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Poetic Lucubrations

Containing The Misanthrope and Other Effusions. By T. Gordon Hake
  
  

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TO ISABELLA.
  
  
  
  


77

TO ISABELLA.

I

I love to pace the moonlit dell,
When day hath wing'd her flight,
And there to hearken to the knell,
The awful knell of night:
For night confers a chasten'd joy,
Which swells within my breast;
And this is why I love to stray,
Whilst others are at rest.

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II

To view the star-deck'd firmanent,
When all is so serene,
When morn arrives, how I repent,
The loss of such a scene!
With ruch a scene, oh, surely none
In brilliancy can vie,
Oh! yes, that bright meridian sun.
Mine Isabella's eye!

III

For I have felt its torrid beams,
Brighter than heav'n's own light,
And seen them grace a smile which seems,
Too pure for human sight.

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Yes! many a night I've seen her throw,
Tow'rds heav'n its vivid rays,
The brightest stars confess'd their glow,
By twinkling at her gaze!