Sweet, pale-faced Queen of silent night!
Calm-seated on thy azure throne, Shed forth thy beams of silvery light
Till nether realms embrace thine own. Till gleaming spire on tree-crowned hill,
With waving corn on valley land; Till peaceful flood, and noiseless mill
Seem burnished of enchanter's wand.

And you, ye moonbeams! softly glide
Along fair Orwell's glittering wave; And gently rest where all my pride
Lies buried, in my Mary's grave. Oh Mary! lovÈd of my youth!
Oh blissful dreams of early day! When love was life, and troth was truth,
And hallowed shrine was Orwell Bay.

Full oft, upon thy banks, of yore,
With hearts entwined in love divine, While murmuring wavelets kissed thy shore,
We watched the radiant day's decline. When sorrow fell, when times were hard,
Love held its faith, youth hoped the best; I bade farewell thy greening sward,
And turned me to the glowing West.

Dull seasons fled, dark shadows lowered,
My utmost efforts were unmeet; When sudden, fickle Fortune showered
Her golden largess at my feet. As needle turneth to the pole,
So, homeward hied my steps to thee; But ne'er shall love, or kindred soul,
Or joys of youth return to me.

Not all my wealth of hard-won gold
Could shield from blight that lustrous head Now lying in the churchyard mould;—
The church where we had hoped to wed. I list the sweet, clear notes which thrill
Through wooded uplands o'er thy wave; The music in my heart is still,
Still as the stars o'er Mary's grave.

Oh, gorgeous lamps of living light!
Which halo all the arc of blue, Ye emblem to my raptured sight
The white soul of a life most true. My Mary! tender guiding star!
I bow before the Sovereign sway;— That higher realm, where nought can mar,
Is fairer e'en than Orwell Bay.