A TRIP TO THE MOON. 205 



IX. 



Crip to 



The moon shines white and silent on the mist, 



On the mist, which like a tide 

 Of some enchanted ocean 



O'er the wide marsh doth glide, 

 Spreading its ghostlike billows 



Silently far and wide. 



A vague and starry mystic 



Makes all things mysteries, 

 And moves the earth's dumb spirit 



Up to the longing skies. 



J. E. LOWELL. 



fTlHE huge bell of the cathedral rang out midnight. 

 Like clear crystal drops fell the transparent notes 

 from the bright sky, as if they were echoes of angels' 

 voices. Behind the dusky mountains rose the full orb of 

 the moon in golden splendor, and poured its fairy light 

 over the vast plain. Faint hazy mists swept across the 

 valley, and slowly the pale gossamer light sank deeper 

 into the dark narrow streets of the city. A gigantic 

 churchyard the silent town lay at the feet of the mys- 

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