While gazing on the Moon's Light.

And when once the young heart of a maiden is stolen,

The maiden herself will steal after it soon.

Ill Omens.

'T is sweet to think that where'er we rove

We are sure to find something blissful and dear;

And that when we 're far from the lips we love,

We 've but to make love to the lips we are near.

'T is sweet to think.

'T is believ'd that this harp which I wake now for thee