Thee, also, friendly Moon! I hail; I always loved thee dear: Thou, Queen of heaven! me ne’er didst fail, In fortunes fair or drear, To guide, to counsel, and to cheer: Thou know’st how oft, to enjoy thy ray, I chide the blaze and heat of day. Oft seated on the wide sea-shore, Whose waves reflected thee, To muse alone, thou smiling o’er, I pass’d the night hours free; And ’midst my clouded hopes to see Thy face serene, I found relief, In sweet complaint to pour my grief. For throbs, alas! my breast with pain, Consumption’s wounds to bear; And pales my cheek, as thou must wane Beneath the morning’s glare. When I shall sink, grant this my prayer, That thy light ne’er to shine defer, On thy friend’s humble sepulchre. But, hark! what dulcet notes arise The neighbouring woods among? Causing these tender thoughts and sighs My lonely breast to throng. Sweet Nightingale, it is thy song! I always loved thy wood-notes wild, Like me from sorrow ne’er beguiled. Perish whoe’er for thy soft note Seeks thee to oppress or take. Why rather not like me remote, Thee follow through the brake, Where these thick woods our shelter make? Fly free and happy round thy nest; Enslaved I wish none, none oppress’d. Night, ancient goddess! Chaos thee Produced before the sun; And the last sun ’tis thine to see When the world’s course is run; And the Lord wills his work undone! Hear me, while this life’s breath is raised, By me thou shalt be loved and praised. Before time was, in Chaos vast Thou laid perhaps mightst view Thy coming beauties, as forecast Thy destined glories grew: Looking thy veil of shadows through With face obscured, to meditate Calm on thy future power and state. Thou camest, O Queen! from Ocean’s bars At the Creator’s voice, With sceptre raised, and crown’d with stars, And mantle glittering choice; And bade the silent world rejoice, To see through space thy brow severe Shine with the kind moon’s silvery sphere. How many high truths have I learn’d Beneath thy solemn shade! What inspirations in me burn’d ’Mid the wood’s silence laid! In thee I saw sublime display’d The Almighty’s power, and seized my lyre, And fervid dared to Heaven aspire. Great Goddess, hail! in thy calm breast Let me soothe every care! Thy peaceful balm may give me rest From ills my heart that tear. Sweet pitying friend! to whom repair Poets and mourners for repose, O, Night! in soft peace end my woes. XI. JOSÈ DE ESPRONCEDA.