# Moral Pieces, in Prose and Verse/Lines 2

LINES,
ON hearing a venerable friend sing at midnight, a short time previous to her death, in consequence of the derangement of a mind, once of the strongest and most amiable character.
'TWAS when drear midnight cast its shadows deep,
A distant voice awoke me from my sleep;
First—slow and sad, it pour'd a mournful tone,
Lake sighs o'er parted bliss, and pleasures gone;
Now to gay hope, the mounting notes were set,
Rose high to joy—then sicken'd to regret,
Now wild, like mirth, the sprightly numbers flew,
Then, shrill and piercing, breath'd a last adieu.
This was the voice that, when with causeless fears,
Or early grief o'er flow'd my ready tears,
In childhood's dawn, or youth's delusive day,
Would sooth that grief and charm those tears away.
This was the voice that lull'd the ear of pain,
Made penury and anguish smile again;
Soft as the dew, that heals the broken plant,
Pour'd its mild accents on the soul of want;
Bade pale regret its wild complainings cease,
And lur'd the wanderer to the fold of peace.
Now like a harp, whose tuneful chords unstrung,
Is on the damp and drooping willow hung,
It gave in echoes to the fitful wind,
The mournful music of a broken mind.
Yet as the bird, whose sweet and dirge-like strains,
With harmony unwonted fill the plains,
Who by some presage warn'd of fate's decree,
Pours her soft tones in dying melody;*
So on my ear, that midnight music fell,
As from the death-tow'r, sounds the long and last farewell.
While faint and low the closing murmur sigh'd,
And on the ear of night, the cadence dy'd,
The boding spirit sunk, with woe distrest,
And down the check, the floods of sorrow prest;
At last my closing eye forgot to weep,
And o'er it past the viewless wand of sleep.
Dark visions came, all broken and distrest,
Uncalled, unsought, the enemies of rest;
Such as wild fever draws in fearful guise,
Before the restless mourner's half-clos'd eyes.
Strange forms were seen of more than mortal birth,
And hollow voices whisper'd from the earth;
Wild storms arose, contending billows dash'd,
And thro' the gloom, a sudden lustre flash'd;
When lo, a silver lamp, whose stately spire,
All bright and vivid, glow'd with heavenly fire,
Cast its pure light o'er streams, that murmur low,
Gleam'd on the mountains, cheer'd the vale of woe;
But as I gaz'd, the beam afar was borne,
The spire was quench'd, the silver lamp was gone.
Then sable waters rose with angry sweep,
A lonely vessel founders on the deep;
While thunders peal, and livid lightnings gleam, And troubled spectres glar'd upon the dream.
Then rose a Gothic dome, with arch sublime,
Whose lofty towr's withstood the shocks of time,
Its spacious halls receiv'd the welcome guest,
Tho' sick, or weak, or famish'd or distrest;
While from its windows gleam'd a steady ray, To light the traveller on his lonely way.
But thundering from below, a viewless shock
Heaves the strong base, and rends the marble rock:
Quick from its cope the sunward beam declin'd,
Thro' its long arches shriek'd the hollow wind; The pond'rous columns on the earth were thrown, The trembling earth return'd a hollow moan;
Sad o'er the spot a mournful cypress hung,
The long grass wav'd, and mossy hillocks sprung.
Yet, round a mouldering arch, a lonely form
Twin'd a damp wreath that trembled in the storm,
Breath'd o'er its leaves, the sighs of gratitude,
And with fond tears the drooping flowers bedew'd.