Poems By William Bell Scott. Ballads, Studies from Nature, Sonnets, etc. Illustrated by Seventeen Etchings by the Author and L. Alma Tadema |
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MIDNIGHT.
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138
MIDNIGHT.
1832 (revised).
The lamp within winks yellow and old,
The moon without stares blank and cold,
Chequering all the boarded floor
With frosted squares so chill and hoar,
And dark lines from the casement sent,—
The lamp-light, over the table spent,
Makes every corner of the room
Hide itself in hollow gloom;
Here and there shapes looming out,
Bench or armour, clothes or mask,
Mannikin in feathered casque,
Like dwarfs and goblins all about,—
Heads and elbows, eyes and wings,
Mere misshapen hints of things.
Close we now our book and lay
Reluctant still the pen away,
Lifting it sometimes again
If any laggard thought constrain;
Laggard or roving, home too late,
Knocking at the bolted gate.
Turn the chair and fold the fingers,
Coax the little fire that lingers,
Coax it to a tingling glow,
While the snell wind's northern game
Is played out with the window frame,
And through the key-hole sad and low.
Let's have a cheerier parting word,
Set the flask upon the board,
Get the old kanaster out,
And make the blue whiffs curl about.
Let's try, the day's work ended now,
To see Atlantes from the prow
Of fancy's fearless barque shot far
Beyond the breaker's plash and roar,
Drifting without toil of oar,
Sail or ballast, helm or star.
Watching, lonely, half asleep,
All round us becomes faint and rare,
Like lighted ships in a misty air.
Is that the bleating of far-off sheep?
—Is that a child at the window-pane,
Or merely sighing gusts of rain?
By nature still we fear the dark,
One's own shadow is strange and stark,
And seems to move, though we keep still—
And though we laugh each morning duly,
We know so very little truly,
That we fear against our will!
I remember long ago
Waking at midnight, when the snow
Was on the ground, and hearing far
Away the sound of a guitar,
And creeping darkly out of bed,
I saw pass in the street below,
Singing a sad song lovely and low,
A lady in red with yard-long hair,
A crown of leaves only on her head,
Splendidly clothed, but her feet were bare.
So passed she singing; I heard her far
Into the night with her small guitar;
And when I crept again to bed
It seemed as if some one had said,—
‘That is your Life from street to street,
Passing unheard with shoeless feet,
Over the well-trod snow.’
They tell me, with a smile or stare,
That twenty years can have no care,
Nor can it have a ‘long ago.’
But well I know the past alone
Is safely done with, sealed and gone,
And at threescore most certainly
We shall be lighter and more free!
The moon without stares blank and cold,
Chequering all the boarded floor
With frosted squares so chill and hoar,
And dark lines from the casement sent,—
The lamp-light, over the table spent,
Makes every corner of the room
Hide itself in hollow gloom;
Here and there shapes looming out,
Bench or armour, clothes or mask,
Mannikin in feathered casque,
Like dwarfs and goblins all about,—
Heads and elbows, eyes and wings,
Mere misshapen hints of things.
Close we now our book and lay
Reluctant still the pen away,
Lifting it sometimes again
If any laggard thought constrain;
Laggard or roving, home too late,
Knocking at the bolted gate.
139
Coax the little fire that lingers,
Coax it to a tingling glow,
While the snell wind's northern game
Is played out with the window frame,
And through the key-hole sad and low.
Let's have a cheerier parting word,
Set the flask upon the board,
Get the old kanaster out,
And make the blue whiffs curl about.
Let's try, the day's work ended now,
To see Atlantes from the prow
Of fancy's fearless barque shot far
Beyond the breaker's plash and roar,
Drifting without toil of oar,
Sail or ballast, helm or star.
Watching, lonely, half asleep,
All round us becomes faint and rare,
Like lighted ships in a misty air.
Is that the bleating of far-off sheep?
—Is that a child at the window-pane,
Or merely sighing gusts of rain?
By nature still we fear the dark,
One's own shadow is strange and stark,
And seems to move, though we keep still—
And though we laugh each morning duly,
We know so very little truly,
That we fear against our will!
140
Waking at midnight, when the snow
Was on the ground, and hearing far
Away the sound of a guitar,
And creeping darkly out of bed,
I saw pass in the street below,
Singing a sad song lovely and low,
A lady in red with yard-long hair,
A crown of leaves only on her head,
Splendidly clothed, but her feet were bare.
So passed she singing; I heard her far
Into the night with her small guitar;
And when I crept again to bed
It seemed as if some one had said,—
‘That is your Life from street to street,
Passing unheard with shoeless feet,
Over the well-trod snow.’
They tell me, with a smile or stare,
That twenty years can have no care,
Nor can it have a ‘long ago.’
But well I know the past alone
Is safely done with, sealed and gone,
And at threescore most certainly
We shall be lighter and more free!
Alack a day! I'm wandering still
By the wells o' Weary, the woods of Will,
Hand in hand with cheerless themes
Worse than dreams.
So then to bed. The wind sings loud,
The sharp moon presses against the cloud,
And cuts its through: anon she seems
Set in a ruff and her great white face
Looks silly and sad from the void blue space;
Vanward again the cloud-ridge streams,
And we find her out only at intervals,
As a drowning man looks up and calls,
While here and there a star outpeeps,
Cheerily a moment seen,
Anon the wrack drives in between,
And like Time's beard all oversweeps.
To my dying lamp I turn,
Turn I to my chamber door:
The embers now no longer burn,
The casement-chequers have left the floor,
Only my shadow so black and tall,
Steps with me from wall to wall!
By the wells o' Weary, the woods of Will,
141
Worse than dreams.
So then to bed. The wind sings loud,
The sharp moon presses against the cloud,
And cuts its through: anon she seems
Set in a ruff and her great white face
Looks silly and sad from the void blue space;
Vanward again the cloud-ridge streams,
And we find her out only at intervals,
As a drowning man looks up and calls,
While here and there a star outpeeps,
Cheerily a moment seen,
Anon the wrack drives in between,
And like Time's beard all oversweeps.
To my dying lamp I turn,
Turn I to my chamber door:
The embers now no longer burn,
The casement-chequers have left the floor,
Only my shadow so black and tall,
Steps with me from wall to wall!
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