For works with similar titles, see Midnight.
MIDNIGHT.1825.
Now Night her sable mantle wraps around,
And reigns, in mute and solemn stillness, o 'er
The slumbering globe.—Sunk in repose supine,
The varied mass of animated being
Lies silent; and the power of active thought,
In deep oblivion sealed, no longer heeds
The pleasures, cares, and woes of toilsome life;
Unless, perchance, a glimmering dream traverse
The brain, with semblance of past scenes; of joys,
Extatic some, and some of sober cast;
And tortured some, with frightful images
Of intermingling horror and despair.
And reigns, in mute and solemn stillness, o 'er
The slumbering globe.—Sunk in repose supine,
The varied mass of animated being
Lies silent; and the power of active thought,
In deep oblivion sealed, no longer heeds
The pleasures, cares, and woes of toilsome life;
Unless, perchance, a glimmering dream traverse
The brain, with semblance of past scenes; of joys,
Extatic some, and some of sober cast;
And tortured some, with frightful images
Of intermingling horror and despair.
Others to rest resigned; alone I wake,
Weary and sad; and silent cast my eyes
Around the solemn scene: no voice is heard;
No footsteps move: a perfect stillness reigns,
Save the light breeze that sighs in softened sounds,
And plaintive murmurs round the casement lone.
The pensive stars glow faintly: the fair moon
Has risen on high, in majesty serene.
How mildly beams her soft quiescent light,
As if ordained to inspire tranquillity,
And fill the soul with sentiments benign.
How far from me is sweet tranquillity!
And no blest balm of consolation doth
Infuse content, alas! but torturing pains
And pangs incessant, unabating, shoot
Their keen inflictions; whilst my burning brain,
Foreboding thoughts and dread contentions rack:
Each slender fibre thrills with horror wild:
Unnumbered filaments, tenacious of
New woe, catch and convey through the whole frame
The dire disorder. Gentle sleep has flown;
Nor dares revisit this assemblage strange
Of pains and black despair. In vain I strive,
By every art prelusive, to regain
His power reluctant, to appease this strife
Of mind and body; and once more to breathe
The soothing quiet of his balmy rest.
In vain I close my eyes, that on my lids
His kindly influence softly may alight,
And fast retain them, till, through all my frame,
His power restoring, re-illume faint life,
And balm all-healing, vigor new create.
But poignant pangs vindictively expel
The soft restorer, and preclude his aid;
While the tired, watching eyes wander about,
In search of objects to relieve the gloom
Of inward anguish: none appear. The lamp's
Pale glimmering light, an emblem, sad and true,
Of life's faint, flickering spark within me, gives:
And from the indurated walls, Despair,
Grim-visaged, beckons, that his dismal port
May the wild glance engage, and penetrate
The dim, recoiling vision's aching sense.
Weary and sad; and silent cast my eyes
Around the solemn scene: no voice is heard;
No footsteps move: a perfect stillness reigns,
Save the light breeze that sighs in softened sounds,
And plaintive murmurs round the casement lone.
The pensive stars glow faintly: the fair moon
Has risen on high, in majesty serene.
How mildly beams her soft quiescent light,
As if ordained to inspire tranquillity,
And fill the soul with sentiments benign.
How far from me is sweet tranquillity!
And no blest balm of consolation doth
Infuse content, alas! but torturing pains
And pangs incessant, unabating, shoot
Their keen inflictions; whilst my burning brain,
Foreboding thoughts and dread contentions rack:
Each slender fibre thrills with horror wild:
Unnumbered filaments, tenacious of
New woe, catch and convey through the whole frame
The dire disorder. Gentle sleep has flown;
Nor dares revisit this assemblage strange
Of pains and black despair. In vain I strive,
By every art prelusive, to regain
His power reluctant, to appease this strife
Of mind and body; and once more to breathe
The soothing quiet of his balmy rest.
In vain I close my eyes, that on my lids
His kindly influence softly may alight,
And fast retain them, till, through all my frame,
His power restoring, re-illume faint life,
And balm all-healing, vigor new create.
