THE TRAVELLER BY NIGHT IN NOVEMBER . HE who with journey well begun Beneath the morning's cheerful sun Stretches his view o'er hill and dale , And distant city , ( through its veil Of smoke , dark spires and chimneys seen , ) O'er harvest-lands and meadows green , What time the roused and busy , meeting On king's high-way exchange their greeting , Feels his cheered heart with pleasure beat , As on his way he holds . And great Delight hath he who travels late When the fair moon doth hold her state In the clear sky , while down and dale Repose in light so pure and pale ! While lake and pool and stream are seen Weaving their maze of silvery sheen , And cot and mansion , rock and glade , And tower and street in light and shade Strongly contrasted are . I trow , Better than noonday seems his show , Soothing the pensive mind . And yet , When moon is dark and sun is set , Not reft of pleasure is the wight , Who , in snug chaise , at close of night , Begins his journey in the dark , With crack of whip and ban-dogs' bark , And jarring wheels and children bawling , And voice of surly ostler , calling To post-boy , through the mingled din , Some message to a neighbouring inn . All sounds confusedly in his ear ; The lonely way's commencing cheer . With dull November's starless sky O'er head , his fancy soars not high . The carriage lamps a white light throw Along the road , and strangely shew Familiar things that cheat the eyes , Like friends in motley masker's guise . " What's that ? or dame , or mantled maid , Or herd-boy gathered in his plaid , Who leans against yon wall his back ? " " No 'tis in sooth a tiny stack On peat or turf or cloven wood — Of cottage fire the winter's food . " " Ha ! yonder shady nook discovers A gentle pair of rustic lovers . " " Out on't ! a pair of harmless calves , Through ragged bushes seen by halves . " " What thing of strange , unshapely height , Approaches slowly on the light , That like a hunch-backed giant seems , And now is whitening in its beams ? " " 'Tis but a hind , whose burly back Is bearing home a well-filled sack . " " What's that like spots of fleckered snow On the road's margin clustered so ? " " 'Tis linen left to bleach by night . " — " Gramercy on us ! see I right ? Some witch is casting cantraps there , The linen hovers in the air ! " " Pooh ! soon or late all wonders cease , We have but scared a flock of geese . " Thus oft through life we do misdeem Of things that are not what they seem . Ah ! could we there with as slight skathe Divest us of our cheated faith ! And then , belike , when chiming bells The near approach of waggon tells , He wistful looks to see it come , Its bulk emerging from the gloom , With dun tarpawling o'er it thrown , Like a huge Mammoth moving on . But still more pleased , through murky air , He spies the distant bonfire's glare ; And , nearer to the spot advancing , Black imps and goblins round it dancing ; And nearer still , distinctly traces The featured disks of happy faces , Grinning and roaring in their glory , Like Bacchants wild of ancient story , And making murgeons to the flame , As it were play-mate in the game . Full well , I trow , could modern stage Such acting for the nonce engage , A crowded audience , every night , Would press to see the jovial sight ; And this , from cost and squeezing free , November's nightly travellers see . Through village , lane or hamlet going , The light from cottage window , shewing Its inmates at their evening fare , By rousing fire , where earthenware With pewter trenchers , on the shelf , Give some display of worldly pelf , Is transient vision to the eye Of him our hasty passer by ; Yet much of pleasing import tells , And cherished in his fancy dwells , Where simple innocence and mirth Encircle still the cottage hearth . Across the road a fiery glare Doth now the blacksmith's forge declare , Where furnace-blast , and measured din Of heavy hammers , and within The brawny mates their labour plying , From heated bar the red sparks flying , Some idle neighbours standing by With open mouth and dazzled eye ; The rough and sooty walls with store Of chains and horse-shoes studded o'er , And rusty blades and bars between , All momently are heard and seen . Nor does he often fail to meet , In market town's dark , narrow street , ( Even when the night with onward wings The sober hour of bed-time brings , ) Amusement . From the alehouse door , Having full bravely paid his score , Issues the tipsy artizan , With some sworn brother of the can , While each to keep his footing tries , And utters words solemn and wise . The dame demure , from visit late , Her lantern borne before in state By sloven footboy , paces slow With pattened feet and hooded brow . Where the seamed window-board betrays Interior light , right closely lays The eves-dropper his curious ear , Some neighbours fire-side talk to hear ; While , from an upper casement bending , A household maid , perhaps , is sending From jug or pot , a sloppy shower That makes him homeward fleetly scour . From lower rooms few gleams are sent Through shortened shutter-hole or rent ; But from the loftier chambers peer ( Where damsels doff their gentle gear For rest preparing ) tapers bright , That give a momentary sight Of some fair form with visage glowing , With loosened braids and tresses flowing , Who busied by the mirror stands With bending head and upraised hands Whose moving shadow strangely falls With size enlarged on roof and walls . Ah ! lovely are the things , I ween , By speed's light , passing glam'rie seen ! Fancy so touched will oft restore Things once beheld and seen no more . But now he spies the flaring door Of bridled Swan or gilded Boar , At which the bowing waiter stands To know the alighting guest's commands . A place of bustle , dirt and din , Swearing without , scolding within ; Of narrow means and ample boast , The traveller's stated halting post , Where trunks are missing or deranged , And parcels lost and horses changed . Yet this short scene of noisy coil But serves our traveller as a foil , Enhancing what succeeds , and lending A charm to pensive quiet , sending To home and friends , left far behind , The kindliest musings of his mind ; Or , should they stray to thoughts of pain , A dimness o'er the haggard train A mood and hour like this will throw , As vexed and burthened spirits know . Night , loneliness and motion are Agents of power to distance care ; To distance , not discard ; for then , Withdrawn from busy haunts of men , Necessity to act suspended , The present , past and future blended , Like figures of a mazy dance , Weave round the soul a dreamy trance , Till jolting stone or turnpike gate Arouse him from the soothing state . And when the midnight hour is past , If through the night his journey last , When still and lonely is the road , Nor living creature moves abroad , Then most of all , like fabled wizard , Night slily dons her cloak and vizard , His eyes at every corner meeting With some new slight of dexterous cheating , And cunningly his sight betrays Even with his own lamp's partial rays . The road that in fair , honest day Through pasture-land or corn-fields lay , A broken hedge-row's ragged skreen Skirting its margin rank and green , With boughs projecting , interlaced With thorn and briar , distinctly traced On the deep shadows at their back That deeper sink to pitchy black , Appearing soothly to the eye Like woven boughs of tapestrie , — Seems now to wind through tangled wood On forest wild , where Robin Hood With all his out-laws stout and bold In olden days his reign might hold . Yea , roofless barn and ruined walls , As passing light upon them falls , When favoured by surrounding gloom , The castle's stately form assume . The steaming vapour that proceeds From moistened hide of weary steeds , And high on either side will rise , Like clouds storm-drifted , past him flies ; While mire cast up by their hoofed feet Adds curious magic to deceit , Glancing presumptuously before him , Like yellow diamonds of Cairngorum . How many are the subtle ways By which sly night the eye betrays , When in her wild fantastic mood , By lone and wakeful traveller woo'd ! Shall I proceed ? O no ! for now Upon the black horizon's brow Appears a line of tawny light ; Thy reign is ended , witching night ! And soon thy place a wizard elf , ( But only second to thyself In glam'rie's art ) will quietly take And spread o'er meadow , vale and brake Her misty shroud of pearly white ; A modest though deceitful wight , Who in a softer , gentler way Will with the wakeful fancy play , When woody knolls , their bases losing , Are Islands on a lake reposing , And streeted town of high pretence , As rolls away the vapour dense With all its wavy , curling billows , Is but a row of pollard willows . O no ! our traveller , still and lone , A far , fatiguing way hath gone ; His eyes are dim , he stoops his crest , And folds his arms and goes to rest .