As when the moon, refulgent lamp of night, O'er heaven's clear azure spreads her sacred light, When not a breath disturbs the deep serene, And not a cloud o'ercasts the solemn scene, Around her throne the vivid planets roll, And stars unnumber'd gild the glowing pole; O'er the dark trees a yellower verdure shed, And tip with silver every mountain's head; Then shine the vales, the rocks in prospect rise, A flood of glory bursts from all the skies; The conscious swains, rejoicing in the sight, Eye the blue vault, and bless the useful light. So many flames before proud Ilion blaze, And lighten glimmering Xanthus with their rays; The long reflections of the distant fires Gleam on the walls, and tremble on the spires. A thousand piles the dusky horrors gild, And shoot a shady lustre o'er the field. Pull fifty guards each flaming pile attend, Whose umber'd arms by fits thick flashes send; Loud neigh the coursers o'er their heaps of corn, And ardent warriors wait the rising morn. As when in stillness of the silent night, As when the moon, in all her lustre bright; As when the moon, refulgent lamp of night, O'er heav'n's _clear_ azure _sheds_ her _silver_ light; pure spreads sacred As still in air the trembling lustre stood, And o'er its golden border shoots a flood; When _no loose gale_ disturbs the deep serene, not a breath And _no dim_ cloud o'ercasts the solemn scene; not a