Samuel Kettell, ed. Specimens of American Poetry. 1829.
By The Queen of the MistCharles J. Locke
B
Light o’er the mountain, I pray thee stay!
Stay but a moment, for I would know,
Whence thou hast come, and whither dost go!
Beautiful Spirit! bound by my spell!
Oh! tell, oh! tell,
Murmuring echo, too, bids thee tell.
All the dark night, and at morning take
Gently thy shadowy robes and fly
Softly away to the glowing sky?—
Sometimes I fancy thee bride of the Sun;
The Sun, the Sun,
Yes, echo calls thee the bride of the Sun.
While in thy presence they sweetly fold
Closer their beauties, so blooming bright,
Striving to keep thee, thou child of light:—
When thou art vanish’d they dry their tears,
Their tears, their tears,
Echo repeats it, they dry their tears.
Lovely as thou art—in ecstacy—
Melting away in each fond embrace.—
Now thou hast vanish’d, nor left a trace,
Faintly to answer my broken spell;—
Farewell, farewell,
Murmuring echo, now bids farewell.