Page:Lalla Rookh - Moore - 1817.djvu/78

 By the bliss to meet, And the pain to part;

By all that thou hast To mortals given, Which--oh, could it last, This earth were heaven!

We call thee thither, entrancing Power! Spirit of Love! Spirit of Bliss! Thy holiest time is the moonlight hour, And there never was moonlight so sweet as this.

Impatient of a scene whose luxuries stole, Spite of himself, too deep into his soul, And where, midst all that the young heart loves most, Flowers, music, smiles, to yield was to be lost, The youth had started up and turned away From the light nymphs and their luxurious lay To muse upon the pictures that hung round,-- Bright images, that spoke without a sound, And views like vistas into fairy ground.