NIGHT SKETCHES.

‘——Therefore let the moonShine on thee in thy solitary walk;And let the misty mountain winds be freeTo blow against thee: and, in after years,When these wild ecstacies shall be maturedInto a sober pleasure, when thy mindShall be a mansion for all lovely forms,Thy memory be as a dwelling-placeIf solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief,Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughtsOf tender joy wilt thou remember——.’Wordsworth.

‘——Therefore let the moon

Shine on thee in thy solitary walk;

And let the misty mountain winds be free

To blow against thee: and, in after years,

When these wild ecstacies shall be matured

Into a sober pleasure, when thy mind

Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms,

Thy memory be as a dwelling-place

If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief,

Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts

Of tender joy wilt thou remember——.’

Wordsworth.

I have been gay tonight. The perfect moonIs sitting up in heaven, and living starsAre looking sweetly from the firmament;All elements that live, and common thingsIn earth and sea tonight are beautiful;And there is stillness, fitting for pure thought,And light for waking dreams, and holinessLike a plain language written on the frontOf this exceeding temple—and yet IHave been among the dancers, and have trodThe measures of a merry instrument.I knew it as I went; for I was metBy a pure reach of moonlight that came downBetween the city walls, and I went backA moment to regard its silver brow,And list its gentle lesson; but a soundOf music and of thrilling voices cameFrom the half opened window, and the laughOf a remembered girl bewilderinglyCame over me, and I forgot the moonAs if I never knew it was in heaven.’Tis strange—for I am very happy nowWhile leaning in her light, and I could glideMost sweetly to the sleep of pleasant dreamsBeneath her stilly influence—but I knowThat if a voice I think of were to comeAnd call me now, my own ungentle name(Her melting lip!) would seem more beautiful.

I have been gay tonight. The perfect moon

Is sitting up in heaven, and living stars

Are looking sweetly from the firmament;

All elements that live, and common things

In earth and sea tonight are beautiful;

And there is stillness, fitting for pure thought,

And light for waking dreams, and holiness

Like a plain language written on the front

Of this exceeding temple—and yet I

Have been among the dancers, and have trod

The measures of a merry instrument.

I knew it as I went; for I was metBy a pure reach of moonlight that came downBetween the city walls, and I went backA moment to regard its silver brow,And list its gentle lesson; but a soundOf music and of thrilling voices cameFrom the half opened window, and the laughOf a remembered girl bewilderinglyCame over me, and I forgot the moonAs if I never knew it was in heaven.

I knew it as I went; for I was met

By a pure reach of moonlight that came down

Between the city walls, and I went back

A moment to regard its silver brow,

And list its gentle lesson; but a sound

Of music and of thrilling voices came

From the half opened window, and the laugh

Of a remembered girl bewilderingly

Came over me, and I forgot the moon

As if I never knew it was in heaven.

’Tis strange—for I am very happy nowWhile leaning in her light, and I could glideMost sweetly to the sleep of pleasant dreamsBeneath her stilly influence—but I knowThat if a voice I think of were to comeAnd call me now, my own ungentle name(Her melting lip!) would seem more beautiful.

’Tis strange—for I am very happy now

While leaning in her light, and I could glide

Most sweetly to the sleep of pleasant dreams

Beneath her stilly influence—but I know

That if a voice I think of were to come

And call me now, my own ungentle name

(Her melting lip!) would seem more beautiful.

How secret are the goings on of night!The moonlight is not heard; and as the leavesAre touched by slumber, they bow gently downWithout a rustle, and the stealthy dewComes on them like the spirit of a dream.The daily heat departs; the unquiet pulseOf nature grows serener, and the waveOf motion in all growing things is still,While coolness circulates unheard, and restSteals like a feeling on the animal world.So still art thou, O night! and yet thy voiceHath many tones to listen, and it tellsTo my unquiet wakefulness, how deepThe wisdom that has fashioned thee so well—A beautiful and fitting time of rest.

How secret are the goings on of night!

The moonlight is not heard; and as the leaves

Are touched by slumber, they bow gently down

Without a rustle, and the stealthy dew

Comes on them like the spirit of a dream.

The daily heat departs; the unquiet pulse

Of nature grows serener, and the wave

Of motion in all growing things is still,

While coolness circulates unheard, and rest

Steals like a feeling on the animal world.

