"All heaven and earth are still-though not in sleep,
"But breathless, as we grow when feeling most;
"And silent, as we stand in thoughts too deep:
"The sky is changed!—and such a change! oh! night, "And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong." CHILDE HAROLD, Canto 3d.
THE night is calm-a silvery moon
Rides through a cloudless sky,
The voice of nature answers boon
To the heart's rising sigh:
And peace-the peace of heaven doth seem
To float upon the lunar beam.
So light is every breeze around,
Moves not the smallest leaf;
So soft the rippling waters sound,
They sympathize with grief;
And feelings spring, whose bland control
Blesses the lorn and luckless soul!
Thus might we deem, if moons as bright,
As full of seeming peace as this,
Had not erewhile bestowed their light,
Nor turned one painful thought to bliss:
If from the past there did not rise
Delicious nights, and sunken eyes—
The priests of Pleasure's sacrifice!
Alas! how many a tearful eye
Hath looked on heaven's serenity,
Hath gazed on nature's loveliest smile,
With sorrow-stricken heart the while!
And they who, in the zephyr's breath,
And in the rippling current's beat,
Have owned emotions wild and sweet,
Have lived to taste of more than death,
When time had passed away;
The willow, then, for rapture's wreath,
The cyprus, for the bay!
Yet love we to indulge the dream
Of fancy, 'neath the midnight beam;
And, with the heart's enchantment, blend
The verdant earth, and smiling skies—
And somewhat 'tis, when we can send
The excursive mind to those sweet eyes,
Which laughed on us, so like the star
Sparkling above us then;
That now, though distance parts us far,
We see them there agen.
But still-and these are hours that cling
More closely to time's changing wing—
When by night's lighted torch we trace,
On memory's page, the embittered place
Marked deeply with our tears;
And view the forms, we loved to view
(Blanched in their sorrow's baleful dew)
Dispel the mist of years:
Oh! when we seem to see them start,
With swollen eye, and throbbing heart,
And seek, yet know not where to find
Relief for the afflicted mind-
How dark the hour appears!
How dark! though, with their brightest shine, Earth and the orbs of heaven combine
To shed upon man's weary way
Forgetfulness of joy's decay—
To mitigate his fears!
And hard it is, with happy brow,
To witness such a scene as now
Rises before me, and believe
That ought it smiled upon could grieve!
But 'tis not so: the blithest scene
Swiftly recalls what once hath been;
Something that frets the bosom's core-
Something it loathes to touch;
For thought on thought, that slept before,
Wake into sudden life, and pour
Remembrances of much
That speak of error, shame, and sin,
Which creep the human heart within.
I love to watch the Night, and well
I feel the influence of her spell;
Yet ne'er returning even throws
Its radiancies abroad,
But to my heart poor Ellen's woes
They ceaselessly record:
They fling around a withering shade,
And soon those fairy visions fade,
By hope imbued with every die
(That Iris of man's clouded sky!)
Which youthful dreamers form;
While disappointment spreads on high
The inevitable storm.
On such a night as this-so mild
So lovely, did we roam along
The ruined castle's court-way wild,
Where rose the night-bird's lonely song:
The river poured a murmuring toné,
The moon-light tinged the ivied stone;
From darksome towers the boding scream
Of owlet died a-down the stream,
And echo, answering from the wave,
A sullen sound of hoarseness gave:
Then all was silent, and the world
Slumbered on nature's breast,
As if, within her temple furled,
War's crimsoned banners rest.
It was a night that breathed upon
The heart like breath of life ;-
And lives there in creation one,
Who thus could cherish strife?
Cast him, if any such there be,
Where gendereth deathless enmity,
Where love is known not, where the name
Of all that's dear to man,
May grow for him, a scathing flame
A deep, eternal ban!
Oh! hours like these, whate'er beside
Ye feel, are not for hate;
Tenderness should extinguish pride,
And gentler thoughts create.
Oft Ellen glanced her languid eye
O'er heaven's fair studded canopy;
She spoke not, but her trembling frame
Imparted griefs she might not name;
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