MIDNIGHT , and silence deep!
The air is fill'd with sleep,
With the stream's whisper, and the citron's breath;
The fix'd and solemn stars
Gleam through my dungeon bars —
Wake, rushing winds! this breezeless calm is death!

Ye watch-fires of the skies!
The stillness of your eyes
Looks too intensely through my troubled soul;
I feel this weight of rest
An earth-load on my breast —
Wake, rushing winds, awake! and dark clouds roll!

I am your own, your child,
O ye, the fierce, the wild,
And kingly tempests! — will ye not arise?
Hear the bold spirit's voice,
That knows not to rejoice
But in the peal of your strong harmonies.

By sounding ocean-waves,
And dim Calabrian caves,
And flashing torrents, I have been your mate;
And with the rocking pines
Of the olden Appenines,
In your dark path stood fearless and elate:

Your lightnings were as rods,
That smote the deep abodes
Of thought and vision — and the stream gush'd free;
Come, that my soul again
May swell to burst its chain —
Bring me the music of the sweeping sea!

Within me dwells a flame,
An eagle caged and tame,
Till call'd forth by the harping of the blast;
Then is its triumph's hour,
It springs to sudden power
As mounts the billow o'er the quivering mast.

Then, then, the canvass o'er,
With hurried hand I pour
The lava-waves and guests of my own soul!
Kindling to fiery life
Dreams, worlds, of pictured strife —
Wake, rushing winds, awake! and, dark clouds, roll!

Wake, rise! the reed may bend,
The shivering leaf descend,
The forest branch give way before your might;
But I, your strong compeer,
Call, summon, wait you here —
Answer, my spirit! — answer, storm and night!