7i 





LUNAR. 



David B. Keeler. 



Oh, fantasma ! Oh, delicious witchery ! 



Illumined in silvered glory 



Of the harvest moon's bright rays, 



Each tiny wavelet, fragrant 



Of the rich salt sea ; 



Each filled with amorous love 



Doth softly lap, with fond caress, 



My yacht, who, like willing maiden 



Receives her lover's kisses. 



This, if ever is the time, 



When Brownies are abroad. 



Methinks I spy them yonder 



In the eel grass, 



On the flood tide's bosom sporting. 



I hear the measured tink-tink, tink-tink, 



Of yacht's bells, time denoting; 



Yet heed I not, 



Intoxicated with August's fairyland. 



Rather far, sit I in solitude 



Drinking in sweet nature, 



Than join the waltzing throng, 



In heated ball-room panting ; 



Yet, dreamy and enchanting, too, 



The distant strains of music wafted ; 



Unreal, too beauteous, methinks, 



For garish day to disenchant ; 



T'is sin to sleep on such a night. 



Reclining on my boat's white deck, 



I smoke and contemplate. 



I note in idle pleasure 



The phosphorescent wake and splash, 



As boat by boat puts out 



From yon grim, night-enshrouded 



Vessels of the fleet, 



Bearing gallant beaux to meet 



The summer girl's bright eyes. 



Soon naught disturbs me ; 



All are gone ; the ghostly groan 



Of straining anchor chains bewilder, 



Yet add, as does the tinkle 



Of a banjo, on a distant vessel strummed, 



To Luna's mighty sway ; 



And thus I smoke, and muse — then sleep. 



