THAT SILENT MOON. Dispersed along the world's wide way, When friends are far, and fond ones rove, How powerful, too, to hearts that mourn, To bring again the vanished scenes, 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: O, 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! 205 JorM THAT SILENT MOON. The dewy morn let others love, Or bask them in the noontide ray; THE BUGLE. BY G. MELLEN. But still the dingle's hollow throat, Till Echo seemed an answering blast.—Lady of the Lake. I. 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! II. Wake, wake again; the night Is bending from her throne of Beauty down, III. 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! Hark! how it sweeps away, Soaring and dying on the silent sky, As if some sprite of sound went wandering by, V. Swell, swell in glory out! Thy tones come pouring on my leaping heart, VI. O, have ye heard that peal, From sleeping city's moon-bathed battlements, VII. Or have ye, in the roar Of sea, or storm, or battle, heard it rise, Where wings and tempests never soar! VIII. Go, go; no other sound, No music, that of air or earth is born, On Midnight's fathomless profound! "T IS A LOWLY GRAVE. BY W. G. SIMM S. 'Tis 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, A trickling stream, as it winds below, It is sweet to think, that when life is o'er, |