MIDNIGHT REFLECTIONS. "Night on the earth pour'd darkness; on the sea, And Helice turn'd heedful. Sunk to rest, The village dog Each busy tumult Was hush'd at this dead hour; and darkness slept, APOLLONIUS RHODIUS. "Night mounts her curtain'd wane ; The dancing stars compose her filial train ; Now o'er the face of nature, night has thrown How many a seaman views that cheering orb; Think, ah! think ye proud, From midnight revels freed, what he endures, To store your groaning boards with pois'nous sweets, That make you oft the hardy peasant's scoff. Ne'er let ingratitude to him give pain, Who, shame on man, oft torn from all he loves, Braves sultry climes, hidden rocks, and pow'rful foes Proud of his country. Silence reigns around, Save the rain patt'ring on the casement rude, Driv'n by the breeze. It seems the voice of Heave And still should make us mindful of the cause. Oft at this hour, methinks 'tis sweet to muse, And lead the mind to death's sure, near approach. By those who vainly sought coy fortune's smile, The that soothes a brother on his way, My pipe shall not hang idly 'gainst the wall; Not reft of feeling-now the clock hath told The noon of night-O! I could weep for those, The houseless wand'rers 'mid the savage blast, Poor wretched outcasts of society! Ah! nature shudders at the dark-wrought scene! He sleeps not, now, the helpless wretch, immur'd Within yon gloomy prison's dark dank cell, Th' insolvent debtor, from his friends exil❜d. Health smiles no longer on him; and alas! The thoughts of happy years, long since flown by, Prompt daily sighs, and break the night's repose. His partner, offspring, driven to penury, Woe-worn, and sickly, begging oft in vain, For ever haunt him on his scanty straw.But 'tis the will of proud relentless man, Whose heart," flint to the core," ne'er learn'd to feel; And law's loud voice must own such deeds are just. · Bear light thy sorrows, heartless son of want; Let christian fortitude soothe each distress; Thy country boasts the wealthy and the good, Who feel indignant at a brother's woes; And still may such enjoy the suff'rer's praise. -Still be this truth engraven on each mind; Life's but a prison! Princes breathe enchain'dDeath to the virtuous only, freedom gives! • Carrickfergus. How many, reckless of this solemn hour, The midnight ball, the splendid shew of pride, To them alone have charms. Thrice happier he, The cottage children of this straw-roof'd shed, In sleep's soft arms, dream o'er their little sports. Blest cherubs!—Ah! what bitter storms may blight Such op'ning buds, exceeds proud mortals' ken. Rest on. Peace to your slumbers, happy boys! Rest on. A few short years may see you drawn Into the wily snares of wicked men. Or, ere another moon lights these brown hills, Perhaps you're doom'd to hasten to the grave; And sorrow-sunk, your parents leave in pain. -God's will be done!-'Tis weakness to repine! How different those stretch'd on the bed of death, Who count each lazy minute as it flies; Praying for morn's approach, and mourning still, * Belfast. |