STRANGE fits of passion have I known：

    And I will dare to tell，

    But in the lover's ear alone，

    What once to me befell.

    When she I loved looked every day

    Fresh as a rose in June，

    I to her cottage bent¹ my way，

    Beneath an evening-moon.

    Upon the moon I fixed² my eye，

    All over the wide lea；

    With quickening pace my horse drew nigh

    Those paths so dear to me.

    And now we reached the orchard-plot；

    And， as we climbed the hill，

    The sinking moon to Lucy's cot

    Came near， and nearer still.

    In one of those sweet dreams I slept，

    Kind Nature's gentlest boon³！

    And all the while my eye I kept

    On the descending⁴ moon.

    My horse moved on； hoof⁵ after hoof

    He raised， and never stopped：

    When down behind the cottage roof，

    At once， the bright moon dropped.

    What fond and wayward thoughts will slide

    Into a Lover's head！

    "O mercy！" to myself I cried，

    "If Lucy hould be dead！"

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