THUS having said, the pious sufferer sate, Beholding with fix'd eyes that lovely orb, Till quiet tears confused in dizzy light The broken moonbeams. They too by the toil Of spirit, as by travail of the day Subdued, were silent, yielding to the hour. The silver cloud diffusing slowly past, And now into its airy elements Resolved is gone; while through the azure depth Alone in heaven the glorious moon pursues Her course appointed, with indifferent beams Shining upon the silent hills around, And the dark tents of that unholy host, Who, all unconscious of impending fate, Take their last slumber there. The camp is still; The fires have moulder'd, and the breeze which stirs The soft and snowy embers, just lays bare At times a red and evanescent light, Or for a moment wakes a feeble flame. They by the fountain hear the stream below, Whose murmurs, as the wind arose or fell, Fuller or fainter reach the ear attuned. And now the nightingale, not distant far, Began her solitary song; and pour'd To the cold moon a richer, stronger strain Than that with which the lyric lark salutes The new-born day. Her deep and thrilling song Seem'd with its piercing melody to reach The soul, and in mysterious unison Blend with all thoughts of gentleness and love. Their hearts were open to the healing power Of nature; and the splendour of the night, The flow of waters, and that sweetest lay, Came to them like a copious evening dew Falling on vernal herbs which thirst for rain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...UNDER A PATCHED SAIL by MARIANNE MOORE NOT BY THE SEA by SARA TEASDALE FAITH AND DESPONDENCY by EMILY JANE BRONTE OUT WHERE THE WEST BEGINS by ARTHUR CHAPMAN PRAYERS OF STEEL by CARL SANDBURG WHAT THEY ASK by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS FEATHERS ON THE GRASS by LAURA FRANCES ALEXANDER LINES ON THE COTTAGE AT THE FOOT OF BOX HILL, SURREY by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |