No rest--no dark.
Hour after hour that passionless bright face
Climbs up the desolate blue.
_Moon-struck_. D.M. MULOCK CRAIK.

Mother of light! how fairly dost thou go
Over those hoary crests, divinely led!
Art thou that huntress of the silver bow
Fabled of old? Or rather dost thou tread
Those cloudy summits thence to gaze below,
Like the wild chamois from her Alpine snow,
Where hunters never climbed--secure from dread?
_Ode to the Moon_. T. HOOD.

And thou didst shine, thou rolling moon, upon
All this, and cast a wide and tender light,
Which softened down the hoar austerity
Of rugged desolation, and filled up,
As 't were anew, the gaps of centuries,
Leaving that beautiful which still was so,
And making that which was not, till the place
Became religion, and the heart ran o'er
With silent worship of the great of old!--
The dead, but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule
Our spirits from their urns.
_Manfred, Act_ iii. _Sc_. 4 _(The Coliseum)_. LORD BYRON.

When the moon shone, we did not see the candle;
So doth the greater glory dim the less.
_Merchant of Venice, Act v. Sc_. 1. SHAKESPEARE.

The moon looks
On many brooks,
"The brook can see no moon but this."
_While gazing on the moon's light_. T. MOORE.

I see them on their winding way.
Above their ranks the moonbeams play.

* * * * *

And waving arms and banners bright
Are glancing in the mellow light.
_Lines written to a March_. BISHOP R. HEBER.

The devil's in the moon for mischief; they
Who called her chaste, methinks, began too soon
Their nomenclature; there is not a day,
The longest, not the twenty-first of June,
Sees half the business in a wicked way.
On which three single hours of moonshine smile--
And then she looks so modest all the while!
_Don Juan. Canto I_. LORD BYRON.

Faery elves,
Whose midnight revels, by a forest-side,
Or fountain, some belated peasant sees,
Or dreams he sees, while overhead the moon
Sits arbitress, and nearer to the earth
Wheels her pale course.
_Paradise Lost, Bk. I_. MILTON.

Day glimmered in the east, and the white Moon
Hung like a vapor in the cloudless sky.
_Italy: Lake of Geneva_. S. ROGERS.

MORNING.

But soft! methinks I scent the morning air.
_Hamlet, Act_ i. _Sc_. 5. SHAKESPEARE.

The glo