ou? 

A Hocturnal Reverie, 
Countess of Winchelsea, 
N such a night, when every louder wind 
Is to its distant cavern safe confin’d, 
And only gentle Zephyr fans his wings, 
And lonely Philomel, still waking, sings ; 
Or from some tree, fam’d for the owl’s delight, 
She, hallooing clear, directs the wand’rer right. 
In such a night, when passing clouds give place, 
Or thinly veil the heaven’s mysterious face ; 
When in some river, overhung with green, 
The waving moon and trembling leaves are seen ; 
When freshen’d grass now bears itself upright, 
And makes cool banks to pleasing rest invite ; 
Whence springs the woodbird, and the bramble rose, 
And where the sleepy cowslip shelter’d grows; 
Whilst now a paler hue the foxglove takes, 
Yet checkers still with red the dusky brakes ; 
When scatter’d glow-worms, but in twilight fine 
Show trivial beauties, watch their hour to shine ; 
Whilst Sal’sb’ry stands the test of every light, 
In perfect charms and perfect virtue bright ; 
When odors, which declin’d repelling day, 
Through temp’rate air uninterrupted stray ; 






























