Poetry Archives

Loud beats the rain! The hollow, groan
  Of rushing winds I hear,
That with a deep and sullen moan,
  Pass slowly by the ear.

Soon will my dying fire refuse
  To yield a cheerful ray,
Yet, shivering still I sit and muse
  The latest spark away.

Ah, what a night! the chilly air
  Bids comfort hence depart,
While sad repining’s clammy wings
  Cling icy, to my heart.

To-morrow’s dawn may fair arise,
  And lovely to the view;
The sun with radiance gild the skies,
  Yet then—I say adieu!

Oh, stay, dear Night, with cautious care,
  And lingering footsteps move,
Though day may be more soft and fair,
  Not her, but thee, I love.

Stay, wild in brow, severe in mien,
  Stay! and ward off the foe;
Who, unrelenting smiles serene,
  Yet tells me I must go.

Forsake these hospitable halls,
  Where Truth and Friendship dwell,
To these high towers and ancient walls,
  Pronounce a long farewell.

Alas! will Time’s rapacious hand,
  These golden days restore?
Or will he suffer me to taste
  These golden days no more?

Will he permit that here again,
  I turn my willing feet?
That my glad eyes may here again,
  The look of kindness meet?

That here I ever may behold,
  Felicity to dwell,
And often have the painful task
  Of sighing out farewell?

Ah, be it so! my fears I lose,
  By hope’s sweet visions fed;
And as I fly to seek repose,
  She flutters round my bed.


NOV. 17, 1796.