Southampton Castle.[1]- Inscribed To The Marquis Of Lansdowne.

The moonlight is without; and I could lose     An hour to gaze, though Taste and Splendour here,     As in a lustrous fairy palace, reign!     Regardless of the lights that blaze within,     I look upon the wide and silent sea,     That in the shadowy moonbeam sleeps:         How still,     Nor heard to murmur, or to move, it lies;     Shining in Fancy's eye, like the soft gleam,     The eve of pleasant yesterdays!         The clouds     Have all sunk westward, and the host of stars     Seem in their watches set, as gazing on;     While night's fair empress, sole and beautiful,     Holds her illustrious course through the mid heavens     Supreme, the spectacle, for such she looks,     Of gazing worlds!         How different is the scene     That lies beneath this arched window's height!     The town, that murmured through the busy day,     Is hushed; the roofs one solemn breadth of shade     Veils; but the towers, and taper spires above,     The pinnets, and the gray embattled walls,     And masts that throng around the southern pier,     Shine all distinct in light; and mark, remote,     O'er yonder elms, St Mary's modest fane.     Oh! if such views may please, to me they shine     How more attractive! but few years have passed,     Since there I saw youth, health, and happiness,     All circling round an aged sire,[2] whose hairs     Are now in peace gone down; he was to me     A friend, and almost with a father's smile     Hung o'er my infant Muse. The cheerful voice     Of fellowship, the song of harmony,     And mirth, and wit,[3] were there.         That scene is passed:     Cold death and separation have dissolved     The evening circle of once-happy friends!     So has it ever fared, and so must fare,     With all! I see the moonlight watery tract     That shines far off, beneath the forest-shades:     What seems it, but the mirror of that tide,     Which noiseless, 'mid the changes of the world,     Holds its inevitable course, the tide     Of years departing; to the distant eye     Still seeming motionless, though hurrying on     From morn till midnight, bearing, as it flows,     The sails of pleasurable barks! These gleam     To-day, to-morrow other passing sails     Catch the like sunshine of the vernal morn.     Our pleasant days are as the moon's brief light     On the pale ripple, passing as it shines!     But shall the pensive bard for this lament,     Who knows how transitory are all worlds     Before His eye who made them!         Cease the strain;     And welcome still the social intercourse     That soothes the world's loud jarring, till the hour     When, universal darkness wrapping all     This nether scene, a light from heaven shall stream     Through clouds dividing, and a voice be heard:     Here only pure and lasting bliss is found!