I come with all my train;

Who calls me lonely?-Hosts around me tread,
The intensely bright, the beautiful, the dead—
Phantoms of heart and brain!

Looks from departed eyes

These are thy lightnings !-fill'd with anguish vain,
Or tenderness too piercing to sustain,

They smite with agonies.

I, that with soft control,

Shut the dim violet, hush the woodland song,
I am the avenging one!—the arm'd, the strong-
The searcher of the soul!

I, that shower dewy light

Through slumbering leaves, bring storms!—the tempest

birth

Of memory, thought, remorse :-Be holy, Earth!

I am the solemn Night!

MRS. HEMANS.

All things look strange and mystic:
The very bushes swell,

And take wild shapes and motions,
As if beneath a spell.

They seem not the same lilacs

From childhood known so well.

The snow of deepest silence
O'er every thing doth fall,
So beautiful and quiet,

And yet so like a pall;

As if all life were ended,

And rest were come to all.

O wild and wondrous Midnight!
There is a might in thee
To make the charmed body
Almost like spirit be,

And give it some faint glimpses

Of immortality!

LOWELL.