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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 looked every day
Fresh as a rose
in June,
I to her cottage bent my way,
Beneath an
evening moon.
Upon the moon I fixed my eye,
All over the wide lea;
With quickening pace my horse
drew nigh
Those paths so dear to me.
And now
we reached the orchard-plot;
And, as we climbed 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 stopped:
When down behind the cottage roof,
At once, the bright moon dropped.
What fond and
wayward thoughts will slide
Into a Lover's head!
"O mercy!" to myself I cried,
"If Lucy should be
dead!"
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