The moon so sweetly bright, so softly fair,
That all but happy lovers would be there—
Thinking there must be in her still domain
Something that soothes the sting of mortal pain;
While earth itself is dress’d in light so clear,
That they might rest contented to be here!
Such is the night; but, when the morn awakes,
The storm arises, and the forest shakes;
This mighty change the grieving travellers find, 210
The freezing snows fast drifting in the wind;