Classic Poem

AT NIGHT .

Thro' the long morning have I toil'd
O'er heath and lonely wood,
And cross the dark untrodden glen
The fearful game pursu'd:
But deeper now the gathering clouds
Collect along the sky,
And faint and weary warn my steps
Their homeward course to hie.

And now the driving mist withdraws
Her grey and vapoury veil:
I mark again the sacred tower
I pass'd in yonder dale.
A little while, and I shall gain
Yon hill's laborious height;
And then perhaps my humble cot
Will chear my grateful sight.

Ah now I see the smoke ascend
From forth the glimmering thatch;
Now my heart beats at every step,
And now I lift the latch;
Now starting from my blazing hearth
My little children bound,
And loud with shrill and clamorous joy
Their happy sire surround.

How sweet when Night first wraps the world
Beneath her sable vest,
To sit beside the crackling fire
With weary limbs at rest;
And think on all the labours past,
That Morn's bright hours employ'd,
While all, that toil and danger seem'd,
Is now at home enjoy'd.

The wild and fearful distant scene,
Lone covert, whistling storm,
Seem now in Memory's mellowing eye
To wear a softer form;
And while my wand'rings I describe,
As froths the nut-brown ale,
My dame and little list'ning tribe
With wonder hear the tale.

Then soft enchanting slumbers calm,
My heavy eyelids close,
And on my humble bed I sink
To most profound repose;
Save, that by fits, the scenes of day,
Come glancing on my sight,
And, touch'd by Fancy's magic wand,
Seem visions of delight.