Over fields of thymy blossom,
Over beds of dewy flowers,
Now upon the streamlet's bosom,
Now within the whispering bowers,
Soft and slow,
The moonbeams go,
Wandering on through midnight hours.

Lightly o'er the crested billow 
Where the heaving waters flow,
Where the sea- bird finds her pillow,
There the glistening moonbeams go:
Soft and slow,
Soft and slow,
Ever wandering, soft, and slow.

Queen of Beauty, robed in splendour,
Finds thy silent foot no rest ?
Looks thy smile, so soft and tender,
Ne'er upon a kindred breast?
Soft and slow,
Thy footsteps go,
In their silver sandals dress'd.

Queen of Beauty ! canst thou ever 
Thus thy lonely task fulfil ?
Sister voices, -never, never,
Answering thee from bower or hill ?
Soft and slow,
As winter's snow,
Fall thy footsteps cold and still.

Silent moon! thy smile of beauty,
Fainting hope will oft renew,
Teach me, then, thy holy duty,
Waste and wild to wander through.
Soft and slow,
Still to go,
Patient, meek, but lonely, too.