A night dream
On a night like this, when every strong wind
He is safely confined in his distant cave;
And only the gentle Zephyr fan his wings,
And the lonely Philomel, still awake, sings;
Or from some tree, famous for the owl’s delight,
She, clearly cupping, directs the wand to the right:
On such a night, when passing clouds give way,
Or finely cover the mysterious face of the heavens;
When in some river, covered in green,
You see the moon waving and the leaves trembling;
When the fresh grass stands now,
And it makes cool benches invite pleasant rest,
From where the wood and the bush sprout,
And where the sheltered sleepy primrose grows;
While foxglove now takes on a paler hue,
Yet the ladies still with red dark braces
When fireflies are scattered, but in the beautiful twilight,
Show trivial beauties, watch your time to shine;
While Salisb’ry stands the test of all light,
In perfect charms and perfect brilliant virtue:
When the scents, that decline repel the day,
Through warm air without interruptions;
When the darkened groves wear away their softest shadows,
And the falling waters we hear clearly;
When through the gloom the most venerable spectacles
Some ancient, hideous fabric at rest,
While the sunburned hills hide their brown appearance,
And the hay cocks thicken the valley:
When the horse loose now, as it leads its pasture,
It comes slowly grazing through the adjoining meadows,
Whose furtive step and elongated shadow we fear,
Even the ripped fodder on their teeth we hear:
When the nibbling sheep chase their food,
And the undisturbed cows chewed the bolus again;
When the curlews cry under the town walls,
And the cries of the partridge to his lagging brood;
His ephemeral jubilee keep the creatures,
That endures while the tyrant sleeps;
When a calm content is felt the spirit,
And no violent light disturbs while revealing;
But silent reflections urge the mind to seek
Somewhat, too loud for the syllables to speak;
Until the soul frees a spellbound composure,
Finding the elements of rage unarmed,
Especially under a solemn grown silence,
He enjoys the lower world and thinks of it as his own:
On a night like this let me stay outside
Until dawn and everything is confused again;
Our worries, our efforts, our cries are renewed,
Or pleasures, rarely achieved, again pursued.