Poems (Griffith)/Moonlight
For works with similar titles, see Moonlight.
Moonlight.
AS here I sit within my lonely room, A spirit seems abroad upon the air, That o'er me flings an influence mild and sweet, Yet mournful and mysterious. It is soft, And calm, and hallowed, yet so very sad, That tears are on my eyelids It unlocks Memory's pale urn, and to my soul reveals Treasures long hidden in its depths. It calls Forth, from their cold and silent graves, the formsOf dearly loved one's faded long ago. They seem to live again; they move once more Beside me as they moved in life; they breathe Sweet accents in my ear; they rise from earth On angel plumes and gently beckon me Through the soft, silvery mists that float around, To follow them upon their long And shining trail of glory.
'Tis a strange But pure and blessed spirit, for each thought It wakes is pure and blessed. Every dream It brings is soft, and deep, and beautiful As 'twere an Eden vision. And, oh, see! A pale, unearthly light is in the air, Chastening the shadows that dance fitfully Along the silent walls; and now I feel My cheek and brow are hallowed by its pure And radiant baptism.
Ah, it is the sweet Soft spirit of the Moonlight. 'Tis the gleam Of yonder "Queen of mysteries," wandering forth Like a pale nun in heaven. Lone-musing here Amid the shadows of my curtained room, I saw it not, but yet I felt its spell Steal through the air and sink into my soul, As with an angel power. And lo! as now I gaze out from my window on the earth, How softly and how beautifully beams The moonlight over nature. The young leaves Turn up their edges to its silver glow, And quiver with their rapture. The blue isles, The streams, the hills, the forests and the clouds Seem things of fairy-land, for beauty floats Like a wild dream around them. Gentle moon!Pale, lonely mistress of the solemn night! The tides of my young bosom heave and swell, Even as the tides of ocean, to thy strong Mysterious power! Oh! fill my breast with light From thy high sun and touch each shadowy thought, Each dark and gloomy fancy of my heart, With thy unclouded beams.
There is a pure Sweet moonlight of the soul, that from the sky Shines on our earthly spirits, silvering o'er Each depth of doubt, and sin, and agony With the celestial beauty of its beams, And bidding every shadow melt away; Religion is that brightener of the soul, And life's dark waters glowing in its light, Mirror the wondrous glories of the heavens.
Louisville, March 15.