How like a queen comes forth the lonely Moon From the slow opening curtains of the clouds Walking in beauty to her midnight throne!

When day is done, and clouds are low, And flowers are honey-dew, And Hesper's lamp begins to glow Along the western blue; And homeward wing the turtle-doves, Then comes the hour the poet loves.

Nature's first great title--mind.

All history is but a romance, unless it is studied as an example

When the hollow drum has beat to bed And the little fifer hangs his head, When all is mute the Moorish flute, And nodding guards watch wearily, On, then let me, From prison free, March out by moonlight cheerily.

The devil's in the moon for mischief; they Who call'd her chaste, methinks, began too soon Their nomenclature; there is not a day, The longest, not the twenty-first of June, Sees half the business in a wicked way, On which three single hours of moonshine smile-- And then she looks so modest all the while!