The moon, full-orbed, forsakes her watery cave,
And lifts her lovely head above the wave;
The snowy splendours of her modest ray
Stream o'er the glistening waves, and quivering play;
Around her, glittering on the heaven's arched brow,
Unnumbered stars, enclosed in azure, glow,
Thick as the dew-drops of the April dawn,
Or May-flowers crowding o'er the daisy lawn;
The canvas whitens in the silvery beam,
And with a mild pale-red the pendants gleam;
The masts' tall shadows tremble o'er the deep;
The peaceful winds a holy silence keep;
The watchman's carol, echoed from the prows,
Alone, at times, awakes the still repose. (William Julius Mickle)

The moon, full-orbed, forsakes her watery cave, And lifts her lovely head above the wave; The snowy splendours of her modest ray Stream o'er the glistening waves, and quivering play; Around her, glittering on the heaven's arched brow, Unnumbered stars, enclosed in azure, glow, Thick as the dew-drops of the April dawn, Or May-flowers crowding o'er the daisy lawn; The canvas whitens in the silvery beam, And with a mild pale-red the pendants gleam; The masts' tall shadows tremble o'er the deep; The peaceful winds a holy silence keep; The watchman's carol, echoed from the prows, Alone, at times, awakes the still repose.

William Julius Mickle

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