Изображения страниц
PDF
EPUB

The Stillness of Night.

THE crackling embers on the hearth are dead;
The in-door note of industry is still;

The latch is fast; upon the window-sill
The small birds wait not for their daily bread:
The voiceless flowers-how quietly they shed
Their nightly odours! and the household rill
Murmurs continuous dulcet sounds, that fill
The vacant expectation, and the dread
Of listening night. And haply now she sleeps ;
For all the garrulous noises of the air
Are hush'd in peace.

HARTLEY COLERIDGE.

Midnight.

MIDNIGHT was come, and every vital thing
With sweet sound sleep their weary limbs did rest:
The beasts were still, the little birds that sing,
Now sweetly slept, beside their mother's breast,
The old and all well shrouded in their nest;
The waters calm, the cruel seas did cease,

The woods, and fields, and all things held their peace.

The golden stars were whirl'd amid their race,
And on the earth did laugh with twinkling light,
When each thing, nestled in his resting-place,
Forgot day's pain with pleasure of the night:
The hare had not the greedy hounds in sight,
The fearful deer of death stood not in doubt,
The partridge dream'd not of the falcon's foot.

The ugly bear now minded not the stake,
Nor how the cruel mastiffs do him tear;
The stag lay still unroused from the brake;
The foamy boar fear'd not the hunter's spear:
All things were still in desert, bush, and brere.

SACKVILLE.

II.

THE Moon shines white and silent
On the mist, which, like a tide
Of some enchanted ocean,

O'er the wide marsh doth glide,
Spreading its ghost-like billows
Silently far and wide.

A vague and starry magic
Makes all things mysteries,
And lures the earth's dumb spirit
Up to the longing skies,-
I seem to hear dim whispers,
And tremulous replies.

The fire-flies o'er the meadow
In pulses come and go;
The elm-trees' heavy shadow
Weighs on the grass below;
And faintly from the distance
The dreaming cock doth crow.

All things look strange and mystic,
The very bushes swell,

And take wild shapes and motions,
As if beneath a spell,-

They seem not the same lilacs

From childhood known so well.

The snow of deepest silence
O'er every thing doth fall,
So beautiful and quiet,

And yet so like a pall,-
As if all life were ended,

And rest were come to all.

O, wild and wondrous midnight,
There is a might in thee
To make the charmed body
Almost like spirit be,

And give it some faint glimpses
Of immortality.

LOWELL.

Midnight at the Siege of Corinth.

"TIS Midnight: on the mountains brown
The cold round moon shines deeply down;
Blue roll the waters, blue the sky
Spreads like an ocean hung on high,
Bespangled with those isles of light,
So wildly, spiritually bright;

Who ever gazed upon them shining
And turn'd to earth without repining,
Nor wish'd for wings to flee away,
And mix with their eternal ray?
The waves on either shore lay there,
Calm, clear, and azure as the air;
And scarce their foam the pebbles shook,
But murmur'd meekly as the brook.
The winds were pillow'd on the waves;
The banners droop'd along their staves,
And, as they fell around them furling,
Above them shone the crescent curling;
And that deep silence was unbroke,
Save where the watch his signal spoke;
Save where the steed neigh'd oft and shrill,
And echo answer'd from the hill,
And the wild hum of that wild host
Rustled like leaves from coast to coast,
As rose the Muezzin's voice in air
In midnight call to wonted prayer.

BYRON.

Night.

LOOK, the world's comforter, with weary gait,
His day's hot task has ended in the west:
The Owl, Night's berald, shrieks-'tis very late;
The sheep are gone to fold, birds to their nest;
And coal-black clouds that shadow heaven's light,
Do summon us to part, and bid good-night.

SHAKESPEARE.

*Muezzin, one appointed by the Turks (who do not use bells) to summon by his voice the religious to their devotions.

PART II.

POEMS

OF

IMAGINATION AND FANCY.

THE Poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,

Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven;

And, as IMAGINATION bodies forth

The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen

Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name.

SHAKESPEARE.

Whose heart

The holy forms of young Imagination have kept pure.

WORDSWORTH.

Away with weary cares and themes!
Swing wide the moonlit gate of dreams!
Leave free once more the land which teems
With wonders and romances!

Where thou, with clear discerning eyes,
Shalt rightly read the truth which lies
Beneath the quaintly-masked guise

Of wild and wizard Fancies.

WHITTIER.

« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »