"'Tis midnight's solemn hour! now wide unfurled
Darkness expands her mantle o'er the world;
The fire-fly's lamp has ceased its fitful gleam;
The cricket's chirp is hushed; the boding scream
Of the gray owl is stilled; the lofty trees
Scarce wave their summits to the failing breeze;
All nature is at rest, or seems to sleep;
'Tis thine alone, O man! to watch and weep!
Thine 'tis to feel thy system's sad decay,
As flares the taper of thy life away
Beneath the influence of fell disease:
Thine 'tis to _know_ the want of mental ease
Springing from memory of time misspent,
Of slighted blessings, deepest discontent
And riotous rebellion 'gainst the laws
Of health, truth, heaven, to win the world's applause!
--Such was thy course, Eugenio; such thy hardened heart,
Till mercy spoke, and death unsheathed the dart,
Twanged his unerring bow, and drove the steel
Too deep to be withdrawn, too wide the wound to heal,
Yet left of life a feebly glimmering ray,
Slowly to sink and gently ebb away.
--And yet, how blest am I!
While myriad others lie
In agony of fever or of pain,
With parching tongue and burning eye,
Or fiercely throbbing brain;
My feeble frame, though spoiled of rest,
Is not of comfort dispossest.
My mind awake, looks up to Thee,
Father of mercy! whose blest hand I see
In all things acting for our good,
Howe'er thy mercies be misunderstood.
--See where the waning moon
Slowly surmounts yon dark tree-tops,
Her light increases steadily, and soon
The solemn night her stole of darkness drops:
Thus to my sinking soul, in hours of gloom,
The cheering beams of hope resplendent come,
Thus the thick clouds which sin and sorrow rear
Are changed to brightness, or swift disappear.
Hark! that shrill note proclaims approaching day;
The distant east is streaked with lines of gray;
Faint warblings from the neighbouring groves arise,
The tuneful tribes salute the brightening skies,
Peace breathes around; dim visions o'er me creep,
The weary night outwatched, thank God! I too may sleep.