At first, cold fear ran through my shivering frame,
And dread forebodings o'er my spirit came.
But soon she spoke—though not in warlike tone,
But mild as zephyr when his breath hath blown.
A smile of kind, parental love confest
Her glowing son whom now she thus addrest.
"O son! well-pleased, I mark thy patriot fire,
Nor wholly scorn thy yet unpracticed lyre.
Behold yon structure whose lone, silent height
Meek Luna gilds with her celestial light.