Sonnet Xvi Poem by Robert Anderson

NIGHT.

Now solemn Night her sable curtain draws,
Pale Cynthia steals her silv'ry course along;
No noise disturbs the villager's repose,
Save philomel, who mourns in plaintive song.
The scatter'd prospects on the distant plain,
The lofty tow'rs that draw the wand'rer nigh,
Are hid in darkness from the busy eye,
Since awful Night's assum'd her silent reign.
The whisp'ring breeze that gently sweeps the dale,
The roaring surge that courts the rising wind,
Now soothe a while the contemplative mind,
In wand'ring thro' life's solitary vale;
Whilst the twinkling stars, and cheering orb of night,
Point out to feeble man his great Creator's might.