 | Defence of Baltimore, and death of General Ross |  |
46
ADDRESS TO THE MOON.
A drapery of mist, the Queen of night
Drew round her form, reverting from the sight;
But now, not hearing of the battle loud,
Slow she disrobes her bosom from the cloud.
Drew round her form, reverting from the sight;
But now, not hearing of the battle loud,
Slow she disrobes her bosom from the cloud.
Alas! what horror doth her light reveal—
The wasted gore runs trickling down the hill:
Death pil'd on death, and broken sword-steels red,
And the pale faces of the warriors dead.
Horse on his rider bleeding;—skull bones bare
Cast back the moonbeams with a hideous glare,
Like that reflected from a spectre's cheek,
Troubling the tombs the rotten dust to seek.
The wasted gore runs trickling down the hill:
Death pil'd on death, and broken sword-steels red,
And the pale faces of the warriors dead.
Horse on his rider bleeding;—skull bones bare
Cast back the moonbeams with a hideous glare,
Like that reflected from a spectre's cheek,
Troubling the tombs the rotten dust to seek.
The silver bosom'd daughter of the spheres,
Turns from the scene and veils herself in tears.
Turns from the scene and veils herself in tears.
Loveliest of heaven! doth sorrow dim thine eye
For human grief, whilst travelling through the sky?
Ah! yes,—I mark affliction on thy brow,
And tear-drops coursing down thy cheeks of snow.
O thou hast touch'd that something in my breast,
That makes me happy even when distress'd!
For human grief, whilst travelling through the sky?
Ah! yes,—I mark affliction on thy brow,
And tear-drops coursing down thy cheeks of snow.
O thou hast touch'd that something in my breast,
That makes me happy even when distress'd!
For man, alas! there's ample cause to mourn—
He falls to dust—ah, never to return!
Though now thy brightness wanes upon decline,
Yet soon thy horns shall fill and glorious shine;
Not so with man—a flower in bloom to-day,
To-morrow faded—mouldering into clay!
He falls to dust—ah, never to return!
Though now thy brightness wanes upon decline,
Yet soon thy horns shall fill and glorious shine;
Not so with man—a flower in bloom to-day,
To-morrow faded—mouldering into clay!
And is the grave the all—the last of man—
His strength but weakness and his life a span?
Fair Mourner! tell thy bended suppliant here,
If man exist beyond thy lovely sphere?
If but to feed the grave-yard worms be all
For which he buffets on this tossing ball—
O then more close fold up thy thickening cloud—
Stain it to blackness like the coffin shroud!
But if the soul beatitude shall find,
Bless'd with the rapt fruition of the mind,
Dismuffle from thy veil—pour down thy rays,
And let me ravish'd on thy beauty gaze!
His strength but weakness and his life a span?
Fair Mourner! tell thy bended suppliant here,
If man exist beyond thy lovely sphere?
If but to feed the grave-yard worms be all
For which he buffets on this tossing ball—
O then more close fold up thy thickening cloud—
Stain it to blackness like the coffin shroud!
47
Bless'd with the rapt fruition of the mind,
Dismuffle from thy veil—pour down thy rays,
And let me ravish'd on thy beauty gaze!
Worship the sign!—the clouds disparted fly!
She looks new burnish'd from the Deity!
She looks new burnish'd from the Deity!
Gaze, O ye mortals! bend your eye to heaven—
Behold translation in the symbol given!
Behold translation in the symbol given!
Methinks, to greet thy presence, bridal Queen!
Touching their harps, are starry cherubs seen!
The Muse feels soaring on Elijah's fire!
Propitious omen!—man shall not expire!
He like thyself a transient season dies
To shine eternal in the vital skies!
Touching their harps, are starry cherubs seen!
The Muse feels soaring on Elijah's fire!
Propitious omen!—man shall not expire!
He like thyself a transient season dies
To shine eternal in the vital skies!
| Defence of Baltimore, and death of General Ross | |