MORNING.
All hail, thou blessed light of morn!
At length I feel thy cheering ray—
Through all the darksome night forlorn,
Yearning for thee I sleepless lay.
The Roman in his palace porch,
On the Parthenopean isle,
To dim his red nocturnal torch,
Ne’er prayed more fervently thy smile.
The dripping trees in verdure drest,
The rosy light, and eastern wind,
Dispel the larvæ, which infest
The slumbers of the troubled mind.
O Power divine! my spirit keep
From deeds of darkness ever clear,
Lest unto me the realms of Sleep
Should be beset with phantoms drear;
For Conscience to the wicked is
A demon-evocator pale,
And summons from the soul’s abyss
Forms, which must make the stoutest quail.
Bear witness, purple Eremite,
Who reared amid translucent seas
A gorgeous palace of delight,
A refuge from the Eumenides;
Colossal spectres nightly strode
Through portal, corridor and hall,
The Sea impersonated stood,
His dreaming spirit to appal.
Fronting the portals of the Sun,
His lurid torches burning low,
How oft amid the shadows dun
He waited for the morning’s glow.
Bringer of pleasant thoughts, all hail!
Thy touch dissolves the guilty dream.
And Orcus’ shapeless legions quail,
Flying before thy rosy beam.