The Home Book of Verse Volume Iii Part 6

THE EVENING CLOUD

A cloud lay cradled near the setting sun, A gleam of crimson tinged its braided snow; Long had I watched the glory moving on O'er the still radiance of the lake below.

Tranquil its spirit seemed, and floated slow!

Even in its very motion there was rest; While every breath of eve that chanced to blow Wafted the traveller to the beauteous west.

Emblem, methought, of the departed soul!

To whose white robe the gleam of bliss is given, And by the breath of mercy made to roll Right onwards to the golden gates of heaven, Where to the eye of faith it peaceful lies, And tells to man his glorious destinies.

John Wilson [1785-1854]

SONG: TO CYNTHIA From "Cynthia's Revels"

Queen and huntress, chaste and fair, Now the sun is laid to sleep, Seated in thy silver chair, State in wonted manner keep: Hesperus entreats thy light, G.o.ddess excellently bright.

Earth, let not thy envious shade Dare itself to interpose; Cynthia's s.h.i.+ning orb was made Heaven to clear, when day did close: Bless us then with wished sight, G.o.ddess excellently bright.

Lay thy bow of pearl apart, And thy crystal-s.h.i.+ning quiver; Give unto the flying hart s.p.a.ce to breathe, how short soever: Thou that mak'st a day of night, G.o.ddess excellently bright.

Ben Jonson [1573?-1637]

MY STAR

All that I know Of a certain star Is, it can throw (Like the angled spar) Now a dart of red, Now a dart of blue, Till my friends have said They would fain see, too, My star that dartles the red and the blue!

Then it stops like a bird; like a flower, hangs furled: They must solace themselves with the Saturn above it.

What matter to me if their star is a world?

Mine has opened its soul to me; therefore I love it.

Robert Browning [1812-1889]

NIGHT

The sun descending in the West, The evening star does s.h.i.+ne; The birds are silent in their nest, And I must seek for mine.

The moon, like a flower In heaven's high bower, With silent delight Sits and smiles on the night.

Farewell, green fields and happy grove, Where flocks have ta'en delight; Where lambs have nibbled, silent move The feet of angels bright: Unseen, they pour blessing, And joy without ceasing, On each bud and blossom, On each sleeping bosom.

They look in every thoughtless nest, Where birds are covered warm; They visit caves of every beast, To keep them all from harm.

If they see any weeping That should have been sleeping, They pour sleep on their head, And sit down by their bed.

When wolves and tigers howl for prey They pitying stand and weep, Seeking to drive their thirst away, And keep them from the sheep.

But, if they rush dreadful, The angels, most heedful, Receive each mild spirit New worlds to inherit.

And there the lion's ruddy eyes Shall flow with tears of gold: And pitying the tender cries, And walking round the fold, Saying: "Wrath by His meekness, And by His health, sickness, Are driven away From our immortal day.

"And now beside thee, bleating lamb, I can lie down and sleep.

Or think on Him who bore thy name, Graze after thee, and weep.

For, washed in life's river, My bright mane for ever Shall s.h.i.+ne like the gold, As I guard o'er the fold."

William Blake [1757-1827]

TO NIGHT

Swiftly walk o'er the western wave, Spirit of Night!

Out of the misty eastern cave Where, all the long and lone daylight, Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear, Which make thee terrible and dear, Swift be thy flight!

Wrap thy form in a mantle gray, Star-inwrought!

Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day; Kiss her until she be wearied out, Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land, Touching all with thine opiate wand-- Come, long-sought!

When I arose and saw the dawn, I sighed for thee; When light rode high, and the dew was gone, And noon lay heavy on flower and tree, And the weary Day turned to his rest, Lingering like an unloved guest, I sighed for thee.

Thy brother Death came, and cried, "Would'st thou me?"

Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed, Murmured like a noontide bee, "Shall I nestle near thy side?

Would'st thou me?"--And I replied, "No, not thee."

Death will come when thou art dead, Soon, too soon-- Sleep will come when thou art fled; Of neither would I ask the boon I ask of thee, beloved Night-- Swift be thine approaching flight, Come soon, soon!

Percy Bysshe Sh.e.l.ley [1792-1822]

TO NIGHT

Mysterious Night! when our first parent knew Thee from report divine, and heard thy name, Did he not tremble for this lovely frame, This glorious canopy of light and blue?

Yet 'neath the curtain of translucent dew, Bathed in the rays of the great setting flame, Hesperus with the host of heaven came, And lo! creation widened on man's view.

Who could have thought such darkness lay concealed Within thy beams, O Sun! or who could find, While fly, and leaf, and insect stood revealed, That to such countless...o...b.. thou mad'st us blind!

Why do we, then, shun Death with anxious strife?-- If Light can thus deceive, wherefore not Life?

Joseph Blanco White [1775-1841]

NIGHT

Mysterious night! Spread wide thy silvery plume!

Soft as swan's down, brood o'er the sapphirine Breadth of still shadowy waters dark as wine; Smooth out the liquid heavens that stars illume!

Come with fresh airs breathing the faint perfume Of deep-walled gardens, groves of whispering pine; Scatter soft dews, waft pure sea-scent of brine; In sweet repose man's pain, man's love resume!

Deep-bosomed night! Not here where down the marge Marble with palaces those lamps of earth Tremble on trembling blackness; nay, far hence, There on the lake where s.p.a.ce is lone and large, And man's life lost in broad indifference, Lilt thou the soul to spheres that gave her birth!