And oh! with what rapture of silent bliss.
With what breathless deep devotion,
Have I watch'd, like spectre from swathing shroud,
The white moon peer o'er the shadowy cloud,
Illumine the mantled Earth, and kiss
The meekly murmuring lips of Ocean,
As a mother doth her child.

But now I can feel how Time hath changed
My thoughts within, the prospect round us--
How boyish companions have thinn'd away;
How the sun hath grown cloudier, ray by ray;
How loved scenes of childhood are now estranged;
And the chilling tempests of Care have bound us
Within their icy folds.

'Tis no vain dream of moody mind,
That lists a dirge i' the blackbird's singing;
That in gusts hears Nature's own voice complain,
And beholds her tears in the gushing rain;
When low clouds congregate blank and blind,
And Winter's snow-muffled arms are clinging
Round Autumn's faded urn.

DELTA.

_Blackwood's Magazine_.

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