Tag: William Julius Mickle

The dews of summer night did fall;

The moon, sweet regent of the sky,

Silvered the walls of Cumnor Hall

And many an oak that grew thereby.

William Julius Mickle

Awake, ye West Winds, through the lonely dale,

And Fancy, to thy fairy bower betake;

Even now, with balmy freshness breathes the gale,

Dimpling with downy wing the stilly lake;

Through the pale willows faltering whispers wake,

And Evening comes with locks bodropp’d with dew;

On Desmond’s mouldering turrets slowly shake

The trembling rye-grass and the harehell blue,

And ever and anon fair Mulla’s plaints renew.

William Julius Mickle

The best of parents blest my younger days;

What others teach with frowns, they taught with praise.

William Julius Mickle

The moon, full-orbed, forsakes her watery cave,

And lifts her lovely head above the wave;

The snowy splendours of her modest ray

Stream o’er the glistening waves, and quivering play;

Around her, glittering on the heaven’s arched brow,

Unnumbered stars, enclosed in azure, glow,

Thick as the dew-drops of the April dawn,

Or May-flowers crowding o’er the daisy lawn;

The canvas whitens in the silvery beam,

And with a mild pale-red the pendants gleam;

The masts’ tall shadows tremble o’er the deep;

The peaceful winds a holy silence keep;

The watchman’s carol, echoed from the prows,

Alone, at times, awakes the still repose.

William Julius Mickle

None but a poet can translate a poet.

William Julius Mickle