A
NIGHT
SCENE
See
Night
,
all
majestic
,
lean
over
the
hill
,
Dark
daemons
recline
on
her
breast
;
Fond
memory
cease
,
or
a
moment
be
still
,
For
sweet
Philomel
sleeps
in
her
nest
.
She
restless
,
like
me
,
still
laments
for
her
mate
,
A
stranger
to
pleasure
and
sleep
;
But
her
sorrows
have
been
of
so
lengthen'd
a
date
,
She's
forgot
both
to
sigh
and
to
weep
.
That
voice
which
so
softly
I
heard
from
a
cloud
,
Was
surely
the
voice
of
my
swain
;
Be
quiet
,
ye
winds
,
if
ye
whistle
so
loud
,
I
never
shall
hear
it
again
.
Oh
,
hark
!
it
is
he
—
'tis
Maria
he
cries
!
How
sweet
stole
the
sound
on
my
ear
;
Like
Aeolus
'
harp
now
it
vibrates
and
dies
,
And
leaves
me
to
doubt
and
to
fear
:
Return
,
gentle
spirit
,
in
pity
return
;
From
death
would
you
borrow
a
dart
:
I'm
weary
at
midnight
to
wander
and
mourn
,
Then
strike
me
at
once
to
the
heart
.