Classic Poem

The silver moon's enamored beam
— Steals softly through the night,
To wanton with the winding stream,
— And kiss reflected light.
To beds of state go balmy sleep
— ('Tis where you've seldom been),
May's vigil while the shepherds keep
— With Kate of Aberdeen.

Upon the green the virgins wait,
— In rosy chaplets gay,
Till morn unbar her golden gate,
— And give the promised May.
Methinks I hear the maids declare,
— The promised May, when seen,
Not half so fragrant, half so fair,
— As Kate of Aberdeen.

Strike up the tabor's boldest notes,
— We'll rouse the nodding grove;
The nested birds shall raise their throats,
— And hail the maid of love;
And see — the matin lark mistakes,
— He quits the tufted green:
Fond bird! 'tis not the morning breaks, —
— 'Tis Kate of Aberdeen.

Now lightsome o'er the level mead,
— Where midnight fairies rove,
Like them the jocund dance we'll lead,
— Or tune the reed to love:
For see the rosy May draws nigh,
— She claims a virgin Queen;
And hark, the happy shepherds cry,
— 'Tis Kate of Aberdeen.