THE NIGHT.

On fair Augusta's towers and trees

Flitted the silent midnight breeze,

Curling the foliage as it pass'd,

Which from the moon-tipp'd plumage cast

A spangled light, like dancing spray,

Then re-assumed its still array;

When, as night's lamp unclouded hung,

And down its full effulgence flung,

It shed such soft and balmy power

That cot and castle, hall and bower,

And spire and dome, and turret height,

Appeared to slumber in the light.

From Henry's chapel, Rufus’ hall,

To Savoy, Temple, and St. Paul;

From Knightsbridge, Pancras, Camden Town,

To Redriffe, Shadwell, Horsleydown,

No voice was heard, no eye unclosed,

But all in deepest sleep reposed.

They might have thought, who gazed around

Amid a silence so profound,

It made the senses thrill,

That‘ twas no place inhabited,

But some vast city of the dead -

All was so hush'd and still.