University of Virginia Library


15

A Night in Time of War

The clouds are up, to sweep and tune
That inharmonious harp, the moon;
The north wind blows a harsh bassoon.
An old astrologer might say,
By signs, by portents whirled this way,
That earth was nearing her decay.
All apprehensions stir to-night
With fluttering issues infinite,
Conjunction, phantom, famine, blight;
The woodland shakes its agèd bones
And shrieks; beyond, in deeper tones
The ceremonial cypress groans;
And I, the microcosm of all,
Quake, shuddering, underneath the pall
Of nature's hurrying funeral.
Yes! though my sceptic brain rejects
My sires' chain'd causes and effects,
The nerves retain their deep defects;

16

And still my heart leaps in my side,—
A fluctuant ark upon its tide,—
With throbs and throes unsanctified,
And knows not how to brave the stir
Of sounds that beckon and shout to her
Of sins that clouds and winds aver.
I dare not sleep to-night, for dread
Of spectral lights obscurely shed
About my plum'd and shadowy bed.
Faint, faint, these mildew'd chords that twang
So feebly, where the music rang
Deep organ-notes when Homer sang!
Ah! strange to find the quivering crests
Of long-laid faiths, forgotten guests,
Rise up at memory's dim behests!
Ah! strange to feel the soul resume
Its cast-off heritage of gloom,—
The savage turning in his tomb!