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Filling with spiritual sweets to plenitude, As bees gorge full their cells. And by the feud 'Twixt Nothing and Creation, I here swear, Eterne Apollo ! that thy Sister fair Is of all these the gentlier-mightiest. When thy gold breath is misting in the west, She unobserved steals unto her throne, And there she sits most meek and most alone; As if she had not pomp subservient; As if thine eye, high Poet ! was not bent Towards her with the Muses in thine heart; As if the ministring stars kept not apart, Waiting for silver-footed messages. O Moon ! the oldest shades 'mong oldest trees Feel palpitations when thou lookest in : O Moon ! old boughs lisp forth a holier din The while they feel thine airy fellowship. Thou dost bless every where, with silver lip Kissing dead things to life. The sleeping kine, Couch'd in thy brightness, dream of fields divine: Innumerable mountains rise, and rise, Ambitious for the hallowing of thine eyes; And yet thy benediction passeth not One obscure hiding-place, one little spot Where pleasure may be sent: the nested wren Has thy fair face within its tranquil ken, And from beneath a sheltering ivy leaf Takes glimpses of thee; thou art a relief To the poor patient oyster, where it sleeps Within its pearly house ;—The mighty deeps,

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The monstrous sea is thine—the myriad sea!
O Moon ! far spooming Ocean bows to thee,
And Tellus feels her forehead's cumbrous load.

Cynthia ! where art thou now? What far abode Of green or silvery bower doth enshrine Such utmost beauty? Alas, thou dost pine For one as sorrowful: thy cheek is pale For one whose cheek is pale: thou dost bewail His tears who weeps for thee! Where dost thou sigh? Ah! surely that light peeps from Vesper's eye, Or, what a thing is love! 'Tis She, but lo! How changed, how full of ache, how gone in woe ! She dies at the thinnest cloud; her loveliness Is wan on Neptune's blue: yet there's a stress Of love-spangles, just off yon cape of trees, Dancing upon the waves, as if to please The curly foam with amorous influence. O, not so idle ! for down glancing thence, She fathoms eddies, and runs wild about O’erwhelming water-courses; scaring out The thorny sharks from hiding-holes, and frightning Their savage eyes with unaccustom'd lightning. Where will the splendour be content to reach? O love ! how potent hast thou been to teach Strange journeyings ! wherever beauty dwells, In gulf or aerie, mountains or deep dells, In light, in gloom, in star or blazing sun, Thou pointest out the way, and straight 'tis won. Amid his toil thou gavest Leander breath ;

Thou leddest Orpheus through the gleams of death ;
Thou madest Pluto bear thin element ;
And now, O winged Chieftain ! thou hast sent
A moon-beam to the deep, deep water-world,
To find Endymion.

On gold sand impearl'd
With lily shells, and pebbles milky white,
Poor Cynthia greeted him, and soothed her light
Against his pallid face : he felt the charm
To breathlessness, and suddenly a warm
Of his heart's blood : twas very sweet ; he stay'd
His wandering steps, and half-entranced laid
His head upon a tuft of straggling weeds,
To taste the gentle moon, and freshening beads,
Lash'd from the crystal roof by fishes' tails.
And so he kept, until the rosy veils
Mantling the east, by Aurora's peering hand
Were lifted from the water's breast, and fann'd
Into sweet air ; and sober'd morning came
Meekly through billows :—when like taper-flame
Left sudden by a dallying breath of air,
He rose in silence, and once more 'gan fare
Along his fated way.

Far had he roam'd,
With nothing save the hollow vast, that foam'd
Above, around, and at his feet ; save things
More dead than Morpheus' imaginings :
Old rusted anchors, helmets, breastplates large

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