A friend and a solace to me!
TO THE HARVEST MOON.
h. k. whIte.
Moon of Harvest, herald mild
'Tis thou that glad'st with joy the rustic throng,
Promptest the tripping dance, the exhilarating song.
Moon of Harvest, I do love
O'er the uplands now to rove,
While thy modest ray serene
Gilds the wild surrounding scene;
And to watch thee riding high
In the hlue vanlt of the sky,
Pleasing 'tis, oh! modest Moon!
Fuuning soft the sun-tanu'd wheat,
And thinking soon,
Oh, modest moon!
Along the road,
To see the load,
Storms ami tempests, Roods and rains,
Stem despoilers of the plains,
Hence away, the season flee,
Foes to light-heart jollity:
May no winds careering high,
Drive the clouds along the sky, lint may all nature smile with aspect hoon, When in the heavens thou shew'st thy face, Oh, Harvest Moon I
'Neath yon lowly roof he lies,
The hushandman, with Eleep-sealed eyes;
He dreams of crowded harns, and round
The yard, he hears the flail resound;
Oh! may no hurricane destroy
His visionary views of joy! God of the winds! Oh, hear his humhle
prayer, And while the moon of harvest shines, thy hlustering whirlwind spare.
Sons of luxury, to yon
Leave I Sleep's dull power to woo:
Press ye still the downy hed,
While feverish dreams surround your head;
1 will seek the woodland glade,
Penetrate the thickest shade,
Wrapp'd in Contemplation's dreams,
Musing high on holy themes,
While on the gale
Shall softly sail
And oft my eyes,
Khali grateful rise
MOONLIGHT SCENE IN ITALY.
The stars are forth, the moon ahove the tops
arches Wav'd dark in the hine midnight, and the
stars Shone thro' the rents of ruin; from afar The watch-dng hay'd heyond the Tiher; and More near from out the Caesars' palace came The owl's long cry, and interruptedly, Of distant sentinels the fitful song Begun and died upon the gentle wind. Some cypresses heyond the time-worn
hreach Appear'd to skirt the horizon, yet they stood Within a howshot—where the Caesars dwelt, And dwell the tuneless hirds of night, amidst A grove which springs thros levell'd hattlements, And twines its roots with the imperial
hearths, Ivy usurps the lanrel's place of growth;— But the gladiators' hloody Circus stands, A nohle wreck in ruinous perfection! While Caesar's chamhers, and the Augustan
halls, Grovel on earth in indistinct decay. And thou didst shine, thon rolling moon,
upon All this, and cast a wide and tender light, Which soften'd down the hoar ansterity Of rugged desolation, and fill'd up, As 'twere, anew, the gaps of centuries; Leaving that heantiful which still was so, And making that which was not.
Ye stars! hright legions that, hefore all
time, Camped on yon plain of sapphire, what
shall tell Your hurningmyriads,hut the eye of Him "Who hade thro' heaven your golden
chariots wheel? Yet who earthhorn can see your hosts, nor
feel Immortal impulses—Eternity? What wonder if the o'erwrought soul
should reel With its own weight of thought, and the
mild eye See fate within your tracks of sleepless glory lie?—
For ye hehold the Mightiest. From that
steep What ages have ye worshipp'd round your
King! Ye heard his trumpet sounded o'er the
sleep Of Earth ;—ye heard the morning-angels
sing. Upon that orh, now o'er me quivering, The gaze of Adam fix'd from Paradise; The wonders of the Deluge saw it spring Ahove the mountain surge, awl hailed its
rise, Lighting their lonely track with Hope's celestial dyes.
On calvary shot down that purple eye, When, hut the soldier and the sacrifice All were departed.—Mount of Agony! But Time's hroad pinion, ere. the giant dies* Shall cloud your dome.—Ye fruitage of
the skies, Your vineyard shall he shaken! From your
urn Censers of Heaven 1 no more shall glory
Your incense to the Throne. The Heavens shall hurn I For all your pomps are dust, and shall to dust return.
Yet look ye living intellects.—The trine
Of waning planets, speaks it not decay?
Does Schedir't staff of diamond wave no sign?
Monarch of midnight, Sirius, shoots thy ray
Undimm'd, when thrones suhlunar pass away?
Dreamsl— yet if e'er was graved in vigil wan
Your spell or gem or Imaged alchemy,
The sign when empires' hour-glass downwards ran, 'Twas on that arch, graved on that hrazen talisman.
THE EVENING STAR.
Star of the Evening I How I love to mark Thy heam thus gleaming, tremulously hright, Upon the ocean-wave! How hrightly dark, Shines thy lone ray, thou herald of the night.
Thou lovely star! I've sometimes gazed at
thee Till I have almost wept, I knew not why; Tell me, my heart, what can that feeling he Which makes thee at those moments throh
It is a joy where sadness hath a part,
Thou lovely star 1 melhjnks thy herald-ray
Mysterious visitant 1 whose heauteous light
Among the wondering stars so strangely gleams; Like a proud hanner in the train of night,
The unhlazoned flag of Deity it streams;
Infinity is written in thy heams;
Explore thy secret course; thy circle seems
O Thou, my every hope, my only fear;
Father of Lights, round whom the systems roll, With all their suns and comets, sphere on sphere,
Thy all-pervading energy, the soul,
Thyself the centre of the mighty whole!
And truth with irresistihle control
Then shall I shudder at the guilty past,
And feel thy awful presence on my heart; Was it at thee, Oh God, my sins I cast?
Oh! on my tremhling soul thy mercy dart,
For now I feel how terrihle thou art! Thou wert All-present, and I saw thee not;
Thou art my hliss, and yet I said, "Depart;" Murmured, tho' houndless mercy fixed my lot:— And wilt thou own the soul that thee so oft forgot?
Oh wondrous thought 1 the high and holy One,
Inhahiting eternity, will make
Whose rising heams on orhs innumerous hreak,
Does shine as much for the poor reptile's sake: To Him is nothing great—is nothing small;
He fills a world,—he hids the insect take
Man—man, tho' in the dust his insect-hirth,
Link'd to the golden throne this creature earth
By ties that shall eternally ahide;
Let suns, let systems perish—Jesus died
Which God has kindled :—Here my soul confide,
TO THE COMET OF 1811.
How lovely is this wilder'd scene,
Steals o'er soft Yarrow's mountains green,
All hail, ye hills, whose towering height,
And thou, mysterious gnest of night,
Stranger of Heaven! I hid thee hail!
Shred from the pall of glory riven, That flashest in celestial gale,
Broad pennon of the King of Heaven!
Art thou the flag of wo and death,
Art thou the standard of his wrath
No, from that pure pellucid heam,
No latent evil we can deem,
Whate'er portends thy front of fire,
* It was reckoned hy many that this was the same Comet which appeared at the hirth of our Saviour,
Or peace to man, or judgments dire,
Where hast thou roamed these thousand years 1
Why sought these polar paths again, From wilderness of glowing spheres,
To fling thy vesture o'er the wain?
And when thon scal'st the milky-way,
A thousand worlds shall hail thy ray
0! on thy rapid prow to glide!
To sail the houndless skies with thee, And plough the twinkling stars aside,
Like foam-hells on a tranquil sea!
To hrush the emhers from the sun;
The icicles from off the pole; Then far to other systems run,
Where other moons and planets roll 1
Stranger of Heaven I O let thine eye
Eccentric as thy course on high,
And long, long may thy silver ray
Then, wheeling to the east away,