MOONLIGHT.
9
That guide our wand'ring footsteps through a world
Of errour, that our falt'ring feet beguiles;
I gaze on you with love, and rising hope,
That when the mass of this empoised globe
Is purg'd by fire, I, rising with the host
Of countless spirits to your utmost sphere,
Shall wake the Song of Morning, and admit
My sequent charge to the Archangels' gate.
O, what a dross upon our earthly robes
In that assuaging furnace shall be lost!
Pride, avarice, and lust; with all the bane
Of envy, the malignant scum, that chokes
The fountain of sweet thought; with direful hate,
And ill-advised anger, that bedims
The Sun's bright presence in this balmy world.
There too is Night, where the Archangels dwell;
But Night serene, unvisited by storms,
And fed with golden cressets from the hand
Of Love immediate, prodigal of truth.
Thy Sister too is there, O silver Moon,
Thy primal Sister, from whose image fair
Of errour, that our falt'ring feet beguiles;
I gaze on you with love, and rising hope,
That when the mass of this empoised globe
Is purg'd by fire, I, rising with the host
Of countless spirits to your utmost sphere,
Shall wake the Song of Morning, and admit
My sequent charge to the Archangels' gate.
O, what a dross upon our earthly robes
In that assuaging furnace shall be lost!
Pride, avarice, and lust; with all the bane
Of envy, the malignant scum, that chokes
The fountain of sweet thought; with direful hate,
And ill-advised anger, that bedims
The Sun's bright presence in this balmy world.
There too is Night, where the Archangels dwell;
But Night serene, unvisited by storms,
And fed with golden cressets from the hand
Of Love immediate, prodigal of truth.
Thy Sister too is there, O silver Moon,
Thy primal Sister, from whose image fair
