The midnight moon serenely smiles Over nature's soft repose, No lowering cloud obscures the skies, Nor ruffling tempest blows. Now every passion sinks to rest, The throbbing heart lies still, And varying schemes of life no more Distract the labouring will. In silence hushed, to reason's voice Attends each mental power; Come dear Amanda, and enjoy Reflection's favourite hour. Come, while this peaceful scene invites, Let's search this ample round; Where shall the lovely fleeting form Of Happiness be found? Does it amidst the frolic mirth Of gay assemblies dwell? Or hide beneath the solemn gloom That shades the hermit's cell? How oft the laughing brow of joy A sickening heart conceals, And through the cloister's deep recess Invading sorrow steals. In vain through beauty, fortune, wit, The fugitive we trace! It dwells not in the faithless smile That brightens Clodio's face. However our varying notions rove, All yet agree, in one, To place its being in some state, At distance from our own. O blind to each indulgent gift Of power, supremely wise, Who fancy happiness in aught That providence denies. Vain is alike the joy we seek, And vain what we possess, Unless harmonious reason tunes The passions into peace. To temperate bounds, to few desires, Is happiness confined, And deaf to folly's noise attends The music of the mind.
Elizabeth Carter (1717-1806)