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The Midnight Lamp.
Thou pale and sickly lamp,
Now glimmering like the glow-worm of the swamp,
Shine on, I pray thee, for another hour,
And shed thy wan and feeble lustre o'er
This precious volume of forgotten lore
My eyes devour.
Shine on, I pray thee, but some little while
Soon w'ill the morning's ruddy smile
Peep through the casement, like a well-known guest,
And give thee needful rest.
Even now the grey owl seeks his nest;
And in the farm-yards, lusty cocks begin
To flap their wings, and, with a rousing din,
Cheer on the lagging morn.
Right soon the careful churle will go
To view his ripening corn;
And up, and up, in a merry row,
A thousand many-voiced birds will spring,
And in one general chorus sing
Their matins to the skies.
