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| IN such a night, when every louder wind | |
| Is to its distant cavern safe confined, | |
| And only gentle Zephyr fans his wings, | |
| And lonely Philomel, still waking, sings, | |
| Or from some tree, famed for the owl’s delight, | 5 |
| She, hollowing clear, directs the wand’rer right: | |
| In such a night, when passing clouds give place, | |
| Or thinly veil the heav’ns’ mysterious face; | |
| When in some river, overhung with green, | |
| The waving moon and trembling leaves are seen; | 10 |
| When freshened grass now bears itself upright, | |
| And makes cool banks to pleasing rest invite, | |
| Whence springs the woodbine and the bramble-rose, | |
| And where the sleepy cowslip sheltered grows; | |
| Whilst now a paler hue the foxglove takes, | 15 |
| Yet chequers still with red the dusky brakes; | |
| When scattered glow-worms, but in twilight fine, | |
| Show trivial beauties watch their hour to shine, | |
| Whilst Salisb’ry stands the test of every light, | |
| In perfect charms and perfect virtue bright; | 20 |
| When odours which declined repelling day | |
| Through temp’rate air uninterrupted stray: | |
| When darkened groves their softest shadows wear, | |
| And falling waters we distinctly hear; | |
| When through the gloom more venerable shows | 25 |
| Some ancient fabric, awful in repose; | |
| While sunburnt hills their swarthy looks conceal, | |
| And swelling haycocks thicken up the vale; | |
| When the loosed horse now, as his pasture leads, | |
| Comes slowly grazing through th’ adjoining meads, | 30 |
| Whose stealing pace and lengthened shade we fear, | |
| Till torn up forage in his teeth we hear; | |
| When nibbling sheep at large pursue their food, | |
| And unmolested kine re-chew the cud; | |
| When curlews cry beneath the village-walls, | 35 |
| And to her straggling brood the partridge calls; | |
| Their short-lived jubilee the creatures keep, | |
| Which but endures whilst tyrant-man does sleep; | |
| When a sedate content the spirit feels, | |
| And no fierce light disturb whilst it reveals, | 40 |
| But silent musings urge the mind to seek | |
| Something, too high for syllables to speak, | |
| Till the free soul, to a composedness charmed, | |
| Finding the elements of rage disarmed, | |
| O’er all below a solemn quiet grown, | 45 |
| Joys in th’ inferior world and thinks it like her own: | |
| In such a night let me abroad remain, | |
| Till morning breaks and all’s confused again; | |
| Our cares, our toils, our clamours, are renewed, | |
| Or pleasures, seldom reached, again pursued. | 50 |
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