STRANGE fits of passion have I known:   And I will dare to tell, But in the lover's ear alone,   What once to me befell.

When she I loved look'd every day   Fresh as a rose in June, I to her cottage bent my way,   Beneath an evening moon.

Upon the moon I fix'd my eye, All over the wide lea; With quickening pace my horse drew nigh Those paths so dear to me.

And now we reach'd the orchard-plot; And, as we climb'd the hill, The sinking moon to Lucy's cot Came near and nearer still.

In one of those sweet dreams I slept, Kind Nature's gentlest boon! And all the while my eyes I kept On the descending moon.

My horse moved on; hoof after hoof He raised, and never stopp'd: When down behind the cottage roof, At once, the bright moon dropp'd.

What fond and wayward thoughts will slide Into a lover's head! 'O mercy!' to myself I cried, 'If Lucy should be dead!'