Anonymous

O’ER the far waters floats the boatman’s song,

Timed by the faint fall of the distant oar;

The fitful surges roll their waves along,

With hoarse and wrathful murmurings to the shore;

Through the rent woof of fleecy clouds afar

Steals on my soul like evening’s holy close,

The lovely lustrous light of a lone star,

Heralding the Night-Queen to her sweet repose:

Yet all this fairy scene hath left no power,

No balm to bring my burdened heart relief,

Sitting alone in midnight’s witching hour,

Bowed by the spell of an o’ermastering grief,

While half the world lies wrapped in slumber deep,

Calm as the moon’s pale beams that on these waters sleep.