ODE TO THE HARVEST MOON. -Cum ruit imbriferum ver: Spicea jam campis cum messis inhorruit, et cum Cuncta tibi Cererem pubes agrestis adoret. VIRGIL. MOON of Harvest, herald mild 'Tis thou that glad'st with joy the rustic throng, Promptest the tripping dance, th' exhilarating song. Moon of Harvest, I do love In the blue vault of the sky, Where no thin vapour intercepts thy ray, But in unclouded majesty thou walkest on thy way. Storms and tempests, floods and rains, Stern despoilers of the plains, 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 eyes; He dreams of crowded barns, and round 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, 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! 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, Edwy, long have been thy slumbers; He lies by the deep, All along where the salt waves sigh. III. Still he sleeps; he will not waken, Fastly closed is his eye; Paler is his cheek, and chiller Than the icy moon on high. Alas! he is dead, 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. |