The poetical works of Robert Stephen Hawker Edited from the original manuscripts and annotated copies together with a prefatory notice and bibliography by Alfred Wallis |
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NIGHT. |
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 | The poetical works of Robert Stephen Hawker |  |
NIGHT.
Fair Night, I love thy advent! comest thou
Wrapt in thy diamond-spangled robe of peace,
Or crowned with moonbeams: be thy bosom soft
As youthful love, or wild as wronged affection.
I love thee, Night! when not a summer leaf
Stirs in its place of birth, nor holds communion
With its kindred; and when autumn clouds
Roll at the coming of a tempest like a host
When death pursues them; when the rill of spring
Flows like the vow of innocence to faith,
Pure and unruffled—or the winter stream,
Swoll'n to a flood, is rolling on in strength.
I have been a young pilgrim from the place
Which holds my all of love: and though my staff
Of wandering is but green, I love to think
Upon the hour when my warm heart shall hail
Its vanished home once more.
Wrapt in thy diamond-spangled robe of peace,
Or crowned with moonbeams: be thy bosom soft
As youthful love, or wild as wronged affection.
I love thee, Night! when not a summer leaf
Stirs in its place of birth, nor holds communion
With its kindred; and when autumn clouds
Roll at the coming of a tempest like a host
When death pursues them; when the rill of spring
Flows like the vow of innocence to faith,
Pure and unruffled—or the winter stream,
Swoll'n to a flood, is rolling on in strength.
I have been a young pilgrim from the place
Which holds my all of love: and though my staff
Of wandering is but green, I love to think
Upon the hour when my warm heart shall hail
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It should be night,
A night of many stars, and pure, and calm,
I would not have a cloud upon the sky
That welcomed me, nor breeze among the trees
Whose smiles should greet my path.
A night of many stars, and pure, and calm,
I would not have a cloud upon the sky
That welcomed me, nor breeze among the trees
Whose smiles should greet my path.
Then could I gaze
In all the hope of feeling on that place,
Cradle of many a joy; and I would listen
If all were silent, if the breath of sleep
Broke not upon my ear, to whisper there
That all around was calm and full of peace,
As the blue sky that shaded it.
In all the hope of feeling on that place,
Cradle of many a joy; and I would listen
If all were silent, if the breath of sleep
Broke not upon my ear, to whisper there
That all around was calm and full of peace,
As the blue sky that shaded it.
There is a spot
Where I have wandered in my lonely gladness,
And asked for no communion save the link
Which memory cherisht;—and have sought no joy
Save those which hope would bear on fancy's wing;
'Tis a lone rock, and sea-waves swell around
As soft and gently as the heaving bosom
Of matin-beauty at affection's tale!
The moon would throw her light so sweetly there,
As if a seraph came upon each beam
To lave his pinions in the rippling foam,—
I do believe that I should weep, if aught
Had marr'd its beauty, if it did not smile
As when I last was there to sigh farewell.
I love thee, Night! my best affections love thee,
My warmest feelings and my tenderest hopes
Thou hast charmed forth to life; as summer flowers
Will breathe their sweetest fragrance to the breeze
That bears thy dew; and every loathsome thought
Shrinks like the venomous serpent from thy smile,
And coils within its birthplace.
Where I have wandered in my lonely gladness,
And asked for no communion save the link
Which memory cherisht;—and have sought no joy
Save those which hope would bear on fancy's wing;
'Tis a lone rock, and sea-waves swell around
As soft and gently as the heaving bosom
Of matin-beauty at affection's tale!
The moon would throw her light so sweetly there,
As if a seraph came upon each beam
To lave his pinions in the rippling foam,—
I do believe that I should weep, if aught
Had marr'd its beauty, if it did not smile
As when I last was there to sigh farewell.
I love thee, Night! my best affections love thee,
My warmest feelings and my tenderest hopes
Thou hast charmed forth to life; as summer flowers
Will breathe their sweetest fragrance to the breeze
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Shrinks like the venomous serpent from thy smile,
And coils within its birthplace.
Fair thou art,
And dear to youthful lover, to the child
Of nature's poetry; and he whose harp
Bears not a string for thee is one of earth's
Unfavoured sons, a mere existing man!
And dear to youthful lover, to the child
Of nature's poetry; and he whose harp
Bears not a string for thee is one of earth's
Unfavoured sons, a mere existing man!
| The poetical works of Robert Stephen Hawker | |