But bless the hour, that made its precepts MINE.
THE VISION:
AN ELEGY.
What time the moon, in silver robes array’d,
Propt on her lucent throne, majestic sate,
With weary steps, I trod the muse-fraught glade,
And hail’d the sombre glory of her state.
Still was the air, and solemn all the scene;