To the Moon

To the Moon

Hail to thee! bright and ever rolling moon,
Wheeling thy car in splendour through the sky;
Thou art to mortals a most welcome boon,
When waves Old Night his ebon [sic] wand on high,
Thou beamest in thy beauty and how soon
Flee the light clouds with their thin drapery.
Then falls thy lustre on the silent lake,
And silver glitters on each tiny wake.

'Tis pleasure - rapture at the evening hour,
To guide our course along the winding stream,
Commune with nature and to have her pow'r,
Serene the passions, for I truly deem
She hath the magic if our feeling sour,
To smooth their surface with her melting beam;
Above all art the soul hath ever found,
By chance or search throughout life's varied round.

Bright moon! the rover on the stormy sea
Hath little, cheerful in his gloomy track
Did not he think of her while viewing thee,
And mem'ry bring his far flown pleasures back;
Lov'd retrospective pow'r! (he saith) I see!
A glimpse of home! 'tis gone! and billows black
Are all that greet my weary watching eye,
Save the mild star of Hope and Thee on high!

Thou radiant Orb! when sorrows pain my heart,
I flee the rabble for the distant grove;
Thou lookest there as on the domes of art,
And gild'st the scenery with thy light of love.
Divinest solitude! thy bliss impart,
To calm my bosom as through thee I rove;
And gratitude though unexpress'd shall glow,
For rapture felt Queen of the silver bow!

Arion

2:6, p. 47

1828.05.02