Heaven wears a dosky raiinent, and the moon
Appeareth dead — her tomb is yonder cloud,
And weeping shades come after, like the people
Who mourn with tearful grief a noble queen.
But look ! the thunder pierced night's close-linked mail,
His keen-tipped lance of lightning brandishing ;
He hovers like a seraph-conqueror. —
Dazed by the flaming splendor of his wings,
In rapid flight as in a whirling dance,
The black cloud-ravens hurry scared away.
So, though the powers of darkness chain my soul.
My heart, a hero, chafes and breaks its bonds.
NIGHT-THOUGHTS.
Will night already spread her wings and weave
Her dusky robe about the day's bright form,
Boldly the sun's fair countenance displacing,
And swathe it with her shadow in broad day ?
So a green wreath of mist enrings the moon.
Till envious clouds do quite encompass her.
No wind ! and yet the slender stem is stirred.
With faint, slight motion as from inward tremor.
Mine eyes are full of grief — who sees me, asks,
"Oh wherefore dost thou cling unto the ground ? "
My friends discourse with sweet and soothing words;
They all are vain, they glide above my head.
