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NIGHT the FIRST.
IR'D Nature's sweet Reftorer, balmy Sleep!
Swift on his downy Pinion lies from Woc, And lights on Lids unsully'd with a Tear.
From short (as usual) and disturb'd Repose, I wake: How happy they, who wake no more! Yet that were vain, if Dreams infest the Grave. I wake, emerging from a Sea of Dreams Tumultuous ; where my wreck'd, defponding Thought From Wave to Wave of fansy'd Misery, At random drove, her Helm of Reason loft. Tho' now restor'd, 'tis only Change of Pain, (A bitter Change !) feverer for severe. The Day too short for my Distress ! and Night, Even in the Zenith of her dark Domain, Is Sunfhine, to the Colour of my Fat
Night, sable Goddess ! from her Ebon Throne,
Silence, and Darkness! folemn Sisters ! Twins
, her Treasure, As Misers to their Gold, while others reft.
Thro' this Opaque of Nature, and of Soul,