Poems (Toke)/Lines (Tis almost midnight's hour, and bright on high)
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For works with similar titles, see Lines.
LINES.
'
IS almost midnight's hour, and bright on high,
The moon in placid beauty walks the sky;
The stars, a countless train, attend her way,
And gem her path with many a tribute ray,
Till every envious cloud that passes there,
Transformed to silver, makes her still more fair.
In mellowed light that chastened lustre streams
('er earth and sky, that sleep beneath its beams,
Till Nature seems to thrill beneath the power,
The spell that rests on such a magic hour,
And wakes again her charms for eye and ear,
To bless the lovely night of Summer near;—
To hymn His praise who thus from day to day
Fulfils the pledge of ages passed away,—
And spring-time hope and harvest joy displays,
To many a heart that never throbbed with praise.
IS almost midnight's hour, and bright on high,The moon in placid beauty walks the sky;
The stars, a countless train, attend her way,
And gem her path with many a tribute ray,
Till every envious cloud that passes there,
Transformed to silver, makes her still more fair.
In mellowed light that chastened lustre streams
('er earth and sky, that sleep beneath its beams,
Till Nature seems to thrill beneath the power,
The spell that rests on such a magic hour,
And wakes again her charms for eye and ear,
To bless the lovely night of Summer near;—
To hymn His praise who thus from day to day
Fulfils the pledge of ages passed away,—
And spring-time hope and harvest joy displays,
To many a heart that never throbbed with praise.
At such an hour, the coldest breast must feel
Eternal Nature's silent grandeur thrill
Through every nerve, and melt the icy chain
Of gathering years, to youth's bright Spring again.
Until the cold world's stern.and withering sway,
Wrapt in a dream of childhood, melts away;
And all the tenderness of early years
Bursts forth in breathing sighs, or soft warm tears!
Oh, surely none could stand and gaze alone
On such a scene, nor feel one kindred tone,
One gush of spring-time warm his heart again.
And in that moment cancel years of pain!
Look round,—those immemorial trees,
That wave their fresh-crowned branches in the breeze,
And lift their giant forms towards yon dark skies,
Now seem like spirits of the past to rise,
And in this hour of hope, with solemn tone,
To tell the tale of many a spring-time gone,—
Of changing years,—of hearts the young, the gay,
That one by one long since have passed away,
While they remain, in lofty beauty's prime,
Like things that scorn the withering hand of Time!
The blush of youth is on their forms once more,
For Spring has touched the earth with gentle power,
And all around the fresh and new-born flowers,
The bursting leaves, proclaim her joyous hours,
That youth of Nature, breathing mirth and song,
Like life's bright morn, too sweet to linger long!
All earth can give of beauty mingles there;
Sweet scents are floating through the quiet air,
Shed forth from every fragrant shrub and flower,
Night's incense breathed upon her holiest hour.
Nor sound is wanting,—chiming soft and clear,
The distant sheep-bell tinkles on the ear;
While swiftly rushing by on humming wing,
The new-born insects greet returning Spring.
And hark! amid yon dark ancestral trees,
A burst of music rises on the breeze;
A gush of sweetness thrills the silent air,—
A song no art can mock is warbled there.
'Tis thy sweet melody, night's minstrel bird!
Amid the sounds of day almost unheard;
But now, when earth in breathing stillness lies,
Poured forth in richness to the silent skies,
And deepening still with music's magic power,
The spell of such a scene, and such an hour.
All, all is passing fair. Oh! would that thou,
My earliest friend! wert here beside me now;
To watch with me the moonlit earth and sky,—
Those scenes which most delight thy pensive eye;
To breathe the fragrant night-breeze, pure and clear,
And more than all—that thrilling voice to hear!
My lot is changed; new ties entwine me now—
The best, the holiest earth can ever know;
Yet still my heart as warmly clings to thee,
As in those bygone hours so dear to me:
And thou art fondly cherished, longed for still,
With love no time can change, no absence chill.
Thine image rises 'mid the dreams of home,
Of all I loved beyond the ocean foam,
Yet left with willing heart, and scarce a tear,
To share the lot of one than all more dear;
And still I love, at midnight's witching hour,
To weave for thee the wreath of song once more,—
To twine those flowers that yet, I trust, to thee
Not scentless bloom, though wild their fragrance be.
Oh! take them then, and if their hues may bring
One thought of home, one breath of gentle Spring,
To cheer thy spirit where its lot is cast—
The ungenial clime where duty holds thee fast,—
'Twill glad the heart that traced these numbers here,
The heart to which thou long hast been most dear!
Eternal Nature's silent grandeur thrill
Through every nerve, and melt the icy chain
Of gathering years, to youth's bright Spring again.
Until the cold world's stern.and withering sway,
Wrapt in a dream of childhood, melts away;
And all the tenderness of early years
Bursts forth in breathing sighs, or soft warm tears!
Oh, surely none could stand and gaze alone
On such a scene, nor feel one kindred tone,
One gush of spring-time warm his heart again.
And in that moment cancel years of pain!
Look round,—those immemorial trees,
That wave their fresh-crowned branches in the breeze,
And lift their giant forms towards yon dark skies,
Now seem like spirits of the past to rise,
And in this hour of hope, with solemn tone,
To tell the tale of many a spring-time gone,—
Of changing years,—of hearts the young, the gay,
That one by one long since have passed away,
While they remain, in lofty beauty's prime,
Like things that scorn the withering hand of Time!
The blush of youth is on their forms once more,
For Spring has touched the earth with gentle power,
And all around the fresh and new-born flowers,
The bursting leaves, proclaim her joyous hours,
That youth of Nature, breathing mirth and song,
Like life's bright morn, too sweet to linger long!
All earth can give of beauty mingles there;
Sweet scents are floating through the quiet air,
Shed forth from every fragrant shrub and flower,
Night's incense breathed upon her holiest hour.
Nor sound is wanting,—chiming soft and clear,
The distant sheep-bell tinkles on the ear;
While swiftly rushing by on humming wing,
The new-born insects greet returning Spring.
And hark! amid yon dark ancestral trees,
A burst of music rises on the breeze;
A gush of sweetness thrills the silent air,—
A song no art can mock is warbled there.
'Tis thy sweet melody, night's minstrel bird!
Amid the sounds of day almost unheard;
But now, when earth in breathing stillness lies,
Poured forth in richness to the silent skies,
And deepening still with music's magic power,
The spell of such a scene, and such an hour.
All, all is passing fair. Oh! would that thou,
My earliest friend! wert here beside me now;
To watch with me the moonlit earth and sky,—
Those scenes which most delight thy pensive eye;
To breathe the fragrant night-breeze, pure and clear,
And more than all—that thrilling voice to hear!
My lot is changed; new ties entwine me now—
The best, the holiest earth can ever know;
Yet still my heart as warmly clings to thee,
As in those bygone hours so dear to me:
And thou art fondly cherished, longed for still,
With love no time can change, no absence chill.
Thine image rises 'mid the dreams of home,
Of all I loved beyond the ocean foam,
Yet left with willing heart, and scarce a tear,
To share the lot of one than all more dear;
And still I love, at midnight's witching hour,
To weave for thee the wreath of song once more,—
To twine those flowers that yet, I trust, to thee
Not scentless bloom, though wild their fragrance be.
Oh! take them then, and if their hues may bring
One thought of home, one breath of gentle Spring,
To cheer thy spirit where its lot is cast—
The ungenial clime where duty holds thee fast,—
'Twill glad the heart that traced these numbers here,
The heart to which thou long hast been most dear!
E.
Godinton, June, 1838.