Classic Poem

When Heaven is filled with Cynthia's soothing light,
Around my couch thy form, as mildly bright,
No longer thwarted by the glare of day,
Sheds, moonbeam of my soul, its tender ray;
From Sleep's approach a soft enchantment gaining,
O'er Sleep itself with kindest influence reigning;
And, with the sun returning to the skies,
That constant image meets my waking eyes,
Rescues my soul from dull oblivious power
Or dreadful visions that around me lower,
And o'er this bosom reasserts its right,
Dear Contrast to the troublous forms of Night! —
Musing on that loved image thro' the day
Along my native Greta's banks I stray,
Gaze on the stream, and half unconscious hear —
Those rippling sounds that soothed my childish ear,
And gave with their calm undersong relief
To my full heart oppressed with joy or grief.
How sweetly does the lulling murmur seem
To mingle with my life's too cherished dream!
Yet Henry, when those eyes I first beheld,
Their burning glance my spirit almost quelled,
And, too intense, imparted to my mind
A nameless dread, — a feeling undefined; —
But now thy gentle heart I better know
'Tis but a warm yet soft and steady glow,
No wild unquiet fire, I fondly deem; —
Now gladly would I meet their cheering beam!
And oft I think how kindly, tenderly,
When last we parted, they were turned on me!
E'en now before me do I see thee stand
Invested with Affection's halo bland —
So vivid, so distinct seems to mine eyes
That shade, my heart it almost satisfies!
I scarce dare hope for greater happiness,
For joys more real in a world like this;
And when I dwell on Henry's raptured strain
I almost dread that we should meet again,
Lest closer ken the dear deceit remove,
And I less please, and he less warmly love.

Sometimes my thoughts o'er bitter fancies range!
I tell myself e'en Henry's heart may change; —
And then I pray that heaven will grant me power
To steel my spirit to that trying hour.
Yes! on some other he may bend those eyes
Once bent on me — breathe o'er again those sighs —
Tell her he never truly loved before,
Swear all those tender oaths to me he swore! —
All this by Emma may be shall be borne! —
Her Henry happy why should Emma mourn? —
Thus dream I — from that trance of breathless fears
Glad to be startled by my gushing tears.