Like moonbeams glancing o’er the deep.
A snowy miracle of grace
Her circling arms, for whose embrace
Hyperion’s self might vainly sigh.
Oh! if within those arms to lie
To happy mortal e’er were given,
How tame were all the joys of heaven.
Sheltered by those endearing charms
From my own spirit’s dark alarms,
Endymion were not half so blest