Let me view the waning moon,
Haloed round at midnight's noon,
Now obscured by gathering storm,
Shewing now, her watery form.
There we'll mark the brown heath wave,
O'er the hapless MARY'S grave!
Twenty summer suns had seen
MARY loveliest on the green;
Never flower that graced the wild,
Blushed so fair, so sweetly smiled;
Pure as morning's pearly dew,
Was every wish her bosom knew;
Not a star that gems the sky,
Beamed so bright as MARY's eye!
Alas! that eye was doom'd to mourn,
For bliss that never could return!
Burning tears for Truth beguiled,
Blanched the cheek where Beauty smiled.
Soon she told her bosom's wrongs,
Caroled wild, in maniac songs;
And she would laugh-till dark Despair Owned his pangs were rivalled there! Sleep forsook her burning brain—;
Writhing sad in mental pain,
Swift she scaled yon airy steep
Closed her sorrows in the deep!
Here, in this sequestered spot,
Hapless MARY sleeps forgot.
Deceived in life, in death disowned,
Slumbering in unholy ground;
Shunned by all her kindred clay,
Of scorn and obloquy the prey.
Yet, on her unhallowed tomb
Early flowers are seen to bloom;
Sweeter there, the wild-rose glows,
And late the lingering hare-bell blows:
Brighter shine the dews of night;
Moonbeams shed a softer light;
O'er her head the sky-lark sings;
Pity waves her dewy wings;
While to soothe her hovering shade,
Innocence, celestial maid,
Comes at twilight hour, to weep,
And o'er her turf sad vigils keep!
So droops and dies, the loveliest, fairest flower,
The hapless victim of a spoiler's power.
Gentle maid, thy chastened smile Can the waning night beguile : When before my drowsy eyes
Tomes of various shape and size,
Court the meditative mind,
And bid me leave my cares behind.
Truth's entombed in learning's dust;
Schoolmen's antiquated rust:
History's tale of tumults, jars,
Plottings, treasons, conquests, wars,
Mad Ambition's blasting breath,
Scattering famine, fire, and death,
Lengthened by a sickening scroll,
Of crimes, degrading to the soul;
God and Nature's beauteous plan
Mangled, by the monster Man!
Still remains a motely train,
Choice distracted, culls in vain;
Systems; creeds; romantic schemes;
Drowsy sermons; raving dreams;
Commentators on the text,
Rendering what was clear perplexed;
Controversy, fierce in arms;
Sophistry, with syren charms;
Prosing pedants; critic ire;
Party rage, and patriot fire;
Mystics, waving fancied wings;
Satire's blunt, but venomed stings;
Travellers, who attention dra v,
Telling-what they never saw;
Metaphysics; Science; Song,
Mingling in a Babel throng.
Loathing all, I turn my view
To him, who old, is ever new,
Shakespeare's varied, matchless page;
Rapt, I see the passions rage;
Or, with fays and fairies dream,
By moon-light bank or silver stream.
Haply, wooed by wizard pen,
I read, and pause, and read again,
Of battle, broil, and border fray,
Courtiers, clowns, and ladies gay;
Superstition's treasured lore;
Minstrel lays, and tales of yore,
Charming, with their magic power,
Midnight's dreary, witching hour;
Till my taper's trembling ray
Fluttering, gleams, and dies away,
Spreading black Oblivion's veil,
Rudely o'er the unfinished tale.
Then loved CONTEMPLATION, Come,
Call my wandering fancy home;
Call from Memory's treasured store,
Truths divine and sacred lore;
Guide the trifler's wandering mind,
Where the weary rest may find;
Point the page, where heaven's own pen
Speaks peace and love, to guilty men;
And o'er my pillow, kindly hovering near,
Be thine, to soothe my hours of darkness drear.
Hark! from yonder blighted oak,
Comes the boding raven's croak;
Howling winds resistless rise;
Clouds are scudding o'er the skies;
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