I’vewatched the sun go down, and evening draw
    Its twilight mantle o’er the passive earth,
    And hang its robe of blue, all gemmed with stars,
    High over all for mortal eyes to gaze at. 
    And now I come to tread this sodded earth,
    To walk alone in Nature’s vaulted hall;
    Yet, not alone;—­I hear the rustling leaf,
    The cricket’s note, the night-bird’s early lay;
    I feel the cool breeze as it fans my brow,
    And scent the fragrance of the untainted air. 
        I love the night.  There’s something in its shade
    That sends a soothing influence o’er the soul,
    And fits it for reflection, sober thought. 
    It comes bearing a balm to weary ones,
    A something undefinable, yet felt
    By souls that feel the want of something real. 
        And now ’t is night, and well it is that I
    Am here.  I stand, my hand on this old tree,
    Pressing its mossy side, with no one near
    I can call fellow in the human strife,
    The great, unfinished drama of this life. 
    Alone, alone, with Nature and its God,
    I’ll sit me down, and for a moment muse
    On busy scenes, and, like some warrior chief,
    Behold, yet mingle not in earth’s great acts. 
        To-night how various are the states of men! 
    Some, bowed by sickness, press their sleepless couch,
    Wishing while day doth last that night would come,
    And now that night is with them wish for day. 
    Remorse holds some in its unyielding grasp;
    Despair, more cruel yet, haunts some men’s souls;
    Both, ministers of justice conscience sends
    To do its fearful bidding in those breasts
    Which have rebelled and disavowed its rule. 
        Perchance, a maiden happy as a queen
    To-night doth fix her destiny.  A happy throng
    Gather around, and envy her her bliss. 
    They little know what magic power lies low
    In the filled wine-cup as they pass it round;
    They little think it plants a venomed dart
    In the glad soul of her whose lips do press
    Its dancing sparkles. 
    Sorrow’s nucleus! 
    Round that cup shall twine memories so dark
    That night were noonday to them, to their gloom. 
    Dash it aside!  See you not how laughs
    Within the chalice brim an evil eye? 
    Each sparkling ray that from its depth comes up
    Is the foul tempter’s hand outstretched to grasp
    The thoughtless that may venture in his reach. 
        How to-night the throng press on to bend
    The knee to Baal, and to place a crown
    On Magog’s princely head!  Dollars and dimes,
    A purse well-filled, a soul that pants for more;
    An eye that sees a farthing in the dust,
    And in its glitter plenitude of joy,
    Yet sees no beauty in the stars above,
    No cause for gladness in the light of day,—­