The Night-Voices. 51 



It is mine hour ; prepare ye now my dim and shadowy train ! 

 Abroad I come the ancient one the child of chaos' reign. 

 The earth grows silent at my step, and o'er the restless sea 

 The wildest billows cease their strife, and bow, like slaves, to me. 



I walk beneath the moonlight dim, with Night, my starry bride ; 

 And nought may stay our silent course as o'er the earth we glide ; 

 I speak, and Echo slumbers still within her haunted grot ; 

 I tread the dry and fallen leaf it moves and murmurs not. 



Dreams are my ministers that make the human heart a toy ; 

 My music is the secret strings of grief and hope and joy ; 

 Palace and hut alike are mine, nor is the silent tomb 

 A lonely house ; I too am there until the day of doom. 



Man feels my presence, yet would fain my influence deny ; 

 His stricken conscience bends beneath the burden of mine eye ; 

 My hand is on his soul, and when its deadliest passions wake, 

 Do I not joy to bind them down with chains no force can break ? 



Beside the couch of innocence I stand with peace and love ; 



I catch the infant's sinless prayer, and waft its voice above. 



The world moves on its minions fall its bright things fade ; but / 



Live on, unchanged and undecayed, my name is Mystery. 



That sound hath wandered on to other lands, 

 Perchance to other worlds, but leaving still 

 Upon its track a lingering oracle 

 To those whose feet grow weary in life's ways, 

 That this wide earth no single spot affords 

 Of true and perfect loneliness. 



Once more, 



Bright gleams, like ghosts of Nature's weeping born, 

 Creep upwards stealthily ; from bower and dell 

 I see them gliding ; breezy harpings sound ; 

 I hear the music of immortal tongues, 

 Low hymning sounds of voices summoning 

 As to some joyous tryst " Away, away !" 



Away 



We have bent o'er the couch of the dying day ; 

 We have breathed on the sunflower's aching eye ; 

 We have fettered the earth with the sunset's dye ; 

 A thousand colours are mingling there ; 

 Voices are rife in the moonlit air ; 

 We have watched the reluctant lily close ; 

 We have bowed to slumber the weeping rose ; 

 We have filled her heart with a dream of May- 

 Away, sweet sisters, away, away ! 



A voice of solemn dole 



Is shed, like guilt, on the sinner's soul ; 



His ear is dinned with a ceaseless cry, 



His gaze is met by an unknown eye; 



The day is too bright, and the night too grim ; 



They have no season of rest for him. 



Power that tortures, and cannot bless ; 



Sorrow without its holiness ; 



Hopes that the fevered heart betray, 



Haunt him, like vengeance away, away ! 