So still art thou, O night! and yet thy voiceHath many tones to listen, and it tellsTo my unquiet wakefulness, how deepThe wisdom that has fashioned thee so well—A beautiful and fitting time of rest.

So still art thou, O night! and yet thy voice

Hath many tones to listen, and it tells

To my unquiet wakefulness, how deep

The wisdom that has fashioned thee so well—

A beautiful and fitting time of rest.

MIDNIGHT ON THE ST LAWRENCE.

Give me my cloak! It is no night for sleep,And I will wear a vigil with the starsUntil the break of morning. What a scene!The orient is all molten with the lightOf a perfected moon, and in the westThe deep blue tints look cool, and every starIs drawn distinctly on the sheet of heaven.The winds are wholly still, and as we pass,Breaking the shadows of the many treesThat sleep upon the margin, or go inAmong the graceful windings of the stream,We seem like wizards, turning into wavesThe very sky—it sleeps so perfectly.The vesper bells are hushed, but I can seeThe glitter of the steeples on the hillsThat swell up from the shore, and heavenlyAs is the face of nature, they come inAmong her features like a pleasant smile,The thought of worship is so beautiful.Swiftly, yet gently on! How human thingsAre sometimes like a witching vision, fair!And how the cunning of diviner skillCan mingle up the elements, to makeA fallen world like heaven! I am madeSubject to ills, and erringly at bestMay use my faculties; but I am hereWith God’s best work about me, and a mindHumbly, but purely to the harmoniesOf nature tuned, the only looker onIn all this lovely paradise of light.Blessed we sometimes are! and I am nowHappy in quiet feelings; for the tonesOf a most pleasant company of friendsWere in my ear but now, and gentle thoughtsFrom spirits whose high character I know,Were spoken at the rising of the moon,And I retain their influence, as the airRetains the softness of departed day.And so I should be happy; and while joyIs with me, I will bless my companyOf sleeping friends, and if their eyes should restUpon this page hereafter, they will knowThat in the history of my lonely hoursSome gentler passages were writ by them.

Give me my cloak! It is no night for sleep,

And I will wear a vigil with the stars

Until the break of morning. What a scene!

The orient is all molten with the light

Of a perfected moon, and in the west

The deep blue tints look cool, and every star

Is drawn distinctly on the sheet of heaven.

The winds are wholly still, and as we pass,

Breaking the shadows of the many trees

That sleep upon the margin, or go in

Among the graceful windings of the stream,

We seem like wizards, turning into waves

The very sky—it sleeps so perfectly.

The vesper bells are hushed, but I can see

The glitter of the steeples on the hills

That swell up from the shore, and heavenly

As is the face of nature, they come in

Among her features like a pleasant smile,

The thought of worship is so beautiful.

Swiftly, yet gently on! How human thingsAre sometimes like a witching vision, fair!And how the cunning of diviner skillCan mingle up the elements, to makeA fallen world like heaven! I am madeSubject to ills, and erringly at bestMay use my faculties; but I am hereWith God’s best work about me, and a mindHumbly, but purely to the harmoniesOf nature tuned, the only looker onIn all this lovely paradise of light.Blessed we sometimes are! and I am nowHappy in quiet feelings; for the tonesOf a most pleasant company of friendsWere in my ear but now, and gentle thoughtsFrom spirits whose high character I know,Were spoken at the rising of the moon,And I retain their influence, as the airRetains the softness of departed day.And so I should be happy; and while joyIs with me, I will bless my companyOf sleeping friends, and if their eyes should restUpon this page hereafter, they will knowThat in the history of my lonely hoursSome gentler passages were writ by them.

Swiftly, yet gently on! How human things

Are sometimes like a witching vision, fair!

And how the cunning of diviner skill

Can mingle up the elements, to make

A fallen world like heaven! I am made

Subject to ills, and erringly at best

May use my faculties; but I am here

With God’s best work about me, and a mind

Humbly, but purely to the harmonies

Of nature tuned, the only looker on

In all this lovely paradise of light.

Blessed we sometimes are! and I am now

Happy in quiet feelings; for the tones

Of a most pleasant company of friends

Were in my ear but now, and gentle thoughts

From spirits whose high character I know,

Were spoken at the rising of the moon,

And I retain their influence, as the air

Retains the softness of departed day.

And so I should be happy; and while joy

Is with me, I will bless my company

Of sleeping friends, and if their eyes should rest

Upon this page hereafter, they will know

That in the history of my lonely hours

Some gentler passages were writ by them.

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