Noctes Ambrosianæ


FROM Windward Mountain’s barren crest,
The roaring gale flies down the West,
And drifts the snow on Redmount’s breast,
In hollows dark with pine


Full in its path from hill to hill,
There stands, beside a ruined mill,
A lonely house, above whose sill
A brace of candles shine.


And there an ancient bachelor,
And maiden sister past threescore,
Sit all forgetful of the roar
Of wind and mountain stream;


Forgot the wind, — forgot the snow, —
What magic airs about them blow?
They read in wondering voices low
The Midsummer Night’s Dream!


And reading, past their frozen hill
In charmed woods they range at will,
And hear the horns of Oberon shrill
Above the Plunging Tam; —


O long beyond the cock’s first crow
In dreams they walk where mayflowers blow;
Late do they dream, and liker grow
To Charles and Mary Lamb.