TO
THE
MOON
.
BY
MR.
ROBERT
LLOYD
.
ALL
hail
!
majestic
Queen
of
Night
,
Bright
Cynthia
!
sweetest
Nymph
,
whose
presence
brings
The
pensive
pleasures
,
calm
delight
,
While
Contemplation
smooths
her
ruffled
wings
,
Which
Folly's
vain
tumultuous
joys
,
Or
business
,
care
,
and
buzz
of
lusty
day
Have
all
too
ruffled
.
—
Hence
away
Stale
Jest
,
and
flippant
Mirth
,
and
Strife-engendering
Noise
.
When
Evening
dons
her
mantle
grey
,
I'll
wind
my
solitary
way
,
And
hie
me
to
some
lonely
grove
(
The
haunt
of
Fancy
and
of
Love
)
Whose
social
branches
,
far
outspread
,
Possess
the
mind
with
pleasing
dread
.
While
Cynthia
quivers
thro'
the
trees
That
wanton
with
the
summer
breeze
,
And
the
clear
brook
,
or
dimpled
stream
,
Reflects
oblique
her
dancing
beam
.
How
often
,
by
thy
silver
light
,
Have
lovers
tongues
beguil'd
the
Night
?
When
forth
the
happy
pair
have
stray'd
,
The
amorous
swain
and
tender
maid
,
And
as
they
walk'd
the
groves
along
,
Chear'd
the
still
eve
with
various
song
.
While
every
artful
strain
confest
The
mutual
passion
in
their
breast
.
To
lovers
hours
fly
swift
away
,
And
Night
reluctant
yields
to
Day
.
Thrice
happy
Nymph
,
thrice
happy
Youth
,
When
Beauty
is
the
meed
of
Truth
!
Yet
not
the
happy
Loves
alone
,
Has
thy
celestial
presence
known
.
To
thee
complains
the
Nymph
forlorn
Of
broken
faith
,
and
vows
forsworn
;
And
,
the
dull
Swain
,
with
folded
arms
,
Still
musing
on
his
false
one's
charms
,
Frames
many
a
sonnet
to
her
name
,
(
As
lovers
use
to
express
their
flame
)
Or
pining
wan
with
thoughtful
care
,
In
downcast
silence
feeds
Despair
;
Or
when
the
air
dead
stillness
keeps
,
And
Cynthia
on
the
water
sleeps
;
Charms
the
dull
ear
of
sober
night
,
With
love-born
Music's
sweet
delight
.
Oft
as
thy
orb
performs
its
round
,
Thou
listenest
to
the
various
sound
Of
Shepherds
hopes
and
Maidens
fears
(
Those
conscious
Cynthia
silent
hears
While
Echo
,
which
still
loves
to
mock
,
Bears
them
about
from
rock
to
rock
)
.
But
shift
we
now
the
pensive
scene
,
Where
Cynthia
silvers
o'er
the
green
.
Mark
yonder
spot
,
whose
equal
rim
Forms
the
green
circle
quaint
and
trim
;
Hither
the
Fairies
blithe
advance
,
And
lightly
trip
in
mazy
dance
;
Beating
the
pansie-paven
ground
In
frolic
measures
round
and
round
;
These
Cynthia's
Revels
gaily
keep
,
While
lazy
mortals
snore
asleep
;
Whom
oft
they
visit
in
the
night
,
Not
visible
to
human
sight
;
And
as
old
prattling
Wives
relate
,
Tho'
now
the
fashion's
out
of
date
,
Drop
sixpence
in
the
Housewife's
shoe
,
And
pinch
the
Slattern
black
and
blue
.
They
fill
the
mind
with
airy
schemes
,
And
bring
the
Ladies
pleasant
dreams
.
Who
knows
not
Mab
,
whose
chariot
glides
,
And
athwart
men's
noses
rides
?
While
Oberon
,
blithe
Fairy
,
trips
,
And
hovers
o'er
the
ladies
lips
;
And
when
he
steals
ambrosial
bliss
,
And
soft
imprints
the
charming
kiss
,
In
Dreams
the
nymph
her
swain
pursues
,
Nor
thinks
'tis
Oberon
that
wooes
.
Ye
sportive
Youth
,
and
lovely
Fair
,
From
hence
,
my
lesson
read
,
beware
,
While
Innocence
and
Mirth
preside
,
We
care
not
where
the
Fairies
glide
;
And
Oberon
will
never
miss
To
greet
his
favourites
with
a
kiss
;
Nor
ever
more
ambrosia
sips
,
Than
when
he
visits
—
's
lips
.
When
all
things
else
in
silence
sleep
,
The
blithsome
Elfs
their
vigils
keep
,
And
always
hover
round
about
,
To
find
our
worth
or
frailties
out
.
Receive
with
joy
these
Elfin
sparks
,
Their
kisses
leave
no
tell-tale
marks
,
But
breathe
fresh
beauty
o'er
the
face
,
Where
all
is
virtue
,
all
is
grace
.
Not
only
elfin
fays
delight
To
hail
the
sober
Queen
of
Night
,
But
that
sweet
bird
,
whose
gurgling
throat
Warbles
the
thick
melodious
note
,
Duly
as
evening
shades
prevail
,
Renews
her
soothing
love-lorn
tale
.
And
as
the
Lover
pensive
goes
,
Chaunts
out
her
symphony
of
woes
.
Which
in
boon
Nature's
wilder
tone
,
Beggar
all
sounds
which
Art
has
known
.
But
hist
—
the
melancholy
bird
Among
the
groves
no
more
is
heard
;
And
Cynthia
pales
her
silver
ray
Before
th'
approach
of
golden
Day
,
Which
on
yon
mountain's
misty
height
Stands
tiptoe
with
his
gladsome
light
.
Now
the
shrill
lark
in
aether
floats
,
And
carols
wide
her
liquid
notes
;
While
Phoebus
,
in
his
lusty
pride
,
His
flaming
beams
flings
far
and
wide
.
Cynthia
farewell
—
the
pensive
Muse
No
more
her
feeble
flight
pursues
,
But
all
unwilling
takes
her
way
,
And
mixes
with
the
buzz
of
Day
: