Classic and Contemporary Poetry
HYMN TO THE NIGHT WIND, by DAVID MACBETH MOIR Poet's Biography First Line: Unbridled spirit, throned upon the lap Last Line: In terror, not in love, we sing of thee! Alternate Author Name(s): Delta Subject(s): Absence; Farewell; Separation; Isolation; Parting | ||||||||
UNBRIDLED Spirit, throned upon the lap Of ebon Midnight, whither dost thou stray, Whence didst thou come, and where is thy abode? From slumber I awaken, at the sound Of thy most melancholy voice; sublime Thou ridest on the rolling clouds which take The forms of sphinx, or hypogriff, or car, Like those by Roman conquerors of yore In games equestrian used, by fiery steeds Drawn headlong on; or choosest, all unseen, To ride the vault, and drive the murky storms Before thee, or bow down, with giant wing, The wondering forests as thou sweepest by! Daughter of darkness! when remote the noise Of tumult, and of discord, and mankind, When but the watch-dog's voice is heard, or wolves That bay the silent night, or from the tower, Ruin'd and rent, the note of boding owl, Or lapwing's shrill and solitary cry, When sleep weighs down the eyelids of the world, And life is as it were not, down the sky, Forth from thy cave, wide roaming thou dost come, To hold nocturnal orgies. Round the pile, Thou moanest wistfully, of dark abbaye, And silent charnel-house; the long lank grass, The hemlock, and the nightshade, and the yew, Bend at thy tread; and thro' the blacken'd rails Fleetly thou sweepest, with a wailing voice. Wayworn and woe-begone, the traveller Bears on thro' paths unknown; alone he sees The bright star's fitful twinkling, as along Night's arch rush sullenly the darksome clouds, And wilds and melancholy wastes, and streams Forlorn, and joyless all; no cottage blaze Strikes through the weary gloom; alone he hears Thee, awful Spirit! fighting with the stream Of rushing torrent, torturing it to foam, And tossing it aloft; the shadowy woods Join in the chorus, while lone shrieks and sighs Burst on his ear, as if infernal fiends Had burst their adamantine chains, and rush'd To take possession of this lower world. His bosom sinks, his spirit fails, his heart Dies in him, and around his captive soul Dark Superstition weaves her witching spells; Unholy visions pass before his mind, Dreams rayless and unhallow'd; spectres pale Glide past with rustling garments; wormy graves Yawn round him; while the dark and nodding plumes Of melancholy hearses blast his view. But not alone to inland solitudes, To pastoral regions wide and mountains high, Man's habitations, or the forests dark, Are circumscribed thy visitings: Behold! Stemming with eager prow, the Atlantic tide, Holds on the intrepid mariner; abroad The wings of Night brood shadowy; heave the waves Around him, mutinous, their curling heads, Portentous of a storm; all hands are plied, A zealous task, and sounds the busy deck With notes of preparation; many an eye Is upward cast toward the clouded heaven; And many a thought, with troubled tenderness, Dwells on the calm tranquillity of home; And many a heart in supplicating prayer Breathes forth; meanwhile, the boldest sailor's cheek Blanches; stout courage fails; young chilhood's shriek, Awfully piercing, bursts; and woman's fears Are speechless. With a low, insidious moan, Rush past the gales, that harbinger thy way, And hail thy advent; gloom the murky clouds Darker around; and heave the maddening waves Higher their crested summits. With a glare Unveiling but the clouds and foaming seas, Flashes the lightning; then, with doubling peal, Reverberating to the gates of heaven, Rolls the deep thunder with tremendous crash, Sublime, as if the firmament were rent Amid the severing clouds, that pour their storms, Commingling sea and sky. Disturb'd, arise The monsters of the deep, and wheel around Their mountainous bulks unwieldy, while aloft, Poised on the feathery summit of the wave, Hangs the frail bark, its howlings of despair Lost on the mocking storm. Then frantic, thou Dost rise, tremendous Power, thy wings unfurl'd, Unfurl'd, but nor to succour, nor to save; Then is thine hour of triumph; with a yell, Thou rushest on; and, with a maniac love, Sing'st in the rifted shroud; the straining mast Yields, and the cordage cracks. Thou churn'st the deep To madness, tearing up the yellow sands From their profound recesses, and dost strew The clouds around thee, and within thy hand Takest up the billowy tide, and dashest down The vessel to destructionshe is not! But, when the morning lifts her dewy eye, And to a quiet calm the elements, Subsiding from their fury, have dispersed, There art thou, like a satiate conqueror, Recumbent on the murmuring deep, thy smiles All unrepentant of the savage wreck. Yet sometimes art thou, Demon of the night, An evil spirit ministering to good! 