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Anne Kingsmill Finch - A Nocturnal Reverie
Work rating: Medium

In such a Night, when every louder Wind
Is to its distant Cavern safe confin`d;
And only gentle Zephyr fans his Wings, {1}
And lonely Philomel, still waking, sings; {2}
Or from some Tree, fam`d for the Owl`s delight,
She, hollowing clear, directs the Wand`rer right:
In such a Night, when passing Clouds give place,
Or thinly vail the Heav`ns mysterious Face;
When in some River, overhung with Green,
The waving Moon and trembling Leaves are seen;
When freshen`d Grass now bears it self upright,
And makes cool Banks to pleasing Rest invite,
Whence springs the Woodbind, and the Bramble–Rose,
And where the sleepy Cowslip shelter`d grows;
Whilst now a paler Hue the Foxglove takes,
Yet checquers still with Red the dusky brakes:
When scattered Glow-worms, but in Twilight fine,
Shew trivial Beauties watch their Hour to shine; 
Whilst Salisb`ry stands the Test of every Light, {3} 
In perfect Charms, and perfect Virtue bright:
When Odours, which declin`d repelling Day,
Thro` temp`rate Air uninterrupted stray;
When darken`d Groves their softest Shadows wear,
And falling Waters we distinctly hear;
When thro` the Gloom more venerable shows
Some ancient Fabrick, awful in Repose,
While Sunburnt Hills their swarthy Looks conceal,
And swelling Haycocks thicken up the Vale:
When the loos`d Horse now, as his Pasture leads,
Comes slowly grazing thro` th` adjoining Meads, 
Whose stealing Pace and lengthen`d Shade we fear,
Till torn up Forage in his Teeth we hear:
When nibbling Sheep at large pursue their Food,
And unmolested Kine rechew the Cud;
When Curlews cry beneath the Village-walls,
And to her straggling Brood the Partridge calls;
Their shortliv`d Jubilee the Creatures keep,
Which but endures, whilst Tyrant-Man do`s sleep; 
When a sedate Content the Spirit feels,
And no fierce Light disturbs, whilst it reveals; 
But silent Musings urge the Mind to seek
Something, too high for Syllables to speak;
Till the free Soul, to a compos`dness charm`d,
Finding the Elements of Rage disarm`d,
O`er all below a solemn Quiet grown,
Joys in th` inferiour World and thinks it like her Own:
In such a Night let Me abroad remain,
Till Morning breaks, and All`s confus`d again;
Our Cares, our Toils, our Clamours are renew`d, 
Or Pleasures, seldom reach`d, again pursu`d.
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