The Midnight Lamp

Thou pale and sickly lamp,Now glimmering like the glow-worm of the swamp,Shine on, I pray thee, for another hour,And shed thy wan and feeble lustre o'erThis precious volume of forgotten loreMy eyes devour.Shine on, I pray thee, but some little whileSoon w'ill the morning's ruddy smilePeep through the casement, like a well-known guest,And give thee needful rest.

Even now the grey owl seeks his nest;And in the farm-yards, lusty cocks beginTo flap their wings, and, with a rousing din,Cheer on the lagging morn.Right soon the careful churle will goTo view his ripening corn;And up, and up, in a merry row,A thousand many-voiced birds will spring,And in one general chorus singTheir matins to the skies.

Then live some little while, poor sickening light,And glad my aching eyes;Thou wilt not die until the morrow brightHas seen thy exequies.Thou wilt not quit me like a thankless one,Who, when grief closes with the fainting heart,Doth shape his leave.I pray thee tarry, then. Alas! thou'rt gone.Pity it is that in this mood we part.