Earth lies dumb before me, and the shadows Of midnight cast their dim forms athwart it. Quiet is brooding o’er a silent world, And the soft hush of slumber seals each lid. Night is too fair for sleep: with me thought wakes And treads in distant paths, where human step Ne’er left an echo on the vacant air. The gorgeous canopy of heaven is wrapped In silvery haze: Gems of uncounted wealth Bestud the lofty concave; and the bright Moon seems rolling like a silvery ball Across the trackless æther, mantling the earth In glory;—while her mellowed light Falls on my spirit with a holy calm, like that Of heaven. Tell us—why are we chained to earth? ’Tis far too gross for the immortal mind, Which yearns for higher realms, and pants in vain For the full measure of perfection. Oh! I have gazed upon night’s starry volume, Till I have read long lessons of delight, And drank the raptures of another world. Thought, living thought, burns to embrace the whole Of those deep mysteries eternity Conceals from mortal understanding; and The mind speaks out, and questions every beam Which falls from the bright reservoir of heaven— Interrogates each plant and breathing thing— Retires within itself, and calls up every Faculty—sends powerful fancy forth to Search through untrod regions, but spends its pow’rs Unsatisfied, till it sinks down at last Exhausted by its own intensity. O for a walk among those stars of light, Where grandeur fills immensity! I long To fling my soul upon the pinions of Eternity, and revel in the blaze Of glory unrevealed—to gaze upon The light that emanates from God’s vast throne, And hear the music of the rolling spheres As they revolve in mystic circles round The deep centre of unknown attraction. Spirits of heaven are hov’ring round me, And breathe sweet songs of rapture in my ear. The rustle of their wings is like the sigh Of leaves, when the soft zephyr moves among Their quiv’ring branches. Their hallowed voices Wake the eternity within me, and warm Aspirations rise from my heart’s altar To the great throne of Uncreated Power, The wings of seraphim seem wafting me In thought far through the bright and boundless ether. O for the freedom of unbodied life! To rove where thought ne’er ventured—where fancy Halts, her swift wing wearied in its lofty flight. I gaze upon the stars, and drink the full Glory of the midnight heavens—and breathe The breath of spiritual existence Till my soul beats, like a captive bird, Against its prison grates, and longs to soar away, and mix With immortality.