XVII.
That was an hour to send its fadeless trace
Down life’s far-sweeping tide! A dim, wild night,
Like sorrow, hung upon the soft moon’s face,
Yet how my heart leap’d in her blessed light!
The shepherd’s light—the sailor’s on the sea—
The hunter’s homeward from the mountains free,
Where its lone smile makes tremulously bright
The thousand streams!—I could but gaze through tears.
Oh! what a sight is heaven, thus first beheld for years!