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| THE QUIET of the moonlight hour | |
| Is stealing softly o’er my heart; | |
| It has a deep yet nameless power, | |
| That language cannot all impart. | |
| I turn my steed upon the hill, | 5 |
| The silver Dart glides on below; | |
| And all the vale, so lone and still, | |
| Is bathed in one broad moonlight glow. | |
| |
| Beneath the garish beam of day | |
| I ’ve often marked this scene before, | 10 |
| When field and hill and moorland gray | |
| One aspect broad of beauty wore. | |
| I ’ve seen the hills’ majestic sweep | |
| Reflected from the waters clear, | |
| But never felt a charm so deep | 15 |
| As this which now enchains me here. | |
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| It is the solemn, silent thought, | |
| Evoked by this impressive scene, | |
| That makes it more with beauty fraught, | |
| And dearer than it erst has been. | 20 |
| There ’s such a silence o’er the hills, | |
| Such softness o’er the stream below, | |
| My heart with so much rapture fills, | |
| I pause, and cannot turn to go. | |
| |
| I ’ve never known a fairer scene, | 25 |
| A beauty matched with thine, sweet Dart! | |
| Thou leav’st, like some soft passing dream, | |
| An endless memory on the heart. | |
| Like gems upon the brow of Sleep | |
| The moonbeams on thy waters rest; | 30 |
| And I could almost turn and weep, | |
| So strangely do they move my breast. * * * * * | |
| I would my life were like thy stream, | |
| O silent and majestic Dart! | |
| Of what wild beauties should I dream, | 35 |
| What visions sweet would throng my heart. | |
| Eternal pleasures round my way | |
| Would never cease to rise and shine; | |
| And girt with beauty, day by day, | |
| O what a matchless course were mine! | 40 |
| |
| I linger still, and still I gaze, | |
| And deeper grows my heart’s delight; | |
| My spirit swells to silent praise, | |
| And mingles with the infinite. | |
| O beauteous night! O starry skies! | 45 |
| O stream below! O moon above! | |
| Such mingled glories round me rise, | |
| I have no words to speak my love. | |
| |
| Across my spirit as I gaze | |
| There comes a calmer sense of life, | 50 |
| Whose influence seems my soul to raise | |
| Above the common toil and strife. | |
| A pensive calm, an inward glow | |
| Of holy thoughts too seldom given, | |
| That seem to bless me as I go, | 55 |
| And whisper like a voice from heaven. | |
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