Ye pow'rs of midnight! tend my song,
And you, grim messengers, that throng
About the new-made grave, and steal
The heart's blood, mark'd with many a spell,
And petrify'd to purple stone
For causes yet unheard, unknown.
Hush!-busy elves, that ply around;
Lay light your wings in slumber bound,
'Tis silence, soft, and sad, and slow,
- With cypress stole, and veil of snow,
That creeps, (aye, startling at each breeze
That rushes through the shudd'ring trees)
Along yon aisle of dismal hue,
Faint flashes from the taper blue,
Lending a momentary glimpse, to show
Where the dumb victims lye below!
And who those fiends that after come,
Wrapt in the thickest garb of gloom?
My blood is froze, my pulse is still!
'Tis pale Remorse, whose vitals feel
Ten thousand restless vultures gnaw,
And Conscience, with her bloody maw!
"Tis Murder-see his eyeballs gleam
Red lightning! and his glances stream
Along the dagger's azure line.
But hark! what noise invades the shrine,
What breaks our Goddess' dread repose?
'Tis felon Force, that dare oppose
The flight of ghastly Fear!-Behold
Squadrons of glassy sprites unfold
The shrinking wretch-his blasted eyes
Sink inward-oh! he faints, he dies!
They come, they swarm! terrific all!
Heav'n's! let the hideous fabric fall.
YE lordly sons of independant sway!
Supreme in honour, as in wealth secure,
Who from the hut, disdainful, turn away,
And slight the simple suff'rings of the poor;
Won by the magic of prevailing woe,
Soft Pity's dew-drop trembling in your eye,
Oh! quit each idle pomp of painted show,
And lift the latch on shrinking Penury.
No more the bright hearth lends its cheerful blaze;
With plenty teems no more the frugal board;
No more the infant round its parent plays,
Or smiling welcome owns the cottage-lord.
Long wint'ry hours of ceaseless labour past,
When night to toil brief interval bestows,
He views with care each darling face o'ercast,
And pangs domestic torture his repose.
No ruddy features, on the turf-clad seat,
That fronts his door, at ev'ning close, are seen;
No anxious looks his fond approaching meet,
Or little footsteps brush the daisy'd green.
The sweet repast of cordial kindness o'er,
His stool no oft-invited pilgrim draws,
Prompt to relieve with legendary lore,
Of wearied industry the festive pause.
Scarce can his sinewy strength, and sun-burnt brow,
Wrest a dry morsel from the gripe of Pride,
Sufficient to sustain life's languid glow,
Or with a famish'd family divide.
Lost is the garden's small, but useful bound,
Whose vegetable charms so gaily spread;
Where the tall bean, luxuriant, breath'd around,
Or silver turnip rear'd its tufted head :
Forgot the culture of a master's hand,
Obnoxious weeds the happy confines seize,
The specious hemlock's baleful blooms expand,
And thistly down waves to the barren breeze.
What sorrows must the father's heart assail,
Should Sickness, with redoubled rage invade,
Fever, wild fiend, or pin'd consumption pale,
Want's hideous servants, desolate the shade?
Methinks I mark him in this state forlorn,
With torment writhing on the cold, damp floor,
By each infuriate thought remorseless torn,
"Till the big anguish bursts,—and thought's no more.
Taught by this artless, not untender strain,
What varied ills the vassal hind await,
What silent wrongs inflict severest pain,
And bend him, groaning, to his ruthless fate;
Ye lordly sons of independant sway!
Supreme in honour, as in wealth secure,
Ne'er from the hut, disdainful, turn away,
Nor slight the simple suff'rings of the poor!
NOW, when faint purpling o'er the western sky,
The lord of day his faded lustre weaves,
And through yon wild-wood's trembling leaves
Shoots his last solitary ray:
O! let me woo thee from thy sapphire shrine;
To my rapt eye thy snowy breast display.
The tranquil pause, the ecstacy divine,
The vision'd scene, serenely bright,
And all the witcheries of the Muse are thine!
The poet's fabling fancy told
How, erst in silent pomp descending,
O'er Latmos' brow thy radiant crescent bending,
Thou cam'st to bless a shepherd boy;
And pouring thy delicious charms,
Forsook thy shining sphere,
Immaculately clear,
To taste immortal love in mortal arms.
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