Song of the Fifth Bard

The night is drear, but calm the air,
The troublous wind's at rest:
The moon, that lately shone so fair,
Now slumbers in the West —
Thick gathering clouds obstruct her beams,
Her silver lustres hide;
And, faint the passing radiance gleams
Along the mountain's side:
And now the distant wave I hear,
The torrent louder roars,
Their mingled murmurs strike the ear,
Rebounding from the shores.
The cock's shrill clarion, thins the gloom,
And startles drousy night!
The house-wife, groping round the room,
Calls up the settled light,
The embers glow, the sparkles rise,
Diffusive spreads the ray:
The startled hunter, rubs his eyes!
And hails the fancied, day!
He calls his bounding dogs along,
And breathless, gains the steep:
Oft — whistling blithe, and loud, and strong —
To break the bands of sleep:
The driving blast, comes howling by —
And shakes the leafless trees;
The driving blast, has clear'd the sky —
The Northern-plough he sees!
Much of the night is yet to pass!
Ah! luckless wight, forlorn!
Beside the rock, on tufted grass
He nods, till rising morn.
Hark! the whirlwind hurries forth,
(Some direful woe impends!)
The baleful whirlwind, of the North,
The trembling forest bends:
Low murmurs groan along the vale —
And, thro' the caverns spread!
As, pouring from the awfu! gale —
Descend, the mighty dead!

The pale moon shrinks behind the hill,
Her last faint trembling ray —
On yonder steep-rock, lingers still,
Now fades, and dies away:
The trees that crown its topmost height
Extend their length'ning shades,
Where, thro' the yawning cleft, the light
The sullen gloom pervades.
The night is still, but cold, and drear,
Receive me, gentle friends:
Glum darkness o'er this nether-sphere
Her brooding wing extends.