 | Poetic Lucubrations |  |
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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Tow'rds heav'n its vivid rays,
The brightest stars confess'd their glow,
By twinkling at her gaze!
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