O'er the mountain, the hill, and the vale,
When the gems of the night gleam afar,
Say, who turns not with rapture to hail,
High enthroned, a particular star?

Though too fondly of bliss we may dream,
And though sorrows our happiness mar,
Still who loves not to bask in the beam
Of a bright yet particular star?

Who that dwells 'neath the musical spheres,
Chiming low without quaver or bar,
Can resist the sweet smiles or the tears
Of a very particular star?

Yes, as pure as the smile in the sky,
When the Morning appears on her car,
Is the love-light that gleams in the eye
Of a dear yet particular star!

May he find her the charm of his life,
Ever kind without discord or jar,
Who, enraptured, has won for a wife
An adored yet particular star!