CUSTOM-DARKNESS. Vainly to the child of Fashion, Giving to ideal woe Graceful luxury of compassion, Shall the stricken mourner go; Hateful seems the earnest sorrow, Beautiful the hollow show! WHITTIER. Such dupes are men to custom, and so prone COWPER. Nor custom, nor example, nor vast numbers MASSINGER. Every age on him who strays From its broad and beaten ways, Pours its sevenfold vial. WHITTIER. Fashion, a word which knaves and fools may use, Their knavery and folly to excuse. CHURCHILL. The gay, gaudy glare of vanity and art, The polished jewel's blaze, May draw the wond'ring gaze, 75 Away with custom! 'tis the plea of fools, C. P. LAYARD. New customs, Though they be never so ridiculous, And meekly still the martyrs go, To keep with Pain their solemn bridal! And still they walk the fire who bow Not down to worship Custom's idol. MASSEY. O for a world in principle as chaste O! villanous custom makes the Muses' song Stale as the common highway; Makes dear friends, smiling in each other's face, Deem each a tiresome fool; the preachor crying But never, never can come near the worthy Of death and judgment, from which we are Mysterious night! when our first parent knew Thee from report divine, and heard thy name, Did he not tremble for this lovely frame, This glorious canopy of light and blue? Yet 'neath a curtain of translucent dew, Bathed in the rays of the great setting flame, Hesperus, with the host of heaven, came, And lo! creation widened in man's view. Who could have thought such darkness lay concealed Within thy beams, O sun? or who could find Whilst fly, and leaf, and insect stood revealed, That to such countless orbs thou mad'st us blind? Why do we, then, shun death with anxious strife? If light can thus deceive, wherefore not life? J. BLANCO WHITE. Now glowed the firmament With livid sapphires; Hesperus, that led The starry host, rode brightest, till the moon, Rising in cloudy majesty, at length Apparent queen, unvailed her peerless light, And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw. MILTON. The night comes calmly forth, Bringing sweet rest upon the wings of even; The golden wain rolls round the silent north, And earth is slumbering 'neath the smiles of heaven. BOWRING. Look how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold: There's not the smallest orb, which thou behold'st, But in his motion like an angel sings, O night! most beautiful, most rare! For this I love thy hallowed reign! For more than this thrice blest thou art! Thou gain'st the unbeliever's brain By entering at his heart! 'T. B. READ. Yet as the stars, the holy stars of night, Tread still the thorny path, whose close is light, If but at last the tossed and weary bark Gains the sure haven of her final rest. LUCY HOOPER. The glorious sun is gone, And the gathering darkness of night comes on. Like a curtain from God's kind hand it flows, To shade the couch where his children repose. Then kneel, while the watching stars are bright, And give your last thoughts to the Guardian of night. H. WARE, JR. Night is the time when nature seems God's silent worshiper, And ever with a chastened heart In unison with her, I lay me on my peaceful couch, SARAH J. CLARK. How beautiful is night! A dewy freshness fills the silent air; MOORE. 77 Though light and glory be the Almighty's throne, Darkness is his pavilion; From that his radiant beauty, but from thee NORRIS. 'Tis evening; and the sun hath sunk to rest With milder radiance fill the vault of heaven; Silence and Darkness! solemn sisters! twins From ancient Night, who nurse the tender thought To reason, and on reason build resolve. YOUNG. When day, with farewell beam, delays Through opening vistas into heaven, MOORE. How beautiful this night! the balmiest sigh ear, Were discord to the speaking quietude That wraps this moveless scene. Heaven's ebon vault, No mist obscures, nor cloud, nor speck, nor Studded with stars innumerably bright, stain |