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The past, with all its light and shade,
Seems traced upon thy brow,
Blent with the calmer, purer beam
That falls around me now.
Seems traced upon thy brow,
Blent with the calmer, purer beam
That falls around me now.
Moon, moon! thy melancholy smile
Has some mysterious power,
To wake in every breast the thought
Of life's best, holiest hour.
Ten hearts the world has chilled and seared,
Tremble beneath thy ray,
With long-lost dreams of youth and hope,
Of feeling passed away.
Has some mysterious power,
To wake in every breast the thought
Of life's best, holiest hour.
Ten hearts the world has chilled and seared,
Tremble beneath thy ray,
With long-lost dreams of youth and hope,
Of feeling passed away.
Till, 'mid the overwhelming calm
That hushes earth and main,
Tears, soft as childhood's, gush once more,
Like Summer's freshening rain.
And feelings long despised as vain—
Love, confidence, and truth—
Burst from their sleep, to wring the soul
With thoughts of home and youth!
That hushes earth and main,
Tears, soft as childhood's, gush once more,
Like Summer's freshening rain.
And feelings long despised as vain—
Love, confidence, and truth—
Burst from their sleep, to wring the soul
With thoughts of home and youth!
No marvel, then, sweet Moon! that hearts
Cast in a softer mould
Should read in thee sweet memories,
Dreams of the days of old.
No marvel, high and holy thoughts
Should own thy wakening power,
And rise to bless the Hand that gave
The moonlight's gentle hour!
Cast in a softer mould
Should read in thee sweet memories,
Dreams of the days of old.
No marvel, high and holy thoughts
Should own thy wakening power,
And rise to bless the Hand that gave
The moonlight's gentle hour!
E.
September 2, 1841.
