ODE TO THE MOON. BY ROBERT M. BIRD. O MELANCHOLY Moon, Queen of the midnight, though thou palest away The friend of grief, and confidant of tears. Mine earliest friend wert thou: My boyhood's passion was to stretch me under The locust tree, and, through the chequered bough, Watch thy far pathway in the clouds, and wonder At thy strange loveliness, and wish to be The nearest star to roam the heavens with thee. Youth grew; but as it came, And sadness with it, still, with joy, I stole To gaze, and dream, and breathe perchance the name That was the early music of my soul, P 134 ODE TO THE MOON. And seemed upon thy pictured disk to trace And manhood, though it bring A winter to my bosom, cannot turn Mine eyes from thy lone loveliness; still spring My tears to meet thee, and the spirit stern Falters, in secret, with the ancient thrill The boyish yearning to be with thee still. Would it were so; for earth Grows shadowy, and her fairest planets fail; And her sweet chimes, that once were woke to mirth, Turn to a moody melody of wail, And through her stony throngs I go alone, Even with the heart I cannot turn to stone. Would it were so; for still Thou art my only counsellor, with whom Mine eyes can have no bitter shame to fill, Nor my weak lips to murmur at the doom Of solitude, which is so sad and sore, Weighing like lead upon my bosom's core. A boyish thought, and weak :— ODE TO THE MOON. 135 Of her wild hills, still turn my eyes to thee; Let it be so indeed! Earth hath her peace beneath the trampled stone; And let me perish where no heart shall bleed, And nought, save passing winds, shall make my moan; No tears, save night's to wash my humble shrine, And watching o'er me, no pale face but thine. NIGHT. BY JONES VERY. I THANK thee, Father, that the night is When I this conscious being may resig Whose only task thy words of love to And in thy acts to find each act of min A task too great to give a child like me The myriad-handed labors of the day, Too many for my closing eyes to see, Thy words too frequent for my tongue Yet when thou seest me burthened by t Each other gift more lovely then appear For dark-robed night comes hovering fr And all thine other gifts to me endears; And while within her darkened couch I Thine eyes untired above will constant vig |