The Providence Journal, And Town And Country Advertiser

Selected Poetry.

THE LIGHT OF THE MOON.

How high sorrow;
When in childhood we hoped like to-day
Would rise the bright beams of to-morrow.

Unconsciously time went along,
And when evening arrived, oh, how soon!
We listened to the nightingale's song,
Or made hay by the Light of the Moon.

How bright broke our youth's rosy morn,
Unclouded by trouble or care--
As pure as the dew on the thorn
Was each mind flowing free as the air.

Then Hope sweetly gilded the scene,
And each heart was as gay as the tune
That merrily rang round the green,
While we danced by the Light of the Moon.

But why came this knocking within,
Why oft "you lead wrong" cried the swains?
Ah, surely it never had been,
Had Eliza ne'er danced on our plains:

Oh would she had never been there--
Indeed but she left us too soon!
She seemed most bewitching fair--
And mild as the Light of the Moon.

I sought her, she owned to approve.
But 'twas him on a far distant plain!
And I, though I could not but love,
Returned to my cottage again.

I cannot yet join the gay rings--
At my door though I listen the tune,
Its echo a new sweetness brings
While I gaze on the Light of the Moon.