Come, to the forest let us go,
And trip it like the barren doe;
The fawns and satyrs still do so,
And freely thus they may.
The fairies dance and satyrs sing,
And on the grass tread many a ring,
And to their caves their ven'son bring;
And we will do as they.
The shepherds, satyrs, &c., &c.
Our food is honey from the bees,
And mellow fruits that drop from trees;
In chace we climb the high degrees
Of every steepy mountain.
And when the weary day is past,
We at the evening hie us fast,
And after this, our field repast,
We drink the pleasant fountain.
The shepherds, satyrs, &c., &c.
THE night is come, like to the day;
Depart not Thou, great God, away.
Let not my sins, black as the night,
Eclipse the lustre of thy light.
Keep still in my horizon; for to me
The sun makes not the day, but Thee.
Thou whose nature cannot sleep,
On my temples sentry keep!
Guard me 'gainst those watchful foes,
Whose eyes are open while mine close;
Let no dreams my head infest,
But such as Jacob's temples blest.
While I do rest, my soul advance;
Make my sleep a holy trance,
That I may, my rest being wrought,
Awake into some holy thought;
And with as active vigour run
My course as doth the nimble sun.
Sleep is a death; oh! make me try,
By sleeping, what it is to die;
And as gently lay my head
On my grave, as now my bed.
Howe'er I rest, great God, let me
Awake again at last with Thee.
And thus assured, behold I lie
Securely, or to wake or die.
These are my drowsy days; in vain
I do now wake to sleep again :
Oh! come that hour, when I shall never
Sleep again, but wake for ever.
THE day is down into his bower;
In languid lights his feet he steeps;
The flush'd sky darkens, low and lower,
And closes on the glowing deeps.
In creeping curves of yellow foam
Up shallow sands the waters slide; And warmly blow what whispers roam From isle to isle the lulled tide;
The boats are drawn; the nets drip bright; Dark casements gleam; old songs are sung; And out upon the verge of night
Green lights from lonely rocks are hung.
O winds of eve that somewhere rove
Where darkest sleeps the distant sea,
Seek out where haply dreams my love,
And whisper all her dreams to me!
- OWEN MEREDITH (LORD LYTTON).
CARE-CHARMING Sleep, thou easer of all woes,—
Brother to Death, sweetly thyself dispose
On this afflicted prince; fall like a cloud
In gentle showers; give nothing that is loud
Or painful to his slumbers; - easy, sweet,
And as a purling stream, thou son of Night,
Pass by his troubled senses: -sing his pain
Like hollow murmuring wind, or silver rain.
Into this prince gently, oh, gently slide,
And kiss him into slumbers like a bride!
-JOHN FLETCHER.
COME, Sleep, and with thy sweet deceiving
Lock me in delight awhile;
Let some pleasing dreams beguile
All my fancies; that from thence
feel an influence,
All my powers of care bereaving!
Though but a shadow, but a sliding,
Let me know some little joy!
We that suffer long annoy
Are contented with a thought,
Through an idle fancy wrought;
Oh, let my joys have some abiding!
THE Young May moon is beaming, love,
The glow-worm's lamp is gleaming, love,
How sweet to rove
Through Morna's grove,
When the drowsy world is dreaming, love! Then awake! - the heavens look bright, my dear, 'Tis never too late for delight, my dear,
And the best of all ways
To lengthen our days
Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear.
Now all the world is sleeping, love,
But the Sage, his star-watch keeping, love,
And I whose star,
Is the eye from that casement peeping, love.
Then awake! till rise of sun, my dear,
The Sage's glass we'll shun, my dear,
Or, in watching the flight
Of bodies of light,
He might happen to take thee for one, my dear.
How beautiful is night!
A dewy freshness fills the silent air;
No mist obscures, nor cloud, nor speck, nor stain,
Breaks the serene of heaven:
In full-orbed glory yonder moon divine
Rolls through the dark blue depths.
Beneath her steady ray
The desert-circle spreads,
Like the round ocean, girdled with the sky.
How beautiful is night!
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