A Night Thought

Lo! where the Moon along the sky

Sails with her happy destiny;

Oft is she hid from mortal eye

Or dimly seen,

But when the clouds asunder fly

How bright her mien!

Far different we—a froward race,

Thousands though rich in Fortune's grace

With cherished sullenness of pace

Their way pursue,

Ingrates who wear a smileless face

The whole year through.

If kindred humours e'er would make

My spirit droop for drooping's sake,

From Fancy following in thy wake,

Bright ship of heaven!

A counter impulse let me take

And be forgiven.