The moon is up-the watch-tower dimly burns

And down the vale his sober step returns;

But pauses oft, as winding rocks convey

The still sweet fall of music far

away;

And oft he lingers from his home a while

To watch the dying notes! and start, and smile!

Let Winter come! let polar spirits sweep

The darkening world, and tempest-troubled deep! Though boundless snows the wither'd heath deform, And the dim sun scarce wanders through the storm,

Yet shall the smile of social love repay,

With mental light the melancholy day!

And, when its short and sullen noon is o'er,

The ice-chain'd waters slumbering on the shore,

How bright the faggots in his little hall

Blaze on the hearth, and warm the pictured wall!

How blest he names, in Love's familiar tone,

The kind fair friend, by nature mark'd his own; And, in the waveless mirror of his mind,

Views the fleet years of pleasure left behind,

Since Anna's empire o'er his heart began!

Since first he call'd her his before the holy man!

Trim the gay taper in his rustic dome,

And light the wintry paradise of home;

And let the half-uncurtain'd window hail
Some way-worn man benighted in the vale!
Now, while the moaning night-wind rages high,
As sweep the shot-stars down the troubled sky,

While fiery hosts in Heaven's wide circle play,
And bathe in lurid light the milky-way,

Safe from the storm, the meteor, and the shower,

Some pleasing page shall charm the solemn hourWith pathos shall command, with wit beguile,

A generous tear of anguish, or a smile

Thy woes, Arion!" and thy simple tale,

O'er all the heart shall triumph and prevail!

Charm'd as they read the verse too sadly true,
How gallant Albert, and his weary crew,

Heaved all their guns, their foundering bark to save,
And toil'd-and shriek'd-and perish'd on the wave!

Yes, at the dead of night, by Lonna's steep,

The seaman's cry was heard along the deep;

There on his funeral waters, dark and wild,

The dying father blest his darling child!

Oh! Mercy, shield her innocence, he cried,
Spent on the prayer his bursting heart, and died!

Or they will learn how generous worth sublimes The robber Moore, and pleads for all his crimes! How poor Amelia kiss'd, with many a tear,

His hand blood-stain'd, but ever, ever dear!

Hung on the tortured bosom of her lord,
And wept and pray'd perdition from his sword!
Nor sought in vain! at that heart-piercing cry
The strings of Nature crack'd with agony !

He, with delirious laugh, the dagger hurl'd,

And burst the ties that bound him to the world!