The cloud has lifted from the stars,
And now again the starlight falls;
Now Venus calls again to Mars,
And Bacchus reels about his halls;
And, lovely in a thousand forms,
Our Lady drifts above the storms.
Among the moonlit marble lace,
That wreathes this avenue forlorn,
Some God has made his dwelling place
And takes his manna from the morn,
And every young and wandering soul,
That passes here, must pay its toll.
Far off the city fades away,
Save where one tow'r of rosy light,
Like some dissolving shaft of day,
Pierces the bosom of the night:
The distant lightning breaks its shroud
Valhalla gleams beyond the cloud.
Alone we float through gulfs remote,
The black canal no longer seen;
My boat it is a fairy boat,
Above the ripple silver-green,
Upon the wavelet violet-crowned,
My boat and I are outward bound!
23
