Pleasing 'tis, oh, modest Moon! When boundless plenty greets his eye, Storms and tempests, floods and rains, Hence away, the season flee, Foes to light heart jollity; May no winds careering high Drive the clouds along the sky, But may all nature smile with aspect boon, When in the heavens thou shew'st thy face, oh, Harvest Moon! 'Neath yon lowly roof he lies, The husbandman, with sleep-seal'd e yes Oh! may no hurricane destroy His visionary views of joy : God of the Winds! oh, hear his humble pray'r, And while the moon of harvest shines, thy blust'ring whirlwind spare. Sons of luxury, to you Leave I Sleep's dull pow'r to woo : Press ye still the downy bed, While fev'rish dreams surround your head; I will seek the woodland glade, Penetrate the thickest shade, Wrapt 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 Shall grateful rise To thee, the modest Harvest Moon! 8 SONG. WRITTEN AT THE AGE OF FOURTEEN. I. SOFTLY, Softly blow, ye breezes, He lies by the deep, All along where the salt waves sigh. II. I have cover'd him with rushes, Water-flags, and branches dry. Edwy, long have been thy slumbers; He lies by the deep, All along where the salt waves sigh. Paler is his cheek, and chiller Than the icy moon on high. He has chose his death-bed All along where the salt waves sigh. IV. Is it, is it so, my Edwy? Will thy slumbers never fly? Could'st thou think I would survive thee? Thy death-bed bleak All along where the salt waves sigh. V. I will gently kiss thy cold lips, And the wild wave will beat, Oh! so softly o'er our lonely bed. THE SHIPWRECKED SOLITARY'S SONG TO THE NIGHT. THOU, spirit of the spangled night! The winds are whistling o'er the wolds, Sweet is the scented gale of morn, That marks thy mournful reign. I've pass'd here many a lonely year And I have linger'd in the shade, |