Page:Moral Pieces in Prose and Verse.pdf/240



ALONE I sit, but yet no pensive sigh, Of discontent, or loneliness is here; For solitude has shed her purest joy, And barr'd the entrance of unhallow'd care.

And from her cell, comes forth with shrouded head, The veil'd moon shrinking from the gazer's sight; As if some unseen hand her steps had led, Silent and slow to meet the waiting night.

And aged night, clad in his best attire, Seems to compose his brow tho' late so stern, To copy youth, to bid his frowns retire, And let his starry eyes with lustre burn.

O Planet! hide not thus thy silver ray, Lift up thy veil, and let thy smile be seen, Till silent night confess thy magic sway, And every bright star own thee as a queen.

Yet more effulgent than thy brightest beam, And warmer than the cold star's distant ray, May Mercy's light upon my spirit stream, When she from earth shall wing her unknown way.