41. 'TWAS AT THE TIME THE MOON'S.
   
  'Twas at the time the moon's broad shield, 
     Shines 'mid the vaulted skies, 
   While trembling round her regal state, 
    The starry myriads rise. 
  Her pale beams silver'd o'er the gate, 
    Where sculptur'd frenzy glares, 
  And moping melancholy scowls, 
    Upon a world of cares. 
  From the dark cells where horror reigns, 
    And dire distraction bides, 
  A hapless maniac burst ber chains, 
    And through the portal glides. 
  Loose were her robes, and on her breast, 
     Chill dropp'd the midnight dew, 
  She felt it not, cold blew the winds, 
    The winds unheeded blew. 
  Thro' lighted halls of gay resort, 
    Thro' trim domestic bands, 
  She pass'd resistless, and at once 
    Before the Banquet stands. 
  Oh most unlook'd for at that board, 
    And most unwelcome guest, 
  Cold is for thee the marble heart, 
    That robb'd thee of thy rest. 
  And do you weep? I cannot weep, 
    Frown not, nor look unkind, 
  That gentle pity sheds her balm, 
    To soothe my troubled mind. 
  But stop, methinks yon distant bell, 
    Now warns me to attend, 
  Where the last gleam of parting hope, 
    Marks out a kinder friend. 
  
  MRS. HUNTER.