But poignant pangs vindictively expel
The soft restorer, and preclude his aid;
While the tired, watching eyes wander about,
In search of objects to relieve the gloom
Of inward anguish: none appear. The lamp's
Pale glimmering light, an emblem, sad and true,
Of life's faint, flickering spark within me, gives:
And from the indurated walls, Despair,
Grim-visaged, beckons, that his dismal port
May the wild glance engage, and penetrate
The dim, recoiling vision's aching sense.
The soul,—ah me, these agonizing thrills,
These wild commotions and insatiate pains!
When banished Nature's great supporter, how
Can Nature bear this dread conspiracy
Of ills unnumbered 1 Yet, so long as flow
The faintly circling streams of life,
Dear is thy dreary gloom, O Night! to me.
Though rest hath vanished from thy lingering hours,
And griefs augmenting cause convulsive starts,
That make me quickly turn from side to side,
Fatigued and fainting with the frequent task;
Yet thou art welcome still, and thy deep tones,
That sigh congenial sadness from the wind,—
Whether in whispers soft it moan around,
Or fiercer breathe its strong, impetuous power;
When the fair moon her aspect mild displays
Amid the silence of the twinkling stars,
Or when obscured by thick and sombre clouds;
Nighty still thou ever art more dear to me,
Than all the glories of the rising day,—
The soft and varying rays of mingling hues,
That blend in changeful beauty, and adorn
The placid azure,—and the fleecy clouds,
That, buoyant, sail upon the balmy air.—
The joyous music of the harmonious choir,
When first they gayly tune their magic song,
Replete with artless melody and love,
Can soothe and charm no more; nor social sound
Of cheerful voices, nor the busy scenes
Of active, happy life have aught for me
More of sweet pleasure in them. Mingling sounds
Perplex me; and the sight of joyful beings
Thrills the chill feeling through my tortured breast,
That I shall never more again enjoy
Those dear delights. The tranquil happiness,
That mildly shone on my past life, is now
For ever fled: the gay and beauteous scenes
Of smiling nature, that with health and joy
The heart relume, can me delight no more;—
For sadness rules, and fainting life begins
To sink beneath the overwhelming weight
Of hopeless anguish, that admits no cure.
These wild commotions and insatiate pains!
When banished Nature's great supporter, how
Can Nature bear this dread conspiracy
Of ills unnumbered 1 Yet, so long as flow
The faintly circling streams of life,
Dear is thy dreary gloom, O Night! to me.
Though rest hath vanished from thy lingering hours,
And griefs augmenting cause convulsive starts,
That make me quickly turn from side to side,
Fatigued and fainting with the frequent task;
Yet thou art welcome still, and thy deep tones,
That sigh congenial sadness from the wind,—
Whether in whispers soft it moan around,
Or fiercer breathe its strong, impetuous power;
When the fair moon her aspect mild displays
Amid the silence of the twinkling stars,
Or when obscured by thick and sombre clouds;
Nighty still thou ever art more dear to me,
Than all the glories of the rising day,—
The soft and varying rays of mingling hues,
That blend in changeful beauty, and adorn
The placid azure,—and the fleecy clouds,
That, buoyant, sail upon the balmy air.—
The joyous music of the harmonious choir,
When first they gayly tune their magic song,
Replete with artless melody and love,
Can soothe and charm no more; nor social sound
Of cheerful voices, nor the busy scenes
Of active, happy life have aught for me
More of sweet pleasure in them. Mingling sounds
Perplex me; and the sight of joyful beings
Thrills the chill feeling through my tortured breast,
That I shall never more again enjoy
Those dear delights. The tranquil happiness,
That mildly shone on my past life, is now
For ever fled: the gay and beauteous scenes
Of smiling nature, that with health and joy
The heart relume, can me delight no more;—
For sadness rules, and fainting life begins
To sink beneath the overwhelming weight
Of hopeless anguish, that admits no cure.