NIGHT. Ann Radcliffe (née Ward) Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. Radcliffe, Ann Ward, 1764-1823. The Poems of Mrs. Ann Radcliffe. London printed by and for J. Smith, Princes Street 1816 pp. 12-14. 118p. [Radcliffe's poems only, pp. 1-95]

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NIGHT . Now Ev'ning fades ! her pensive step retires , And Night leads on the dews , and shadowy hours : Her awful pomp of planetary fires , And all her train of visionary powers . These paint with fleeting shapes the dream of sleep , These swell the waking soul with pleasing dread ; These through the glooms in forms terrific sweep , And rouse the thrilling horrors of the dead ! Queen of the solemn thought — mysterious Night ! Whose step is darkness , and whose voice is fear ! Thy shades I welcome with severe delight , And hail thy hollow gales , that sigh so drear ! When , wrapt in clouds , and riding in the blast , Thou roll'st the storm along the sounding shore , I love to watch the whelming billows , cast On rocks below , and listen to the roar . Thy milder terrors , Night , I frequent woo , Thy silent lightnings , and thy meteor's glare , Thy northern fires , bright with ensanguine hue , That light in heaven's high vault the fervid air . But chief I love thee , when thy lucid car Sheds through the fleecy clouds a trembling gleam , And shews the misty mountain from afar , The nearer forest , and the valley's stream : And nameless objects in the vale below , That floating dimly to the musing eye , Assume , at Fancy's touch , fantastic shew , And raise her sweet romantic visions high . Then let me stand amidst thy glooms profound On some wild woody steep , and hear the breeze That swells in mournful melody around , And faintly dies upon the distant trees . What melancholy charm steals o'er the mind ! What hallow'd tears the rising rapture greet ! While many a viewless spirit in the wind Sighs to the lonely hour in accents sweet ! Ah ! who the dear illusions pleas'd would yield , Which Fancy wakes from silence and from shades , For all the sober forms of Truth reveal'd , For all the scenes that Day's bright eye pervades !