To the Moon and the Evening Star

Thou Moon, with thine attendant Star, That gilds the dusky brow of night, Thy spangled path thou’st held afar, Since from the ocean glancing bright Thou burst upon the seaman’s sight; And long o’er mountain, wood, and dale, Thou’st held thy lofty aerial flight, Firm as the rock—free as the gale!—

Now, from his dark and lonely cell, The weeping captive sees thee rise, While Memory bids his bosom swell With Recollection’s fondest ties; For now beneath thy splendour lies, In all its joy, his native land, Where he has traced, in brighter skies, Thy spangled course, on Scotia’s strand.

The maiden hails thy shining face Come blithely peeping o’er the hill, As if her walks thou sought to trace In shady bower by winding rill. O when to love’s delightful thrill! Hearts meet beneath thy pensive beam, The hours flow on so soft and still, That life appears a fairy dream.

The pilgrim, worn with want and toil, Had slept ’midst India’s deadly dew, And on the stranger’s arid soil, To friends and foes had breathed adieu, Had not thy crescent’s splendid hue Illumed the shades that hung around, And brought the creole’s hut to view, Where friends and soft repose were found.

The sailor, in his nightly rounds, Encircled by the sea and sky, Beholds thee, as his watch he sounds, A distant friend—yet ever nigh! To other climes though fast he fly, Yet still thou lov’st to meet him there, As when upon the banks of Eye He breathed to Jean the parting prayer.