Page:Poetical Remains.pdf/271



The moonbeam, quivering o'er the wave, Sleeps in pale gold on wood and hill, The wild wind slumbers in its cave, And heaven is cloudless—earth is still! The pile that crowns yon savage height, With battlements of Gothic might, Rises in softer pomp arrayed, Its massy towers half lost in shade, Half touched with mellowing light!