“‘TIS HE WHOSE YESTER-EVENING’S HIGH DISDAIN”
‘TIS He whose yester-evening’s high disdain Beat back the roaring storm–but how subdued His day-break note, a sad vicissitude! Does the hour’s drowsy weight his glee restrain? Or, like the nightingale, her joyous vein Pleased to renounce, does this dear Thrush attune His voice to suit the temper of yon Moon Doubly depressed, setting, and in her wane? Rise, tardy Sun! and let the Songster prove (The balance trembling between night and morn 10 No longer) with what ecstasy upborne He can pour forth his spirit. In heaven above, And earth below, they best can serve true gladness Who meet most feelingly the calls of sadness. 1838.