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A NIGHT THOUGHT

          LO! where the Moon along the sky
          Sails with her happy destiny;
          Oft is she hid from mortal eye
                Or dimly seen,
          But when the clouds asunder fly
                How bright her mien!

          Far different we--a froward race,
          Thousands though rich in Fortune's grace
          With cherished sullenness of pace
                Their way pursue,                                     10
          Ingrates who wear a smileless face
                The whole year through.

          If kindred humours e'er would make
          My spirit droop for drooping's sake,
          From Fancy following in thy wake,
                Bright ship of heaven!
          A counter impulse let me take
                And be forgiven.
                                                              1837.


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