 | Longfellow's boyhood poems |  |
46
NIGHT-FALL IN NOVEMBER
How calm is night-fall!—
Westward the sun speeds down his steep descent
In beautiful stillness, far more eloquent
Than musick or the sound of winds,—away
The sea-bird from its dim and motionless bay
Wings silently,—and o'er the distant mountain
Ebbs the last wave of evening's purple fountain.
Twilight hangs mournfully upon the brown
And wasted woods, where once the trees bent down
In summer beauty, and the warm blue sky
Was full of fawning gales, and they of melody.
Far toward the north, the silver cloud rests bright
Upon its sea of clear and amber light,
As rests the island on its waters.—Soon
With a wan countenance the Autumn moon
Looks from her mid-sky turrets, and aside
Not half withdraws Earth's shadowing veil to hide
The mellow beauty of her eye,—more fair
As more unseen the beauty, that is there!—
Trac'd with distinct, dark outline, and a still
And beautiful imagery, the distant hill
Encompass'd with its thin blue haze, and cold
With snows, stands out from the pale sky in bold
And strongly mark'd relief, yet not a cloud
Dimming its chiller atmosphere.—Aloud
After an interval of rest, from Ocean
The rushing winds come with a fitful motion,
Gathering and gathering, till the stronger gale
Pipes cheerfully, and fills the lagging sail,
And swift the light bark cleaves the parted surge.
Night darkens!—yet upon the utmost verge
Of the deep sea, the distant light-house rears
Its form of dazzling beauty, where it cheers
The desert, pathless waters, and presides
Over their ebbing and full-flowing tides,
Like a bright spirit, that untiring waits
To guide the seaman, ere the storm abates!—
Westward the sun speeds down his steep descent
In beautiful stillness, far more eloquent
Than musick or the sound of winds,—away
The sea-bird from its dim and motionless bay
Wings silently,—and o'er the distant mountain
Ebbs the last wave of evening's purple fountain.
Twilight hangs mournfully upon the brown
And wasted woods, where once the trees bent down
In summer beauty, and the warm blue sky
Was full of fawning gales, and they of melody.
Far toward the north, the silver cloud rests bright
Upon its sea of clear and amber light,
As rests the island on its waters.—Soon
With a wan countenance the Autumn moon
Looks from her mid-sky turrets, and aside
Not half withdraws Earth's shadowing veil to hide
The mellow beauty of her eye,—more fair
As more unseen the beauty, that is there!—
Trac'd with distinct, dark outline, and a still
And beautiful imagery, the distant hill
Encompass'd with its thin blue haze, and cold
With snows, stands out from the pale sky in bold
And strongly mark'd relief, yet not a cloud
Dimming its chiller atmosphere.—Aloud
After an interval of rest, from Ocean
The rushing winds come with a fitful motion,
47
Pipes cheerfully, and fills the lagging sail,
And swift the light bark cleaves the parted surge.
Night darkens!—yet upon the utmost verge
Of the deep sea, the distant light-house rears
Its form of dazzling beauty, where it cheers
The desert, pathless waters, and presides
Over their ebbing and full-flowing tides,
Like a bright spirit, that untiring waits
To guide the seaman, ere the storm abates!—
At home, and gather'd round the social hearth
We listen to the wind's wild musick.—Earth
Strips bare her frozen bosom, and the trees—
So like ourselves in times of health, disease,
Decay, and chilling death, and then to dust
Mouldering away again, as all flesh must,—
Send back life's vigorous current to the spring,
From which at first they drew it. No light wing
Waves in those branches, that the sere leaf covers,
For like a cheerless mourner Autumn hovers
O'er his last embers, 'till the tempest swells
Up the brown valley and the gloomy dells,
And quenches them; whilst with a boisterous song
Stern Winter sits upon his mountain.—Long
Those of Love's cheerful circle, that within
Their peaceful dwellings listen, when begin
The storm's rude clamours, may enjoy calm rest,
And he that keeps a pure heart and warm breast,
Sits in the light of his own thoughts, nor heeds
Darkness, nor clouds, nor how the tempest speeds!—
We listen to the wind's wild musick.—Earth
Strips bare her frozen bosom, and the trees—
So like ourselves in times of health, disease,
Decay, and chilling death, and then to dust
Mouldering away again, as all flesh must,—
Send back life's vigorous current to the spring,
From which at first they drew it. No light wing
Waves in those branches, that the sere leaf covers,
For like a cheerless mourner Autumn hovers
O'er his last embers, 'till the tempest swells
Up the brown valley and the gloomy dells,
And quenches them; whilst with a boisterous song
Stern Winter sits upon his mountain.—Long
Those of Love's cheerful circle, that within
Their peaceful dwellings listen, when begin
The storm's rude clamours, may enjoy calm rest,
And he that keeps a pure heart and warm breast,
Sits in the light of his own thoughts, nor heeds
Darkness, nor clouds, nor how the tempest speeds!—
That high Philosophy, whose wide-spread laws
Govern the universe,—that force, which draws
The worlds of this vast system, led by one
Mysterious attraction round their sun,—
Holds its wide sway within our bosoms, where
It rules the devious motion of our fair
And better thoughts by strong attraction, 'till
All centre towards one point.—Unchanging still,
Love has its own Philosophy!
Govern the universe,—that force, which draws
The worlds of this vast system, led by one
Mysterious attraction round their sun,—
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It rules the devious motion of our fair
And better thoughts by strong attraction, 'till
All centre towards one point.—Unchanging still,
Love has its own Philosophy!
H.
December 1, 1824
| Longfellow's boyhood poems | |