Fate's storms again have swept the scene, And, for that fair Moon's summer gleam, Through winter's snow clouds drifting keen I hail at midnight now her beam. Soft may its light this moment stream, My folded Flower! upon thy rest, And, melting through thy placid dream, This heart's unshaken faith attest. VIII. Yes--Rainbow of my ruined youth, Now shining o'er the wreck in vain! Thy rosy tints of grace and truth Life's evening clouds shall long retain. My very doom has less of pain To feel that, ere from Time's dark river Thy form or soul could take one stain, Despair between us came for ever. IX. And if, as sages still avow, The rites once paid on hill and grove To Beings beautiful as thou, To Dian, Hebe, and to Love, Were so imperishably wove Of fancies lovely and elysian, Their spirit to this hour must rove The earth a blest abiding vision;[29] X. Then surely round that mountain rude, And Bridgeton's rill and pathway lone, In years to come, when thon, the Wooed, And thy fond Worshipper are gone, Each suppliant prayer, each ardent tone, Each vow the heart could once supply, Whose every pulse was there thine own, In many an evening breeze will sigh. FOOTNOTE: [29] It was the fanciful opinion of Hume that the purer Divinities of pagan worship, and the system of the Homeric Olympus, were so lastingly beautiful, that somewhere or other they must, to this hour, continue to exist. AUSTRIA AND HUNGARY.