Poems (Taggart)/Midnight
For works with similar titles, see Midnight.
MIDNIGHT.1825.
Now Night her sable mantle wraps around,And reigns, in mute and solemn stillness, o 'erThe slumbering globe.—Sunk in repose supine,The varied mass of animated beingLies silent; and the power of active thought,In deep oblivion sealed, no longer heedsThe pleasures, cares, and woes of toilsome life;Unless, perchance, a glimmering dream traverseThe brain, with semblance of past scenes; of joys,Extatic some, and some of sober cast;And tortured some, with frightful imagesOf intermingling horror and despair.
Others to rest resigned; alone I wake,Weary and sad; and silent cast my eyesAround the solemn scene: no voice is heard;No footsteps move: a perfect stillness reigns,Save the light breeze that sighs in softened sounds,And plaintive murmurs round the casement lone.The pensive stars glow faintly: the fair moonHas risen on high, in majesty serene.How mildly beams her soft quiescent light,As if ordained to inspire tranquillity,And fill the soul with sentiments benign.How far from me is sweet tranquillity! And no blest balm of consolation dothInfuse content, alas! but torturing painsAnd pangs incessant, unabating, shootTheir keen inflictions; whilst my burning brain,Foreboding thoughts and dread contentions rack:Each slender fibre thrills with horror wild:Unnumbered filaments, tenacious ofNew woe, catch and convey through the whole frameThe dire disorder. Gentle sleep has flown;Nor dares revisit this assemblage strangeOf pains and black despair. In vain I strive,By every art prelusive, to regainHis power reluctant, to appease this strifeOf mind and body; and once more to breatheThe soothing quiet of his balmy rest.In vain I close my eyes, that on my lidsHis kindly influence softly may alight,And fast retain them, till, through all my frame,His power restoring, re-illume faint life,And balm all-healing, vigor new create.But poignant pangs vindictively expelThe soft restorer, and preclude his aid;While the tired, watching eyes wander about,In search of objects to relieve the gloomOf inward anguish: none appear. The lamp'sPale glimmering light, an emblem, sad and true,Of life's faint, flickering spark within me, gives:And from the indurated walls, Despair,Grim-visaged, beckons, that his dismal portMay the wild glance engage, and penetrateThe dim, recoiling vision's aching sense.
The soul,—ah me, these agonizing thrills,These wild commotions and insatiate pains!When banished Nature's great supporter, howCan Nature bear this dread conspiracyOf ills unnumbered? Yet, so long as flowThe faintly circling streams of life,Dear is thy dreary gloom, O Night! to me.Though rest hath vanished from thy lingering hours,And griefs augmenting cause convulsive starts,That make me quickly turn from side to side,Fatigued and fainting with the frequent task;Yet thou art welcome still, and thy deep tones,That sigh congenial sadness from the wind,—Whether in whispers soft it moan around,Or fiercer breathe its strong, impetuous power;When the fair moon her aspect mild displaysAmid the silence of the twinkling stars,Or when obscured by thick and sombre clouds;Nighty still thou ever art more dear to me,Than all the glories of the rising day,—The soft and varying rays of mingling hues,That blend in changeful beauty, and adornThe placid azure,—and the fleecy clouds,That, buoyant, sail upon the balmy air.—The joyous music of the harmonious choir,When first they gayly tune their magic song,Replete with artless melody and love,Can soothe and charm no more; nor social soundOf cheerful voices, nor the busy scenesOf active, happy life have aught for meMore of sweet pleasure in them. Mingling sounds Perplex me; and the sight of joyful beingsThrills the chill feeling through my tortured breast,That I shall never more again enjoyThose dear delights. The tranquil happiness,That mildly shone on my past life, is nowFor ever fled: the gay and beauteous scenesOf smiling nature, that with health and joyThe heart relume, can me delight no more;—For sadness rules, and fainting life beginsTo sink beneath the overwhelming weightOf hopeless anguish, that admits no cure.