Hail, beauteous and inconstant!—Thou who roll’st  
 Thy silver car around the realm of night,  
 Queen of soft hours! how fanciful art thou  
 In equipage and vesture.—Now thou com’st  
 With slender horn piercing the western cloud,  
 As erst on Judah’s hills, when joyous throngs  
 With trump and festival saluted thee;  
 Anon thy waxing crescent ’mid the host  
 Of constellations, like some fairy boat,  
 Glides o’er the waveless sea; then as a bride  
 Thou bow’st thy cheek behind a fleecy veil,