Moon of Harvest, I do love Gilds the wide surrounding scene; In the blue vault of the sky, Pleasing 'tis, oh! modest Moon! When boundless plenty greets his eye, And thinking soon, Oh, modest Moon! How many a female eye Along the road, To see the load, will roam The last dear load of harvest home. Storms and tempests, floods and rains, Stern despoilers of the plains, But may all nature smile with aspect boon, When in the heavens thou show'st thy face, oh Harvest Moon! 'Neath yon lowly roof he lies, The husbandman, with sleep-seal'd eyes; His visionary views of joy! God of the winds! oh, hear his humble prayer, And while the moon of harvest shines, thy blustering whirlwind spare. Sons of luxury, to you Leave I sleep's dull power to woo; Press ye still the downy bed, While feverish dreams surround your I will seek the woodland glade, Shall softly sail The nightingale's enchanting tune, And oft my eyes Shall grateful rise To thee, the modest Harvest Moon! head; TO THE HERB ROSEMARY.* SWEET Scented flower! who art wont to bloom On January's front severe, And o'er the wintry desert drear Come, thou shalt form my nosegay now, And sweet the train shall be, and long, Come, funeral flower! who lovest to dwell Come, press my lips, and lie with me And we will sleep a pleasant sleep, To break the marble solitude, And hark! the wind god, as he flies, And sailing on the gusty breeze, The Rosemary buds in January. It is the flower commonly put in the coffins of the dead. Mysterious music dies. Sweet flower! that requiem wild is mine, The cold turf altar of the dead: A dying fragrance thou wilt o'er my ashes shed. TO THE MORNING. WRITTEN DURING ILLNESS. BEAMS of the daybreak faint! I hail Tired with the taper's sickly light, And with the wearying, number'd night, And lo! they break between the dewy wreaths The fresh gale o'er the green lawn breathes, It fans my feverish brow,-it calms the mental strife, And cheerily reillumes the lambent flame of life. The lark has her gay song begun, She leaves her grassy nest, And soars till the unrisen sun Gleams on her speckled breast. Now let me leave my restless bed, Where high o'er head the wild briers bend, I sit me down, and mark the glorious dawn of day. Oh Heaven! the soft refreshing gale My sunk eye gleams; my cheek, so pale, Blithe Health! thou soul of life and ease! I'll join with thee the buskin'd chase, Above, below, what charms unfold Before me all is burnish'd gold, The mists which on old Night await, The fleecy clouds successive fly, [adorn. While bright prismatic beams their shadowy folds |