"A Night Scene" by John Rollin Ridge
That steals on silence unawares, and makes
It seem scarce more than silence still; that takes
Possession of the senses bodily,
And claims the slumbering spirit ere it wakes.
Save this low melody of waves, no sound
Is heard among the circling hills. I sit
And muse alone—the time and place are fit—
And summon spirits from the blue profound,
That answer me and through my vision flat.
What beauteous being stands upon yon hill,
With hair night-hued, and brow and bosom white?
Around her floats the evening's loving light—
Her feet are lost amid the shadows soft and still,
But 'gainst the sky her form is pictured to my sight.
How still! how motionless! yet full of life
As is of music-tones the sleeping string,
As is of grace the blue-bird's resting wing!
She there—each limb with beauty riſe—
As if through boundless space her foot might srping.
But hark! what tones are filling all the air,
That drinks them, with the star-light blended now,
And wavelet-murmurings from below?
Her voice! her harp! swept by the white hand rare
That moon-like guides music's tide-like flow.
Strange one! no harp! no voice I've hear like thine,
No startling beauty like thine own have seen,
The rounded world and vaulted heaven between.
To gaze on thee 'tis madness all divine,
But o'er the gulf my spirit loves to lean.
Thou art what I may ne'er embrace on earth,
Thou sweetly moulded one, thou heavenly-eyed!
But if when we do lay these forms aside,
For us new forms among the stars have birth,
In some sweet world we'll meet, my spirit bride!
Fair worlds, like ripples o'er the watery deep
When breezes softly o'er the surface play,
In circles one by one ye stretch away,
Till, lost to human vision's wildest sweep
Our souls are left to darkness and dismay.