University of Virginia Library

Pale, melancholy star! that pourest thy beams
So mildly on my brow, pure as the tear
A pitying angel sheds o'er earthly sorrow,
I love to sit beneath thy light, and yield
My heart to its strange musings, wayward dreams
Of things inscrutable, and searching thoughts
That would aspire to dwell in yon high sphere.
I love to think that thou art a bright world
Where bliss and beauty dwell—where never sin
Has entered to destroy the perfect joys
Of its pure, holy habitants. 'Tis sweet
To fancy such a quiet, peaceful home
Of innocence, and purity, and love.
There the first sire still dwells with all his race,
From his loved eldest-born to the sweet babe
Of yesterday; there gentle maids are seen,
Fair as the sun, with all that tenderness
So sweet in woman; and soft eyes that beam
The fondest love, but freed from passion's stain.
There all have high communion with their God,
And though the fruit of knowledge is not plucked,
Yet doth its fragrance breathe on all around.
O! what can knowledge give, to recompense
The happy ignorance it cost? Man gave
His heaven to gain it; what was his reward?
Deep, lasting misery!

Sweet star! can those in thy bright sphere behold
Our fallen world? do they not weep to view
Our blighting sorrows? and do they not veil
Their brows in shame, to see Heaven's choicest gifts
Profaned and trampled by our maddening passions?
Surely this world is now as beautiful
As 'twas in earliest prime: the earth still blooms
With flowers and brilliant verdure; the dark trees
Are thick with foilage, and the mountains tower
In proud sublimity; the waters glide
All smoothly 'mid the green, enameled mead,
Or dash o'er broken cliffs, flinging their spray
In high fantastic whirls. Surely 'tis fair
As it could be before the wasting flood
Had whelmed it. Let us forth and gaze upon
The face of nature. All is peaceful now,
Yet man will tread there too; cities will rise
Where now the wild bird sings; thousands will dwell
Where all is loneliness; but will it be
More beautiful? No; where the wild flowers spring,
Where nought but the bird's note is heard, we may
Find friends in every leaf; each simple bud
Speaks to the heart and fills it with the sweet,
Soft tenderness of childhood; but vain man
Makes it a peopled wilderness: the blight
Of disappointment and distrust is found
Wherever man has made his troubled home;
And the most fearful desert is the spot
Where he best loves to dwell.

O, let me hope, while gazing on thy light,
Sweet star, that yet a peaceful home is left
For those sad spirits who have found this world
All sin and sorrow. Haply in thy sphere
I yet may dwell, when cleansed from all the stains
Of passions that too darkly dwell within
This throbbing heart. O! had I early died,
I might have been a pure and sinless child
In some sweet planet; and my only toil,
To light my censer by the sun's bright rays,
And fling its fire forever towards the throne
Of the Eternal One.