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Dispersed along the world's wide way,

When friends are far, and fond ones rove, How powerful she to wake the thought,

And start the tear for those we love ! Who watch, with us, at night's pale noon, And gaze upon that silent moon.

How powerful, too, to hearts that mourn,

The magic of that moonlight sky, To bring again the vanished scenes,

The happy eves of days gone by; Again to bring, 'mid bursting tears, The loved, the lost of other years.

And oft she looks, that silent moon,

On lonely eyes that wake to weep, In dungeon dark, or sacred cell,

Or couch, whence pain has banished sleep: 0, softly beams that gentle eye, On those who mourn, and those who die.

But beam on whomsoe'er she will,

And fall where'er her splendour may, There's pureness in her chastened light,

There's comfort in her tranquil ray: What power is hers to soothe the heartWhat power the trembing tear to start!

The dewy morn let others love,

Or bask them in the noontide ray; There's not an hour but has its charm,

From dawning light to dying day :But oh! be mine a fairer boonThat silent moon, that silent moon!



But still the dingle's hollow throat,
Prolonged the swelling Bugle's note ;
The owlets started from their dream,
The eagles answered with their scream;
Round and around the sounds were cast,
Till Echo seemed an answering blast.- Lady of the Lake.

1. O, wild, enchanting horn! Whose music, up the deep and dewy air, Swells to the clouds, and calls on Echo there, 'Till a new melody is born!

Wake, wake again; the night
Is bending from her throne of Beauty down,
With still stars beaming on her azure crown,
Intense, and eloquently bright !

Night, at its pulseless noon!
When the far voice of waters mourns in song,
And some tired watch-dog, lazily and long,

Barks at the melancholy moon!

IV. Hark! how it sweeps away, Soaring and dying on the silent sky, As if some sprite of sound went wandering by,

With lone halloo and roundelay.

V. Swell, swell in glory out ! Thy tones come pouring on my leaping heart, And my stirred spirit hears thee with a start, As boyhood's old remembered shout!

VI. O, have ye heard that peal, From sleeping city's moon-bathed battlements, Or from the guarded field and warrior tents,

Like some near breath around ye steai :

Or have ye, in the roar
Of sea, or storm, or battle, heard it rise,
Shriller than eagle's clamor to the skies,

Where wings and tempests never soar!

Go, go; no other sound,
No music, that of air or earth is born,
Can match the mighty music of that horn,

On Midnight's fathomless profound !



”T is a lowly grave but it suits her best,
Since it breathes of fragrance and speaks of rest,
And meet for her is its calm repose,
Whose life was so stormy and sad to its close.

'Tis a shady dell where they laid her form,
And the hills gather round it to break the storm,
While above her head the bending trees
Arrest the wing of each ruder breeze.

A trickling stream, as it winds below,
Has a music of peace in its quiet flow,
And the buds that are ever in bloom above,
Tell of some ministering spirit's love.

It is sweet to think, that when life is o’er,
And life's fevered pulses shall fret no more,
There still shall be one, with a fond regret,
Who will not forsake, and who cannot forget :

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