Yet I have often seen thee bring Thy beams o'er yon bare mountain's steep; Then, with a smile, their lustre fling Full on the dark and roaring deep; When the pilgrim's heart did fail, Sure, that passing blush deceives; For thou, fair nymph, art chaste and cold! Love our bosoms seldom leaves; But thou art of a different mould. Hail, chaste queen! for ever hail! Yet stay perhaps thou'st travell❜d far, Till, as I fear, some youthful Star Hath spread his charms before thy sight; And, when he found his arts prevail, He left thee, sickening, faint, and pale. The Owl. [From the same MS.] While the Moon, with sudden gleam, Through the clouds that cover her, Darts her light upon the stream, While the maiden, pale with care, Sighs her sorrows to the air, While the flowerets round her fade,― While the wretch, with mournful dole, Wrings his hands in agony, Praying for his brother's soul Whom he pierced suddenly,— Shrinks to hear thy boding cry,- |