A Midnight Meditation
Among
The Ruins at Tixall.
How sweetly on that mouldering tower,
How sweetly on that ivy bower,
Whose branches through the ruins creep,
The melancholy moon-beams sleep!
Bright queen of Heaven! thy solemn light
Softly soothes my wakeful sight,
To milder feelings tunes my breast,
And lulls my throbbing heart to rest.
What deep-felt charms these walls disclose!
While all around in dead repose,
On earth, in air, unheard, unseen,
To contemplation leave the scene.
So still the air—the balmy breeze
Scarce whispers through these aged trees;
So smooth yon limpid lake—it shows
Each star that in the blue vault glows:
A sacred calm pervades the whole,
A soft enchantment rules my soul.
What magic spell enchains my feet?
Why seem these midnight scenes so sweet?
Ye visions of my infant years!
Though dimly seen through sorrow's tears,
'Tis your entrancing thought supplies
The long-lost images that rises;
