Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, STANZAS WRITTEN AFTER SUCCESSIVE NIGHTS OF MELANCHOLY DREAMS, by MARY DARBY ROBINSON


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

STANZAS WRITTEN AFTER SUCCESSIVE NIGHTS OF MELANCHOLY DREAMS, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Ye airy phantoms, by whose pow'r
Last Line: Then let me sink to rest—and never wake again!
Subject(s): Dreams; Melancholy; Nightmares; Dejection


Ye airy Phantoms, by whose pow'r
Night's curtains spread a deeper shade;
Who, prowling in the murky hour,
The weary sense with spells invade;
Why round the fibres of my brain
Such desolating miseries fling,
And with new scenes of mental pain
Chase from my languid eye sleep's balm-dispensing wing?

Ah! why, when o'er the darken'd globe
All Nature's children sink to rest—
Why, wrapp'd in Horror's ghastly robe,
With shad'wy hand assail my breast?
Why conjure up a tribe forlorn,
To menace, where I bend my way?
Why round my pillow plant the thorn,
Or fix the Demons dire in terrible array?

Why, when the busy day is o'er—
A day, perhaps of tender thought—
Why bid my eager gaze explore
New prospects, with new anguish fraught?
Why bid my madd'ning sense descry
The Form in silence I adore?
His magic smile, his murd'rous eye!
Then bid me wake to prove the fond illusion o'er!

When, fev'rish with the throbs of pain,
And bath'd with many a trickling tear,
I close my cheated eyes again,
Despair's wild bands are hov'ring near:
Now borne upon the yelling blast,
O'er craggy Peaks I bend my flight;
Now on the yawning Ocean cast,
I plunge unfathom'd depths, amid the shades of night!

Or, borne upon the billows' Ire,
O'er the vast waste of waters drear,
Where shipwreck'd Mariners expire,
No friend their dying plaints to hear,
I view far off the craggy cliff,
Whose white top mingles with the skies;
While at its base the shatter'd Skiff,
Wash'd by the foaming wave, in many a fragment lies.

Oft, when the Morning's gaudy beams
My lattice gild with sparkling light,
O'erwhelm'd with agonizing dreams,
And bound in spells of fancied Night,
I start, convulsive, wild, distraught!
By some pale Murd'rer's poniard press'd,
Or by the grinning Phantom caught,
Wake from the madd'ning grasp with horror-freezing breast!

Then down my cold and pallid cheek
The mingling tears of joy and grief
The soul's tumultuous feeling speak,
And yield the struggling heart relief;
I smile to know the danger past,
But soon the radiant moment flies—
Soon is the transient Day o'ercast,
And hope steals trembling from my languid eyes!

If thus, for moments of repose,
Whole hours of mis'ry I must know;
If, when each sunny day shall close,
I must each gleam of peace forego!
If for one little morn of mirth,
This breast must feel long nights of pain,
Oh! Life, thy joys are nothing worth!
Then let me sink to rest—AND NEVER WAKE AGAIN!





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