Graham's Magazine Vol XXXIII No. 5 November 1848. Various

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      Myriads have sung thy praise,

      Fair Dian, virgin-goddess of the skies!

      And myriads will raise

      Their songs, as time yet onward flies,

      To thee, chaste prompter of the lover's sighs,

      And of the minstrel's lays!

      Yet still exhaustless as a theme

      Shall be thy name —

      While lives immortal Fame —

      As when to people the first poet's dream

      Thy inspiration came.

      None ever lived, or loved,

      Who hath not thine oblivious influence felt —

      As if a silver veil hid outward things,

      While some bright spirit's wings

      Mysteriously moved

      The world of fancies that within him dwelt —

      Regent of Night! whence is this charm in thee,

      That sways the human soul with potent witchery?

      When first the infant learns to look on high,

      While twilight's drapery his heart appals,

      Thy full-orbed presence captivates his eye;

      Or when, 'mid shadows grim upon the walls,

      Are sent thy pallid rays,

      'Tis awe his bosom fills,

      And trembling joy that thrills

      His tiny frame, and fastens his young gaze:

      Thy spell is on that heart,

      And childhood may depart,

      But it shall gather strength with youthful days;

      For oft as thou, capricious moon!

      Shalt wax and wane,

      He, now perchance a love-sick swain,

      Will watch thee at night's stilly noon,

      Pouring his passion in an amorous strain:

      Or, with the mistress of his soul —

      Lighted by thy love-whispering beams —

      In some secluded garden stroll,

      Bewildered in ambrosial dreams;

      Nor once suspect, while his full pulses move,

      That thou, whom tides obey, may'st turn the tide of love!

      The watcher on the deep —

      Though weary be his eye —

      Forgets even drowsy sleep,

      When thou art in the sky!

      For with thine image on the silvery sea

      A thousand forms of memory

      Whirl in a mazy dance;

      And when he upward looks to thee,

      In thy far-reaching glance

      There is a sacred bond of sympathy

      'Twixt sea and land;

      For on his native strand

      That glance awakens kindred souls

      To kindred thought,

      And though the deep between them rolls,

      Hearts are together brought;

      While tears that fall from eyes at home,

      And those that wet the sailor's cheek,

      From the same sacred fountains come —

      The same emotion speak.

      The watcher on the land —

      Who holds the burning hand

      Of one whom scorching fever wastes —

      Beholds thee, orient moon!

      With reddened face, expanded in the east,

      Till Superstition chills his breast,

      While tremulous he hastes

      To draw the curtains as thou journeyest on:

      But when the far-spent night

      Is streaked with dawning light,

      Again, to look on thee,

      He lifts the drapery,

      And hope divine now triumphs over fear,

      As in the zenith far

      A pale, small orb thou dost appear,

      While eastward rises morn's resplendent star!

      And Fancy sees the passing soul ascend

      Where thy mild glories with the azure blend.

      Even on the face of Death thou lookest calm,

      Fair Dian! as when watchful thou didst keep

      Love's holy vigils o'er Endymion's sleep,

      Drinking the breath of youth's perpetual balm.

      Thy beams are kissing now

      The icy brow

      Of many a youth in slumber deep,

      Who cannot yield to thee

      The incense of Love's perfumed breath,

      For no response gives Death!

      Ah, 'tis a fearful sight to see

      Thy lustre on a human face

      Where the Promethean spark has left no trace,

      As if it shone upon

      The marble cold,

      Of that famed ruin old —

      The grand, but empty Parthenon!

      Dian, enchantress of all hearts!

      While mine in song now worships thee,

      From thy far-shooting bow the silver darts

      Fall thick and fast on me:

      Oh, beautiful in light and shade,

      By thee is this fair landscape made!

      Gems sparkle on the river's breast —

      Now covered by an icy vest —

      Upon the frozen hills

      A regal glory shines!

      And all the scene, as Fancy wills,

      Shifts into new designs.

      Yet night is still as Death's unbroken realms,

      And solemnly thy light, wan orb, is cast

      Through the arched branches of these reverend elms,

      As though it through the Gothic windows passed

      Of some old abbey or cathedral vast.

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