NIGHT SKETCHES.
‘——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.
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 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 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.
II.
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 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.
III.
MIDNIGHT ON THE ST LAWRENCE.
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 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.