Two seas, amid the night, In the moonshine roll and sparkle- Now sadden, and wail, and darkle. The one has a billowy motion, And from land to land it gleams; The other is sleep's wide ocean, And its glimmering waves are dreams. The one, with murmur and roar, Bears fleets around coast and islet; The other, without a shore, Ne'er knew the track of a pilot. JOHN STERLING. ODE TO SLEEP. BEYOND the sunset and the amber sea To the lone depths of ether, cold and bare, Thy influence, soul of all tranquillity, Hallows the earth and awes the reverent air; Yon laughing rivulet quells its silvery tune; The pines, like priestly watchers tall and grim, Stand mute against the pensive twilight dim, Breathless to hail the advent of the moon; From the white beach the ocean falls away Coyly, and with a thrill; the sea-birds dart Ghostlike from out the distance, and depart With a gray fleetness, moaning the dead day; The wings of Silence, overfolding space, Droop with dusk grandeur from the heavenly steep, And through the stillness gleams thy starry face,Serenest Angel, Sleep! Come! woo me here, amid these flowery charms; Breathe on my eyelids; press thy odorous lips Close to mine own; enwreathe me in thine arms, And cloud my spirit with thy sweet eclipse; No dreams! no dreams! keep back the motley throng, For such are girded round with ghastly might, And sing low burdens of despondent song, Decked in the mockery of a lost delight; I ask oblivion's balsam! the mute peace Toned to still breathings, and the gentlest sighs; Close by a duskier country, and more grand As he whose veins a feverous frenzy burns, To the spring breezes gathering from the south, So, feebly and with languid longing, I Turn to thy wished nepenthe, and implore The golden dimness, the purpureal gloom Which haunt thy poppied realm, and make the shore Of thy dominion balmy with all bloom. The silvery minor toning of our woe, When over-welling hearts do mutely weep: ness, Merged in a regal quietude of sadness, Then woo me here, amid these flowery charms; And cloud my spirit with thy sweet eclipse; Till wan forgetfulness obscurely stealing Creeps like an incantation on the soul, And o'er the slow ebb of my conscious life Dies the thin flush of the last conscious feeling, |