Lo! where the Moon along
The sky sails with her happy destiny;
Oft is she hid from mortal eye or dimly seen,
But when the clouds asunder fly how bright her mien!
Far different we – a forward race, thousands though
Rich in Fortune’s grace
With cherished sullenness of pace
Therir way pursue,
Ingrates who wear a smile less face
The whole year through.
If kindred humourse’er would make
My spirit droop for drooping’s sake,
From Fancy following in thy wake,
Bright ship of heaven!
A counter impulse let me take
And be forgiven.
Mortal : deadly
Mien : manner; bearing
Sullenness : sadness
Drooping : hanging down