How bright on Life is Hope's enchanting beam;
Life moves inconstant, like the rippling rill,
Hope's and the moon's rays quiver o'er them still!
How soft upon each flower is fair moonlight
Making its beauty more serenely bright,
Bringing sweet sighs of fragrance from its breast
Where all its odours are, like thoughts, at rest.
How sweet to sit upon a bank, and mark
The soft moon looking on a little bark,
As if she watched it from her azure sphere,
The guardian spirit of its blest career;
Flinging her melted pearls upon its sail
That swells with infant pride before the gale.
How speeds the shallop with its fleecy wing,
Like bliss or fancy—quite a fragile thing!
Thus shone the moon upon the hallowed wave
Bright as the wish for freedom in a slave;
Thus shone the moon upon Jungheera's flower,
Nuleeni, rosebud of the rocky bower;
And thus soft beams upon the shallop lay
Which soon must bear her Robber-love away.