Night, let me stand in silent trance,
And watch the lightning’s kindling glance:
While, stiff’ning at the imagin’d stroke,
Appears behind a brighten’d oak,
From justice fled to this wild place,
A conscious robber’s gastly face!—
Or fancy views with fear-fix’d eye
A mangled spectre gliding by,
Quick with the flash who seems to wave
His pale hand, beck’ning to a grave!—