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Pale Moon! thou Spectre of the Sky!
Yes; on my Mary's bosom cold
Oh! bear me, bear me o'er the main,
Yon glittering Star shall be my car,
My bare-foot way is mark'd with blood, Well! what care I for sorrow?
The Sun shall rise to chear the skies,
The wintry day shall pass away,
And summer smile, to morrow!
The frosted heath is wide and drear,
Soon shall I sleep, beneath the deep,
The village clock strikes mournfully,
But, though yon cloud begins to shroud
Roll down yon steep, broad flood of light;
She fades away, I feel her not!
Come Death! for I am weary.
I'll steal beneath yon haunted Tower,
The Bat shall flee at sight of me,
My Priest, the Night-Fly humming.
Yon Spectre's iron shroud I'll wear
The night-shade too, besprent with dew,
Is it the storm that Jasper feels?
The Owlet's shriek makes white my cheek,
And sorely am I frighted.
Amid the broom my bed I'll make,
Dry fern shall be my pillow;
And Mary dear! wert thou but here, Blest should I be, sweet Maid, with thee,
To weave a crown of willow.
The church-yard path is wet with dew
Hence, Screech-Owls! for I fear
ye! Fall gentle showers, revive the flowers That feebly wave on Mary's grave— But whisper, she will hear ye.
Beneath the yew-tree's shadow long
But I shall weep when others sleep!
How merrily the Lark is heard!
How sullen moans the midnight main; How wide the dim scene stretches! The moony light, all silvery white, Across the wave illumes the grave
Of Heaven-deserted wretches.
The dead lights gleam, the signal sounds!
Now to the silent river's side
Poor Jasper rush'd unwary :
With frantic haste the green bank paced, Plunged in the wave,-no friend to save, And sinking,-call'd on MARY!