The valley and the wood,

Or rugged freaks of mountain peaks,

Enjoy their solitude.

The heavens hold a sphere of gold,

A full and placid moon,

Suspended high, in cloudless sky,

With constellations strewn;

Its mellow beam, on rill and stream,

In silvery sheen I see;

Before its light, the shades of night

As evil spirits, flee.

In space afar, a shooting star,

With swift, uncertain course,

In dazzling sparks its passage marks,

As it expends its force;

The mountains bare reflect its glare

Of weird, unearthly light,

And e'en the skies, in glad surprise,

Behold its gorgeous flight.

The spruce and pine, at timber-line,

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