"What is there in thee, Moon! that thou shouldst move My heart so potently? When yet a child I oft have dried my tears when thou hast smil'd. Thou seem'dst my sister: hand in hand we went From eve to morn across the firmament. No apples would I gather from the tree, Till thou hadst cool'd their cheeks deliciously: 150 No tumbling water ever spake romance, But when my eyes with thine thereon could dance: No woods were green enough, no bower divine, Until thou liftedst up thine eyelids fine: In sowing time ne'er would I dibble take, Or drop a seed, till thou wast wide awake; And, in the summer tide of blossoming, No one but thee hath heard me blithly sing And mesh my dewy flowers all the night. No melody was like a passing spright 160 If it went not to solemnize thy reign. Yes, in my boyhood, every joy and pain By thee were fashion'd to the self-same end; And as I grew in years, still didst thou blend With all my ardours: thou wast the deep glen; Thou wast the mountain-top--the sage's pen-- The poet's harp--the voice of friends--the sun; Thou wast the river--thou wast glory won; Thou wast my clarion's blast--thou wast my steed-- My goblet full of wine--my topmost deed:-- 170 Thou wast the charm of women, lovely Moon! O what a wild and harmonized tune My spirit struck from all the beautiful! On some bright essence could I lean, and lull Myself to immortality: I prest Nature's soft pillow in a wakeful rest. But, gentle Orb! there came a nearer bliss-- My strange love came--Felicity's abyss! She came, and thou didst fade, and fade away-- Yet not entirely; no, thy starry sway 180 Has been an under-passion to this hour. Now I begin to feel thine orby power Is coming fresh upon me: O be kind, Keep back thine influence, and do not blind My sovereign vision.--Dearest love, forgive That I can think away from thee and live!-- Pardon me, airy planet, that I prize One thought beyond thine argent luxuries! How far beyond!" At this a surpris'd start Frosted the springing verdure of his heart; 190 For as he lifted up his eyes to swear How his own goddess was past all things fair, He saw far in the concave green of the sea An old man sitting calm and peacefully. Upon a weeded rock this old man sat, And his white hair was awful, and a mat Of weeds were cold beneath his cold thin feet; And, ample as the largest winding-sheet, A cloak of blue wrapp'd up his aged bones, O'erwrought with symbols by the deepest groans 200 Of ambitious magic: every ocean-form Was woven in with black distinctness; storm, And calm, and whispering, and hideous roar Were emblem'd in the woof; with every shape That skims, or dives, or sleeps, 'twixt cape and cape. The gulphing whale was like a dot in the spell,