Classic Poem

I.

The Scene is still, an awful pause ensues,
Save, when the chill wind shakes the rustling spray,
Blank Darkness taints the landscape's vary'd hues;
And N ATURE seems to mourn the D EATH OF D AY .

II.

The glimm'ring Stars, faint vigils keep above,
The pale ey'd Moon, in pensive pomp, presides;
Slowly, the clouds their silvery fleeces move;
And the tall Copses nod, and float in vernal tides.

III.

Now, gentle N IGHT ! my aching bosom balm,
Drop thy enliv'ning dews upon my breast,
Bid that wild spot, like all around, be calm;
And lull the warring passions wild, to rest.

IV.

O! for one heav'nly trance, to wast my soul,
From this vain toiling world of want, and woe,
To see the elements sublimely roll;
And step o'er GLOBES , that mock our globe below.