Resolved at length, his pointed spear he shook;
And, casting on the moon a mournful look,—
"Guardian of groves, and goddess of the night!
Fair queen!" he said, "direct my dart aright.
If e'er my pious father, for my sake,
Did grateful offerings on thy altars make,
Or I increased them with my sylvan toils,
And hung thy holy roofs with savage spoils,
Give me to scatter these." Then from his ear
He poised, and aimed, and launched the trembling spear.