en looks serenely bright
In dappled gold, and snowy fleeces dight:
And on the middle current lightly glides
The lesser cloud, with silver wreathy sides.
In sudden gusts awakes the nightly breeze
Across the wood, and rustles thro' the trees;
Or whistles on the plain with eddying sweep;
Or issues from the glen in wailings deep,
Which die away upon the open vale:
Whilst in the pauses of the ruffling gale
The buzzing night-fly rises from the ground,
And wings his flight in many a mazy round;
And lonely owls begin their nightly strain,
So hateful to the ear of 'nighted swain.
Thou do'st the weary trav'ller mislead;
Thy voice is roughsome, and uncooth thy weed,
O gloomy Night! for black thy shadows be,
And fools have rais'd a bad report on thee.
Yet art thou free and friendly to the gay,
And light hearts prize thee equal to the day.

Now tiresome plodding folks are gone to rest;
And soothing slumber locks the careful breast.
And tell-tale friends, and wise advisers snore;
And softly slip-shod youths unbar the door.
Now footsteps echo far, and watch-dogs bark;
Worms glow, and cats' eyes glitter in the dark.
The vagrant lover crosses moor and hill,
And near the lowly cottage whistles shrill:
Or, bolder grown, beneath the friendly shade,
Taps at the window of his fav'rite maid;
Who from above his simple tale receives,
Whilst stupid matrons start, and think of thieves,
Now daily fools unbar the narrow soul,
All wise and gen'rous o'er the nightly bowl.
The haunted wood receives its motley host,
(By trav'ller shun'd) tho' neither fag nor ghost;
And there the crackling bonfire blazes red,
While merry vagrants feast beneath the shed.
From sleepless beds unquiet spirits rise,
And cunning wags put on their borrow'd guise:
Whilst silly maidens mutter o'er their boon,
And crop their fairy weeds beneath the moon:
And harmless plotters slyly take the road,
And trick and playful mischief is abroad.

But, lo! the moon looks forth in splendour bright,
Fair and unclouded, from her middle height.
The passing cloud unveils her kindly ray,
And slowly sails its weary length away;
While broken fragments from its fleecy side,
In dusky bands before it swiftly glide;
Their misty texture changing with the wind,
A strange and scatter'd group, of motley kind
As ever earth or fruitful ocean fed,
Or ever youthful poets fancy bred.
His surgy length the wreathing serpent trails,
And by his side the rugged camel sails:
The winged grif