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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!


h. k. whIte.

Moon of Harvest, herald mild
Of plenty, rustic lahour's child,
Hail! oh hail 1 I greet thy heam,
As soft it tremhles o'er the stream,
And gilds the straw-thatched hamlet wide,
Where Iunocence and Peace reside;

'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,
Where no thin vapour intercepts thy ray,
But in unclouded majesty thou walkest on
thy way.

Pleasing 'tis, oh! modest Moon!
Now the night is at her noon,
'Neath thy sway to musing lie,
While around the zephyrs sigh,

Fuuning soft the sun-tanu'd wheat,
Rlpen'd hy tki.s summer's heat;
Picturing all the rustic's joy
When houndless plenty meets his eye,

And thinking soon,

Oh, modest moon!
How many a female eye will roam

Along the road,

To see the load,
The last dear load of harvest-home.

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
The nightingale's enchanting tune,

And oft my eyes,

Khali grateful rise
To thee, the modest Harvest Moon.


The stars are forth, the moon ahove the tops
Of the suow-shining mountains—Beantiful!
I linger yet with Nature, for the night
Hath heen to me a more familiar face
Than that of man; and in her starry shade
Of dim and solitary loveliness,
I learn'd the langaage of another world.
I do rememher me, that in my yonth,
When I was wandering—upon such a night
I stood within the Coliseum's wall,
'Midst the chief relies of once mighty Rome;
The trees which grew along the hroken

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.



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

so high?

It is a joy where sadness hath a part,
A melancholy, worth whole days of mirth;
The eye in tears, indeed, hut with a heart
Which hounds as if'twould hreak the honds
of earth.

Thou lovely star 1 melhjnks thy herald-ray
Speaketh of rest heyond our hour of time;
And seemeth to invite the soul away
To seek for refuge in a happier clime.—



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;
And thought in vain would thro7 the pathless sky

Explore thy secret course; thy circle seems
Too vast for time to grasp;—O can that eye
Which numhers hosts like thee, this atom earth descry?

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!
When death shall purge the film of sense away,

And truth with irresistihle control
Shall setae my ravish'd mind,—that awful day
How shall my soul sustain,—that infinite survey i

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
The humhle soul his dwelling-place; the sun

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
His heing full of hliss;—He form'd them all;
He guides the Comet's course,—He marks the sparrow's fall.

Man—man, tho' in the dust his insect-hirth,
Beholds his nature unto God allied,

Link'd to the golden throne this creature earth

By ties that shall eternally ahide;

Let suns, let systems perish—Jesus died
Nor shall one vital spark he quench'd in night,

Which God has kindled :—Here my soul confide,
Safe in the arms of everlasting Might,
And circled with the heams of uncreated light.



How lovely is this wilder'd scene,
As twilight from her vaults so hlue

Steals o'er soft Yarrow's mountains green,
To sleep emhalm'd in midnight dew!

All hail, ye hills, whose towering height,
Like shadows, scoops the yielding sky]

And thou, mysterious gnest of night,
Dread traveller of immensity!

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,
From angels' ensign-staff unfurl'd?

Art thou the standard of his wrath
Waved o'er a sordid, sinful world?

No, from that pure pellucid heam,
That erst o'er plains of Bethlehem shone,*

No latent evil we can deem,
Bright herald of the eternal throne I

Whate'er portends thy front of fire,
Thy streaming locks so lovely pale,—

* 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,
Stranger of Heaven, I hid thee hail!

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,
And vanishest from human view,

A thousand worlds shall hail thy ray
Through wilds of yon empyreal hlue!

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
Smile on a wrapt enthusiast's dream;

Eccentric as thy course on high,
And airy as thine amhient heam!

And long, long may thy silver ray
Our northern arch at eve adorn;

Then, wheeling to the east away,
Light the grey portals of the morn I

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