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Title: An Address To The Night: A Discontented Mind
Author: Joanna Baillie [
More Titles by Baillie]
How thick the clouds of night are rang'd o'er head!
Confounding darkness o'er the earth is spread.
The clouded moon her cheering count'nance hides;
And feeble stars, between the ragged sides
Of broken clouds, with unavailing ray,
Look thro' to mock the trav'ller on his way.
Tree, bush, and rugged rock, and hollow dell,
In deeper shades their forms confus'dly tell,
To cheat the weary wand'rer's doubtful eye;
Whilst chilly passing winds come ruffling by;
And tangled briars perplex the darken'd pass;
And slimy reptiles glimmer on the grass;
And stinging night-flies spend their cursed spite;
Unhospitable are thy shades, O Night!
Now hard suspicion bars the creaking door;
And safe within the selfish worldlings snore:
And wealthy fools are warm in downy bed:
And houseless beggars shelter in the shed:
And nestling coveys cow'r beneath the brake;
While prowling mischief only is awake.
Each hole and den fends forth its cursed brood,
And savage bloody creatures range the wood.
The thievish vagrant plies his thriftless trade
Beneath the friendly shelter of the shade;
Whilst boldest risk the lawless robber braves:
The day for fools was made, and night for knaves.
O welcome, kindly moon! thy light display,
And guide a weary trav'ller on his way.
Hill, wood, and valley, brighten in her beam;
And wavy silver glitters on the stream.
The distant path-way shews distinct and clear,
From far inviting, but perplex'd when near.
For blackning shadows add deceitful length,
And lesser objects gain unwonted strength;
Each step misguiding; to the eye unknown,
The shining gutter, from the glist'ning stone;
While crossing shadows checker o'er the ground,
The more perplexing for the brightness round.
Deceitful are thy smiles, untoward Night!
Thy gloom is better than misguiding light.
Then welcome is yon cloud that onward fails,
And all this glary shew in darkness veils.
But see how soon the fleeting shade is past,
And streamy brightness moots across the waste.
Now fly the shadows borne upon the wind;
Succeeding brightness travels fast behind.
And now it low'rs again. Inconstant Night,
Confound thy freaks! be either dark or light.
Yet let them come; whate'er thy changes be,
I was a fool to put my trust in thee.
[The end]
Joanna Baillie's poem: Address To The Night: A Discontented Mind
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