Poems (Hinxman)/Moonlight Fancies
MOONLIGHT FANCIES.
I.
O Moon, that sittest sovereign of the sky,What see'st thou with that calm far-reaching eye?Thou shinest upon white and glittering towns,On trembling lakes, on busy mountain springs,On parks, and meadows close, and treeless downs.Thou shinest on tall ships that rove the deep,Upon whose plunging sterns their helmsmen keepA homesick vigil, dreaming of far things.
II.
Thou shinest upon pleasant garden-haunts,Kissing their woven bowers and cherished plants, Throwing sweet mystery on familiar nooksWhose foliage trembled late to words of love,Whose shades were lit erewhile by tender looks.Thou shinest on the lonely woodman's floor,And on his children's beds, while round his doorThe timid creatures of the forest move.
III.
Thou shinest through the fir-trees, on the handsAnd weapon of the robber, as he standsAnd listens for the hoofs along the road.On the poor pedlar look'st thou, who beneathA corn-stack slumbers, pillowed by his load.The gipsies' tents are gleaming in thy rays,While their spent fire upon the bank decays,And browse their placid cattle in the heath.
IV.
The stern old ruin smiles to meet thy beams;Bathed in thy light the village churchyard dreams; And while his weary nurse her charge forgets,The sick man turns towards thee his hollow eyes,And through his feeble brain toil hopes, regrets,Old plans, and shadows of old worldly cares,Crowing like phantoms, across fluttering prayersWhich through that chaos strive to pierce and rise.
V.
The narrow grating of the prison-cellThou silverest; and the drowsy sentinelSees his black shadow on the rampart thrown,And, looking towards thee, hums a listless stave.Thou gleamest on the lighthouse bleak and lone,And draw'st the thundering tides against its base,Or leanest o'er the harbour's glassy face,Where scarcely sounds the breaking of a wave.
VI.
The maiden, stealing from her sleepless bed,On the bowered casement leans her aching head, And ponders o'er the tale of her crossed love,While tears that slowly fill her wistful eyesMake thy wide orb yet larger in the skies:Meantime her sister's rosy sleep is stirredWith visions of her garden, book, or bird,And round her lips the happy dimples move.
VII.
To thee wild Scotland's bloodhounds now are baying,O'er ferny fells her deer beneath thee straying;The plover thee on Sarum's plains salutes,And thee the nightingale by Devon's streams;On Cumbrian rocks to thee the owlet hoots.O bounteous Moon! thou giv'st me wings to fly,Mine eye draws visions from thy steady eye,My fancies glide along thy gliding beams!
August 3. 1849.