Classic Poem

Song of the Fourth Bard

The night is settled — soft, and fair,
Blue, starry, and serene;
With balmy freshness breathes the air,
No clouds obscure the scene,
They sink behind the snow-capt hill;
The moon, the mountain gains:
Bright drops, from trembling trees distill,
And glitter, on the plains.
The sparkling streams, the rock forsake,
And, gurgling, downwards flow,
Till, gathering in a settled lake,
The mirror shines below.

The trees uptorn, from broken rocks,
And scatter'd sheaves, I see;
The wakeful hind, rebuilds the shocks,
" And whistles on the Leigh. "

Calm, fair, settled is the night.
What pallid spectre's there?
That form, with robe, all snowy-white,
White arms, and dark brown hair;
Our chieftain's daughter, peerless maid,
Who late lamented, died!
Let's view thee now, illusive shade!
Of heroes, erst, the pride!
Before the driving blast it flies;
I see the phantom, still,
Wan, shapeless now, it fading, tries
To climb the misty hill.
The deep blue mists, before the gale,
Slow — undulating move, —
They hover o'er the narrow vale,
And wrap the heights above —
To heaven they join their towering head.
Night's settled, calm, and fair,
The starry canopy is spread,
And balmy breathes the air.
The moon with mild effulgence gay
Diffuses silver light;
Receive me not: her tranquil ray —
All lovely makes the night.