Caroline Fry (Wilson)

Nature

Still as I watch'd the evening close,
In azure blue the pale moon rose;
No sullen mist obscur'd her ray,
Nor e'en a light cloud cross'd her way.
I smil'd a welcome to the beam
First playing on the silver stream,
And vainly thought to watch her light,
Still kindling on the darkening night.
At first 'twas but a breadthless seam,
A sable streak, that cross'd her beam;
But now it thickens fast—and now
It closes on her pallid brow;
And still by moments she appears,
A bright smile kindling through her tears.
Another and another ray
Fell faintly ere she pass'd away.
I watch'd the clouds fast fleeting o'er,
But watch'd in vain—she came no more.
Ah! would 'twere this the only light
That closes in unbroken night!
The only hope that scarce may last
Till the smile that welcom'd it be past!
But 'tis even so life's early dream,
Fair rising with unclouded beam,
With promise bright of blissful years,
Must briefly quench that beam in tears.
At first 'tis but a passing fear,
That makes returning hope more dear;
But the shades of sorrow gather thick,
And the spirit faints, and the heart is sick;—
We look that some hope should pierce the gloom,
But the faithless moon-beam does not come!
And we must wait till a surer light
Dispel the shades of our bosom's night.