Poems (Toke)/The harvest moon
HE Harvest Moon! how silently
She glides along the sky,
And seems to look upon this earth
With calm, benignant eye!
Lonely her path, but still there shines
Fresh radiance on her brow,
As if she felt how many a heart
Her light rejoices now.
THE HARVEST MOON.
HE Harvest Moon! how silentlyShe glides along the sky,
And seems to look upon this earth
With calm, benignant eye!
Lonely her path, but still there shines
Fresh radiance on her brow,
As if she felt how many a heart
Her light rejoices now.
No star is near thee, lovely Moon;
Yet brighter seems thy power
Than when a thousand round thee shone,
In Summer's warmest hour:
And still that Summer lingering seems,
Although her reign is past,
To pour one parting blessing forth
The brightest and the last!
Yet brighter seems thy power
Than when a thousand round thee shone,
In Summer's warmest hour:
And still that Summer lingering seems,
Although her reign is past,
To pour one parting blessing forth
The brightest and the last!
How still and calm is all around!
No breath upon the air,
No jarring sound, to break the spell
Of moonlight stillness there:
Only the sheepbell's distant sound,
The night-breeze bears along,
Or wafts upon the listening ear
The reaper's homeward song.
No breath upon the air,
No jarring sound, to break the spell
Of moonlight stillness there:
Only the sheepbell's distant sound,
The night-breeze bears along,
Or wafts upon the listening ear
The reaper's homeward song.
Clear seen in that deep solemn light,
Against the dark blue skies,
Like giant spirits of the past,
Yon ancient woods arise:
And on each immemorial tree,
Whose birthtime none can know,
The moonlight quivers brightly now,
As centuries ago.
Against the dark blue skies,
Like giant spirits of the past,
Yon ancient woods arise:
And on each immemorial tree,
Whose birthtime none can know,
The moonlight quivers brightly now,
As centuries ago.
Yes! changeless 'mid a changing world,—
Undimmed where all grows dim,—
Bright as when first from earth arose
Creation's morning hymn:
Beloved alike by youth and age,
The gentle and the brave,—
That radiance gilds man's cradled sleep,
And shines upon his grave!
Undimmed where all grows dim,—
Bright as when first from earth arose
Creation's morning hymn:
Beloved alike by youth and age,
The gentle and the brave,—
That radiance gilds man's cradled sleep,
And shines upon his grave!
Thou pensive Moon! as thus I gaze
Upon thy glistening brow,
Swift wake the dreams of other days,
And scenes far distant now.
Upon my native hills once more
Thou risest, young and fair;
But shall I e'er behold again
Thy silver lustre there?
Upon thy glistening brow,
Swift wake the dreams of other days,
And scenes far distant now.
Upon my native hills once more
Thou risest, young and fair;
But shall I e'er behold again
Thy silver lustre there?
Alas! I know not,—still the thought
Of many a youthful hour
Comes borne upon that gentle ray,
With sad yet soothing power.
The past, with all its light and shade,
Seems traced upon thy brow,
Blent with the calmer, purer beam
That falls around me now.
Of many a youthful hour
Comes borne upon that gentle ray,
With sad yet soothing power.
The past, with all its light and shade,
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.