William Gilmore Simms

The New Moon

"BEND thy bow, Dian! shoot thy silver shaft
Through the dark bosom of yon murky cloud,
That, like a shroud,
Hangs heavy o'er the dwelling of sweet night!"

And the sky laugh'd,
Even as I spake the words; and, in the west,
The columns of her mansion shone out bright!
A glory hung above Eve's visible brow,
The maiden empress!--and she glided forth
In beauty, looking down on the tranced earth,
So fondly, that its rivulets below
Gush'd out to hail her, as if then first blest
With the soft motion of their voiceless birth.
A sudden burst of brightness o'er me broke--
The rugged crags of the dull cloud were cleft
By her sharp arrow, and the edges left,--
How sweetly wounded!--silver'd with the stroke;
Thus making a fit pathway for her march
Through the blue arch!