'Mid orient realms, when sultry day hath pass'd, Breathless; and sunlight, on the western hill, Dies with a quick decay; then, O how dear, How welcome to the dry and thirsty glebe, And to the night of woods, where Pagods rise, And Bramah's priests adore their deity, From ocean, journeying with an eagle speed, Come the delightful fannings of thy wing! The grateful heaven weeps down refreshing dews, The twilight stars peep forth with glittering ray; And earth outspreads the carpet of her flowers, In tenderness exhaling their perfumes, To lure within their cups thy gelid breath: There, 'mid the azure landscape, on his roof, Piazza-girt, watching the evening star, Among his myrtle blooms, the Indian sits, Delighted, as with soft refreshing sighs, Thou wanderest past, lifting his coal-black hair: The smiles of Vishnoo gleam along the earth; While by high plantain groves, by limpid streams, The maidens roam, as subtile Cambdeo lurks Behind a lotus tuft, and, from his string Of living bees, the unerring arrow twangs: Malignant Genii lose the power to harm; From Meru Mount the deities look down, Well pleased, rejoicing in the general joy. Nor grateful less, unto the realm where shines Thy glittering crest, Canopus, on the verge Of the ungirdled hemisphere, and frown The earth-forsaking pyramids sublime: In Nilus dipping, through the twilight sky, Thou roam'st excursive; while, on minaret, In solemn voice the Muezzin calls to prayer His Moslem devotees. With thirsty beak, The birds fly panting to the lilied verge Of Mœris lake, where swans unnumber'd oar Their snowy way, amid the azure sheet, To drink refreshment; while, at thy approach, Through all their countless multitude of leaves, The forests murmur, like an infant pleased Beneath a sire's caress; and nightingales Sing to thee, through the lapses of the night. Unsocial Power! the realms of solitude Thou lovest, and where Desolation spreads Her far-outstretching pinions; hoary weeds, Like tresses hanging from the pillar'd pride Of Balbec, thou dost wave with rustling sound, Wistfully moaning through the column'd shrines, By men deserted, and to Silence left, Whose shadows in the moonlight darksome stretch O'er the dry sands. The jackall from his den, Where ancient monarchs held their revels high, Wondering, comes forth, disturb'd, with upturn'd nose Scenting the breeze. Or through Arabian plains, Thou hold'st thy solitary way, the sands Uptossing high, and mingling earth with heaven: 'Midst of the desert, on a spot of green Beside the well, the wearied caravans Rest; and while slumber weighs their eyelids down, The mountainous surges o'er their destined heads Thou heap'st relentless. Long at Cairo wait Their joyless friends expectant, long in vain, Till hope deferr'd is swallowed in despair. Farewell! dark essence of regardless will, That wander'st where thou listest, round the world Thine endless march pursuing; o'er the peak Of Alpine Blanc, or through the streamy dells Of Morven, or beyond Pacific wave Climbing the mighty Andes, or the vales Peruvian chusing rather, there to sway, With creaking sound, the undulating arch Of wild cane framed, and flung athwart the depth Of gulfy chasms; or, with demoniac howl, While hazy clouds bedim the labouring moon, Wafting the midnight Sisters on thy car, To hold unhallow'd orgies on the heaths Of northern Lapland. Spirit! fare-thee-well! In terror, not in love, we sing of thee! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE THREE CHILDREN by JOSEPHINE JACOBSEN STUDY #2 FOR B.B.L. by JUNE JORDAN WATCHING THE NEEDLEBOATS AT SAN SABBA by JAMES JOYCE SESTINA: TRAVEL NOTES by WELDON KEES THE RUSTIC LAD'S LAMENT IN THE TOWN by DAVID MACBETH MOIR |
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