158 HENllY KIliKE WHITE S POEMS. 



FRAGMENT OF AN ODE TO THE MOON. 



Mild orb, who floatest through the reahn of night, 



A pathless wanderer o'er a lonely wild ; 

 Welcome to me thy soft and pensive light, 



Which oft in childhood my lone thoughts beguiled. 

 Now doubly dear as o'er my silent seat, 

 Nocturnal study's still retreat, 

 It casts a mournful melancholy gleam, 



And through my lofty casement weaves. 

 Dim through the vine's encircling leaves, 

 An intermingled beam. 



II. 



These feverish dews that on my temples hang, 



This quivering lip, these ej'es of dying flame ; 

 These the dread signs of many a secret pang, 



These are the meed of him who pants for fame ! 

 Pale Moon, from thoughts like these divert my soul: 



Lowly I kneel before thy shrine on high ; 

 My lump expires ; — beneath thy mild control, 



These restless dreams are ever wont to fly. 



Come, kindred mourner, in my breast, 



Soothe these discordant tones to rest, 

 And breathe the soul of peace ; 



Mild visitor, I feel thee here. 



It is not pain that brings this tear. 

 For thou hast bid it cease. 

 Oh ! many a year has passed away, 

 Since I beneath thy fairy ray, 

 Attuned my infant reed ; 

 "When wilt thou, Time, those days restore, 

 Those happy moments now no more, 

 * * * * 



When on the lake's damp marge I lay, 

 And marked the northern meteor's dance, 



