Soft Star! approaching slowly on the Sky
With solemn march, if e'er beneath thy beam,
Darkling, I heav'd the deep-impassion'd sigh,
Or bade the silent tear of Feeling stream;

If e'er, with Fancy's magic voice, I call'd
Ten thousand sprites to tend thy sapphire car,
If e'er, by rushing Darkness unappal'd,
I follow'd thy receding light afar,

Be gracious, now: — to this love-labour'd bow'r
With thy bright clue conduct my promis'd fair,
Full on her face thy yellow radiance pour,
And gild the flowing tissue of her hair;

So shall the Nightingale, her note prolong,
Wild-warbling to thine ear our bridal-song!