Alone and pensive, I delight to stray,
And watch thy shadow trembling in the stream,
Or mark the floating clouds that cross thy way;
And while I gaze, thy mild and placid light
Sheds a soft calm upon my troubled breast:
And oft I think-fair planet of the night--
That in thy orb the wretched may have rest;
The sufferers of the earth perhaps may go--
Released by death-to thy benignant sphere;
And the sad children of despair and woe
Forget in thee their cup of sorrow here.
Oh that I soon may reach thy world serene,
Poor wearied pilgrim in this toiling scene!"