Classic Poem

Star of the gently-falling night!
Fair in the West, thy trembling light
Illumes the orb terrene!
From yon gay cloud, — thy fleecy bed,
Thou graceful lift'st thy beamy head —
To view this nether scene;

I see thee yonder mountain gain,
Now, stately bending o'er the plain —
What see'st thou in the vale?
The stormy winds are soft, and low,
The distant torrents murmuring flow,
Responsive to the gale.

Afar — the swelling billows roar
And, towering climb the rocky shore:
Slow move the evening-flies —
And, scarce upborn on feeble wing,
Along the field they droning sing,
And now the murmur dies.

Star of the gently-falling night!
What see'st thou, fair, declining light
From yonder verge — extreme?
The lucent waves, with joy prepare
To bathe thy bright luxuriant hair:
Farewel! — thou silent beam!