SONNET.

The moon is gliding on her clear blue way: I've watched her, as she rose above the clouds which lay Darkly along the horizon; as she threw A glorious halo round them, and then drew, With her still power, away the fogs which night Gathers upon the earth; then touched with light The tree-abounding city, till its stately domes Of Gothic and of Dorian art, and quiet homes, Slept 'neath a sea of beauty. Then, sweet lady, I Was bidden in my heart, remember thee— How thou hast risen in thy angel purity, And light of heavenly truth, to beam on me, And scatter far the darkness, doubts, and fears, Which rose from out the tomb of my young misspent years.