We have, in part, lost our ancient respect for you,--a sorry fact to chronicle. There were once various statements floating about our cradle, complimentary to your supposed virtues. You were Phoebe, twin to Phoebus, "goddess excellently bright;" a queen, having a separate establishment, coming into a deserted court by night, and kindling it into more than daytime revelry. You were an enchantress, the tutelary divinity of water-sprites and greensward fairies. Your presence was indispensable for felicitous dreams. To be moon-struck, then, meant to be charmed inexpressibly,--to be lifted off our feet.
Now, we allow that you may have suffered by misrepresentation, or else are we right in detecting your arts; for, by all your starry handmaidens, you are not what we took you to be. We are informed (our quondam faith in you almost beshrews the day we learned to read!) that you are a timid dependent only of the sun, afraid to show yourself while he is on his peregrinations; that you slyly steal the garb of his splendor as he lays it aside, and blaze forthwith in your borrowed finery.
You are no friend to innocent goblins, but abettor to house-breakers. You are conspirator in many direful deeds, attending base nocturnal councils, and tacitly arraigning yourself against the law. "Let us be Diana's foresters, gentlemen of the shade, ... governed, as the sea is, by our noble and chaste mistress, the moon, under whose countenance we--steal." Was it not well said, not frankly?
Your gossip is the ominous owl, and not Titania.
Your inconstancy, to come on delicate ground, shineth above your other characteristics. Since we have seen your color come and go, we surmise there is no dearth of intrigue and repartee up there; and being, moreover, well acquainted with the texture of your red and your gray veil, we infer that you masquerade periodically at very unseasonable hours. Of painting your complexion we are disposed to acquit you; yet it is a severe blow to us to learn from the most trustworthy sources, that you wax.
Selene, Artemis! you are worldly beyond worldlings. We hear that you have quarters, and that you jingle them triumphantly in the ears of Orion, who is nobody but a poor hunter. Beware of the exasperation of the lower classes! whose awakening is what we call below, a French Revolution.