The Poetical Works of the late Mrs Mary Robinson ::

Dread child of Erebus! whose pow'r
Sheds horror o'er the darken'd world;
While ghosts, with winding-sheets unfurl'd,
Welcome the murky hour!
While conscience, like a coward base,
Awakes to madd'ning fear;
When not a breathing thing is near
The records of the wounded mind to trace!
Of thee I sing, in sable sadness drest,
While happier mortals dream, and pain and sorrow rest.

I hail thee now, while, o'er each glimmering star,
Triumphant in thy viewless car,

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Thou sail'st across th' eternal dome,
Scatt'ring around thee thick wove gloom.
The whirling orb its course pursues;
But oh! how mournfully obscure!
Where are its lustres, and its hues,
Its mountains, vales, and rivers pure?
Envelop'd in the black obtrusive shade,
Oblivion grasps the Scene, and all its beauties fade.

Now, seated on thy Ebon Tow'r,
Lord of the Solitary Hour!
Thou spread'st thy raven pinions wide,
Creation's vanquish'd charms to hide!
And when the meek Moon's crystal eye
Gleams on the sable forehead of the sky,
Thou bidd'st each envious passing cloud
Her beamy Crescent faintly shroud,
That o'er the lurid space
Thy million eyes may trace
The den where haggard Guilt retires,
To hold fierce converse with the demons fell,
Link'd in thy fatal spell!
And while each twinkling star expires,
The wild winds shake the distant spheres,
And Nature hides her face, bedew'd with chilling tears!

159

Soul-penetrating Gloom!
Thou strict examiner of human thought!
When the bright Taper's brilliant ray,
Through the long painted hall, and marble dome,
Sheds artificial day;
Thou com'st with all thy horrors fraught,
To beckon forth the guilty soul,
And bend each stubborn nerve to thy Supreme Control!
Oh Night! thou Spectre bold!
Thou parent of heart-chilling fear!
Thou canst each hidden thought unfold;
For Conscience will be heard when thou art near!

And when the cheerful day
And all its raptures fade away,
The Tyrant shuns his blood-stain'd throne,
Deck'd in the tinsel pageantry of show,
And, on his regal couch, alone,
Resigns his breast to silent woe:
Ah! then, he traces back the hour,
When, by Ambition led,
Devoted legions bled,
To lengthen a small span of transitory pow'r!
Then fancy paints the poorest swain,
That, on the bleak and barren plain,

160

In his low Cottage sinks to rest,
Celestial Peace the partner of his breast;
Who, led by cheerful labour to repose,
Finds his rude pillow strew'd with many a thornless Rose.

Oh! horrid Night!
Thou prying Monitor confest!
Whose key unlocks the human breast,
And bares each avenue to mental sight!
When from the festive bow'r
The frenzied Homicide retreats,
And, in his bosom's cell,
Essays each rising throb to quell;
Thy penetrating pow'r
His sense with many a Phantom greets;
He rushes forth in wild amaze!
While down his brow the big drop strays;
Then, from thy mist opaque,
Deep groans assail his startled ears,
His limbs convuls'd with horror shake,
And the short fev'rish Hour,
Such is thy dreadful pow'r!
An Age of agonizing woe appears;
For Sleep the vengeful fiends deride,
Till the blest Sun darts forth to bid thy reign subside!

161

How glorious is the eastern sky!
The warm tints rushing o'er the blue serene,
O'er the tall mountain Morn's effulgent eye
Diffuses wide the renovated scene!
The silv'ry Dew-drops, scatter'd round,
Spangle the variegated ground;
Or dress the waving woods in glitt'ring pride,
Or down the silky leaves in bright succession glide.

Then the sultry Noon appears,
Absorbing Nature's ling'ring tears;
While o'er the Thyme-clad heath,
Faint with its scorching breath,
The Flocks and Herds to covert move;
The sun-burnt Hind suspends his toil,
And, plodding o'er the thirsty soil,
Seeks the green sod and cool embow'ring grove;
The murmuring river lulls his mind to rest,
While the soft Southern breeze steals lightly o'er his breast!

Now, pensive hour,
Calm-bosom'd Evening, thee I hail!
While o'er the perfum'd bow'r
Thy balmy breathings gently sail;

162

Meek handmaid of sublime repose,
From whose calm eye the soft tear flows!
As o'er the Landscape's glowing breast
Thou fling'st thy purple vest;
While in the Western spheres
Day's streamy radiance slowly fades,
Till, wrapp'd in dusky shades,
The pale Horizon scarce appears;
And as the melodies of Nature fail,
The sullen beetle, humming near,
Obtrudes upon thy pensive ear,
That listens to the mournful Nightingale,
The tangled dells and sparry rocks among,
Where, to the rising moon, she pours her love-lorn song!

Then dark-brow'd Night, thou com'st again,
With all thy melancholy train;
While Bats expand their leathern wings,
And Owls forsake their ivy'd home,
O'er the blank solitude to roam;
And the small Cricket sings,
Near the dim embers of the Cottage fire,
To warn the village Maid with Omens sad and dire!

163

Yet art thou not to my rapt breast
A dread, unwelcome, startling guest;
For when I quit the trifling throng,
To me, O solitary Night!
Thou bring'st the soothing calm delight,
Which charms my pensive heart and wakes the Muse's song!

University of Virginia Library

ODE TO NIGHT.