Inscribed to the Marquis of Lansdowne

The moonlight is without; and I could loseAn hour to gaze, though Taste and Splendour here,As in a lustrous fairy palace, reign!Regardless of the lights that blaze within,I look upon the wide and silent sea,That in the shadowy moonbeam sleeps:How still,Nor heard to murmur, or to move, it lies;Shining in Fancy's eye, like the soft gleam,The eve of pleasant yesterdays!The cloudsHave all sunk westward, and the host of starsSeem in their watches set, as gazing on;While night's fair empress, sole and beautiful,Holds her illustrious course through the mid heavensSupreme, the spectacle, for such she looks,Of gazing worlds!How different is the sceneThat lies beneath this arched window's height!The town, that murmured through the busy day,Is hushed; the roofs one solemn breadth of shadeVeils; but the towers, and taper spires above,The pinnets, and the gray embattled walls,And masts that throng around the southern pier,Shine all distinct in light; and mark, remote,O'er yonder elms, St Mary's modest fane.Oh! if such views may please, to me they shineHow more attractive! but few years have passed,Since there I saw youth, health, and happiness,All circling round an aged sire, whose hairsAre now in peace gone down; he was to meA friend, and almost with a father's smileHung o'er my infant Muse. The cheerful voiceOf fellowship, the song of harmony,And mirth, and wit, were there.That scene is passed:Cold death and separation have dissolvedThe evening circle of once-happy friends!So has it ever fared, and so must fare,With all! I see the moonlight watery tractThat shines far off, beneath the forest-shades:What seems it, but the mirror of that tide,Which noiseless, 'mid the changes of the world,Holds its inevitable course, the tideOf years departing; to the distant eyeStill seeming motionless, though hurrying onFrom morn till midnight, bearing, as it flows,The sails of pleasurable barks! These gleamTo-day, to-morrow other passing sailsCatch the like sunshine of the vernal morn.Our pleasant days are as the moon's brief lightOn the pale ripple, passing as it shines!But shall the pensive bard for this lament,Who knows how transitory are all worldsBefore His eye who made them!Cease the strain;And welcome still the social intercourseThat soothes the world's loud jarring, till the hourWhen, universal darkness wrapping allThis nether scene, a light from heaven shall streamThrough clouds dividing, and a voice be heard:Here only pure and lasting bliss is found!

Southampton Castle is a magnificent pile, erected by the Marquis ofLansdowne, commanding the most striking views of the river, the Isle ofWight, the New Forest, et cet.