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Men say, that in this midnight hour,
The disembodied have power
To wander as it liketh them,
By wizard oak and fairy stream,—
Through still and solemn places,
And by old walls and tombs, to dream,
With pale, cold, mournful faces.
I fear them not; for they must be
Spirits of kindest sympathy,
Who choose such haunts, and joy to feel
The beauties of this calm night steal
Like music o'er them, while they woo'd
The luxury of Solitude.
Welcome, ye gentle spirits! then,
Who love and feel for earth-chained men,—
Who, in this hour, delight to dwell
By moss-clad oak and dripping cell,—
Who joy to haunt each age-dimmed spot,
Which ruder natures have forgot;
And, in majestic solitude,
Feel every pulse-stroke thrill of good
To all around, below, above;—
Ye are the co-mates whom I love!
