MOONLIGHT.

GENTLE Moon! a captive calls;
Gentle Moon! awake, arise;

Gild the prison's sullen walls;
Gild the tears that drown his eyes.

Throw thy veil of clouds aside;

Let those smiles that light the pole
Through the liquid ether glide,
Glide into the mourner's soul.

Cheer his melancholy mind;

Soothe his sorrows, heal his smart:

Let thine influence, pure, refined,

Cool the fever of his heart.

Chase despondency and care,

Fiends that haunt the GUILTY breast:

Conscious virtue braves despair;

Triumphs most when most oppress'd.

Now I feel thy power benign

Swell my bosom, thrill my veins; As thy beams the brightest shine When the deepest midnight reigns.

Say, fair shepherdess of night
Who thy starry flock dost lead
Unto rills of living light,

On the blue ethereal mead;

At this moment, dost thou see,
From thine elevated sphere,
One kind friend who thinks of me,
Thinks, and drops a feeling tear?

On a brilliant beam convey

This soft whisper to his breast, "Wipe that generous drop away; He for whom it falls is blest.

"Blest with Freedom unconfined, Dungeons cannot hold the Soul: Who can chain the immortal Mind?

- None but He who spans the pole."

Fancy, too, the nimble fairy,

With her subtle magic spell, In romantic visions airy

Steals the captive from his cell.

On her moonlight pinions borne,

Far he flies from grief and pain; Never, never to be torn

From his friends and home again.

THE CAPTIVE NIGHTINGALE.

NOCTURNAL Silence reigning,
A Nightingale began
In his cold cage complaining
Of cruel-hearted Man :
His drooping pinions shiver'd,
Like wither'd moss so dry;
His heart with anguish quiver'd,
And sorrow dimm'd his eye.

His grief in soothing slumbers
No balmy power could steep;
So sweetly flow'd his numbers,
The music seem'd to weep.
Unfeeling Sons of Folly!

To you the Mourner sung;
While tender melancholy

Inspired his plaintive tongue.

"Now reigns the moon in splendor

Amid the heaven serene;

A thousand stars attend her,

And glitter round their queen:

Sweet hours of inspiration!
When I, the still night long,
Was wont to pour my passion,

And breathe my soul in Song.

"But now, delicious season!

In vain thy charms invite;
Entomb'd in this dire prison,
I sicken at the sight.
This morn, this vernal morning,
The happiest bird was I,
That hail'd the sun returning,
Or swam the liquid sky.

"In yonder breezy bowers,
Among the foliage green,
I spent my tuneful hours,

In solitude serene:
There soft Melodia's beauty
ravish'd eye;

First fired my

I vow'd eternal duty;

She look'd-half kind, half shy

"My plumes with ardor trembling
I flutter'd, sigh'd, and sung;
The fair one, still dissembling,
Refused to trust my tongue :
A thousand tricks inventing,
A thousand arts I tried;
Till the sweet nymph, relenting,
Confess'd herself my bride.
18

VOL. I.