THEE too, modest tressed maid,   When thy fallen stars appear; When in lawn of fire array'd   Sov'reign of yon powder'd sphere; To thee I chant at close of day, Beneath, O maiden Moon! thy ray.

Throned in sapphired ring supreme,   Pregnant with celestial juice, On silver wing thy diamond stream   Gives what summer hours produce; While view'd impearl'd earth's rich inlay, Beneath, O maiden Moon! thy ray.

Glad, pale Cynthian wine I sip,   Breathed the flow'ry leaves among; Draughts delicious wet my lip;   Drown'd in nectar drunk my song; While tuned to Philomel the lay, Beneath, O maiden Moon! thy ray.

Dew, that od'rous ointment yields,   Sweets, that western winds disclose, Bathing spring's more purpled fields,   Soft 's the band that winds the rose; While o'er thy myrtled lawns I stray Beneath, O maiden Moon! thy ray.