See! not a cloud careers yon pathless deep
Of molten azure,—mute as lovely sleep;
Full in her pallid light the moon presides,
Shrined in a halo, mellowing as she rides;
And far around, the forest and the stream
Wear the rich garment of her woven beam.
The lull’d winds, too, are sleeping in her caves,
No stormy prelude rolls upon the waves;
Nature is hush’d, as if her works ador’d,
Still’d into homage of her living Lord!