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XII.

THE Shepherd, looking eastward, softly said,

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Bright is thy veil, O Moon, as thou art bright!"
Forthwith, that little Cloud, in ether spread,
And penetrated all with tender light,

She cast away, and shewed her fulgent head
Uncovered; - dazzling the Beholder's sight
As if to vindicate her beauty's right,
Her beauty thoughtlessly disparaged.

Meanwhile that Veil, removed or thrown aside,
Went, floating from her, darkening as it went;
And a huge Mass, to bury or to hide,
Approached this glory of the firmament;

Who meekly yields, and is obscured; — content With one calm triumph of a modest pride.

XIII.

HAIL, Twilight, sovereign of one peaceful hour!
Not dull art Thou as undiscerning Night;

But studious only to remove from sight

Day's mutable distinctions. Ancient Power!

Thus did the waters gleam, the mountains lower,
To the rude Briton, when, in wolf-skin vest
Here roving wild, he laid him down to rest

On the bare rock, or through a leafy bower
Looked ere his eyes were closed. By him was seen
The self-same Vision which we now behold,

At thy meek bidding, shadowy Power! brought forth;
These mighty barriers, and the gulf between ;

The floods, the stars,

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—a spectacle as old

As the beginning of the heavens and earth!

XIV.

WITH how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the sky,
How silently, and with how wan a face !*
Where art thou? Thou whom I have seen on high
Running among the clouds a wood-nymph's race!
Unhappy Nuns, whose common breath's a sigh
Which they would stifle, move at such a pace!
The northern Wind, to call thee to the chase,
Must blow to-night his bugle horn. Had I

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power of Merlin, Goddess! this should be: And the keen Stars, fast as the clouds were riven, Should sally forth, an emulous Company,

Sparkling, and hurrying through the clear blue heaven; But, Cynthia! should to thee the palm be given, Queen both for beauty and for majesty.

* From a Sonnet of Sir Philip Sidney.

XV.

EVEN as a dragon's eye that feels the stress
Of a bedimming sleep, or as a lamp
Suddenly glaring through sepulchral damp,
So burns yon Taper mid a black recess
Of mountains, silent, dreary, motionless:
The Lake below reflects it not; the sky
Muffled in clouds affords no company
To mitigate and cheer its loneliness.
Yet round the body of that joyless Thing,
Which sends so far its melancholy light,
Perhaps are seated in domestic ring

A gay society with faces bright,

Conversing, reading, laughing; - or they sing,

While hearts and voices in the song unite.

XVI.

MARK the concentred Hazels that enclose

Yon old grey Stone, protected from the ray

Of noontide suns:

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and even the beams that play

And glance, while wantonly the rough wind blows, Are seldom free to touch the moss that grows

Upon that roof- amid embowering gloom

The very image framing of a Tomb,

In which some ancient Chieftain finds

Among the lonely mountains.

repose

Live, ye Trees!

And Thou, grey Stone, the pensive likeness keep
Of a dark chamber where the Mighty sleep:
For more than Fancy to the influence bends
When solitary Nature condescends

To mimic Time's forlorn humanities.

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