Mrs. Elizabeth F. Swift

MOONLIGHT upon the hills! there is a spell

Like witchery o’er us: as we gaze around,

A tender light illumines hill and dell,

Falling in golden checkers on the ground.

Now perfume steals from out the forest shades;

All fragrant things and fair their incense bring;

And hark! amid the dim wood’s tangled glades,

I hear the gushing waters laugh and sing.

Among the clustering leaves of yonder oak

A ring-dove’s nest is hid,—list her soft moan:

Love never to Night’s ear in language spoke,

Calling with deeper fondness on its own.

World! if to thee, sin-stained, such lavish charms are given,

How can a human thought conceive the spirit joys of heaven!