[Illustration]
MARKET-NIGHT.
'O Winds, howl not so long and loud;
Nor with your vengeance arm the snow:
Bear hence each heavy-loaded cloud;
And let the twinkling Star-beams glow.
'Now sweeping floods rush down the slope,
Wide scattering ruin.—Stars, shine soon!
No other light my Love can hope;
Midnight will want the joyous Moon.
'O guardian Spirits!—Ye that dwell
Where woods, and pits, and hollow ways,
The lone night-trav'ler's fancy swell
With fearful tales, of older days,—
'Press round him:—guide his willing steed
Through darkness, dangers, currents, snows;
Wait where, from shelt'ring thickets freed,
The dreary Heath's rude whirlwind blows.
'From darkness rushing o'er his way,
The Thorn's white load it bears on high!
Where the short furze all shrouded lay,
Mounts the dried grass;—Earth's bosom dry.
'Then o'er the Hill with furious sweep
It rends the elevated tree—
Sure-footed beast, thy road thou'lt keep;
Nor storm nor darkness startles thee!
'O blest assurance, (trusty steed,)
To thee the buried road is known;
Home, all the spur thy footsteps need,
When loose the frozen rein is thrown,
'Between the roaring blasts that shake
The naked Elder at the door,
Though not one prattler to me speak,
Their sleeping sighs delight me more.