Deep night beneath the harvest moon,
And scarce might one bright star be seen
Gleaming the tangled boughs between;
For many a giant rock around
Dark in terrific grandeur frown’d,
And the ancient oaks, that waved on high,
Shut out each glimpse of the blessèd sky.
There the cold spring, in its shadowy cave,
Ne’er to heaven’s beam one sparkle gave,
And the wild flower, on its brink that grew,