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Night: Quotations from Cyclopedia of Practical Quotations

Day is a snow-white Dove of heaven. That from the East glad message brings : Night is a stealthy, evil Raven, Wrapt to the eyes in his black wings.— T. B. ALDRICH — Day and Night.

I love night more than day-she is so lovely; But I love night the most because she brings My love to me in dreams which scarcely lie.— BAILEY — Festus. Sc. Water and Wood.

Midnight. Night comes, world-jewelled, *** The stars rush forth in myriads as to wage War with the lines of Darkness; and the moon, Pale ghost of Night, comes haunting the cold earth After the sun's red sea-death-quietless.— BAILEY — Festus. Sc. Garden and

Bower by the Sea. Night's black Mantle covers all alike.— DU BARTAS — Divine Weekes and Workes. First Week. First Day. L. 562.

When it draws near to witching time of night.— BLAIR — The Grave. L. 55.

For the night Shows stars and women in a better light.— BYRON — Don Juan. Canto II. St. 152.

Most glorious night! Thou wert not sent for slumber!— BYRON — Childe Harold. Canto III. St. 93.

The stars are forth, the moon above the tops Of the snow-shining mountains-Beautiful! I linger yet with Nature, for the night Hath been to me a more familiar face Than that of man; and in her starry shade Of dim and solitary loveliness, I learn'd the language of another world.— BYRON — Manfred. Act III. Sc. 4.

The crackling embers on the hearth are dead; The indoor note of industry is still; The latch is fast; upon the window-sill The small birds wait not for their daily bread; The voiceless flowers-how quietly they shed Their nightly odours ;-and the household rill Murmurs continuous dulcet sounds that fill The vacant expectation, and the dread Of listening night.— HARTLEY COLERIDGE — Miscellaneous

Sonnets. XVIII. Night. Dark the Night, with breath all flowers, And tender broken voice that fills With ravishment the listening hours,- Whisperings, wooings, Liquid ripples, and soft ring-dove cooings In low-toned rhythm that love's aching stills! Dark the night Yet is she bright, For in her dark she brings the mystic star, Trembling yet strong, as is the voice of love, From some unknown afar.— GEORGE ELIOT — Spanish Gypsy. Song. Bk. I.

O radiant Dark! O darkly fostered ray! Thou hast a joy too deep for shallow Day.— GEORGE ELIOT — The Spanish Gypsy. Bk. 1.

The watch-dog's voice that bay'd the whispering wind, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind: These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, And fill'd each pause the nightingale had made.— GOLDSMITH — The Deserted Village. L. 121.

He pass'd the flaming bounds of place and time: The living throne, the sapphire blaze, Where angels tremble while they gaze, He saw; but, blasted with excess of light, Closed his eyes in endless night.— GRAY — The Progress of Poesy. III. 2.

Now deep in ocean sunk the lamp of light, And drew behind the cloudy vale of night.— HOMER — Iliad. Bk. VIII. L. 605.

Pope's trans. 'Tis the witching hour of night, Orbed is the moon and bright, And the stars they glisten, glisten, Seeming with bright eyes to listen- For what listen they?— KEATS — A Prophecy. L. 1.

And the night shall be filled with music, And the cares, that infest the day, Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, And as silently steal away.— LONGFELLOW — The Day is Done.

I heard the trailing garments of the Night Sweep through her marble halls.— LONGFELLOW — Hymn to the Night.

O holy Night! from thee I learn to bear What man has borne before! Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care, And they complain no more.— LONGFELLOW — Hymn to the Night.

The night is calm and cloudless, And still as still can be, And the stars come forth to listen To the music of the sea. They gather, and gather, and gather, Until they crowd the sky, And listen, in breathless silence, To the solemn litany. C.— LONGFELLOW — Christus. The Golden Legend. Pt. 5.

The night is come, but not too soon; And sinking silently, All silently, the little moon Drops down behind the sky. There is no light in earth or heaven But the cold light of stars; And the first watch of night is given To the red planet Mars.— LONGFELLOW — The Light of Stars.

Then stars arise, and the night is holy.— LONGFELLOW — Hyperion. Bk. I. Ch. I.

God makes sech nights, all white an' still Fur'z you can look or listen, Moonshine an' snow on field an' hill, All silence an' all glisten.— LOWELL — The Courtin.

Quiet night, that brings Rest to the labourer, is the outlaw's day, In which he rises early to do wrong, And when his work is ended dares not sleep.— MASSINGER — The Guardian. Act II. Sc. 4.

A night of tears! for the gusty rain Had ceased, but the eaves were dripping yet; And the moon look'd forth, as tho' in pain, With her face all white and wet. OWEN MEREDITH (Lord Lytton)- The Wanderer. Bk. II. The Portrait. *** and when night Darkens the streets, then wander forth the sons Of Belial, flown with insolence and wine.— MILTON — Paradise Lost. Bk. I. L. 500.

Darkness now rose, As daylight sunk, and brought in low'ring Night, Her shadowy offspring.— MILTON — Paradise Regained. Bk. IV. L. 397.

Eldest Night And Chaos, ancestors of Nature.— MILTON — Paradise Lost. Bk. II. L. 894.

*** for now began Night with her sullen wings to double-shade The desert; fowls in their clay nests were couch'd, And now wild beasts came forth, the woods to roam.— MILTON — Paradise Regained. Bk. I. L. 499.

*** now glowed the firmament With living sapphires; Hesperus, that led The starry host, rode brightest, till the Moon, Rising in clouded majesty, at length Apparent queen, unveiled her peerless light, And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw.— MILTON — Paradise Lost. Bk. IV. L. 604.

O thievish Night, Why shouldst thou, but for some felonious end, In thy dark lantern thus close up the stars, That nature hung in heaven, and filled their lamps With everlasting oil, to give due light To the misled and lonely traveller?— MILTON — Comus. L. 195.

Sable-vested Night, eldest of things.— MILTON — Paradise Lost. Bk. 2. L. 962.

Hey, now the day's dawning, The jolly cock's crowing, The eastern sky's glowing, Stars fade one by one. The thistle cock's crying On lovers long lying, Cease vowing and sighing, The night is nigh gone.— ALEXANDER MONTGOMERY — Night

is Nigh Gone. Night is the time for rest; How sweet, when labours close, To gather round an aching breast The curtain of repose, Stretch the tired limbs, and lay the head Down on our own delightful bed!— MONTGOMERY — Night. St. 1.

And the best of all ways To lengthen our days Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear.— MOORE — The Young May Moon.

There never was night that had no morn. S.— D. M. MULOCK — The Golden Gate.

Day is ended, Darkness shrouds The shoreless seas and lowering clouds.— THOMAS LOVE PEACOCK — Rhododaphne. Canto V. L. 264.

Ghastly, grim, and ancient Raven, wandering from the Nightly shore,一 Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore! Quoth the Raven "Nevermore!"— POE — The Raven. St. 8.

O Night, most beautiful and rare! Thou giv'st the heavens their holiest hue, And through the azure fields of air Bring'st down the gentle dew.— THOMAS BUCHANAN READ — Night.

On dreary night let lusty sunshine fall.— C. SCHILLER — Pompeii and Herculaneum.

To all, to each, a fair good night, And pleasing dreams, and slumbers light. ScoTT-Marmion. Canto VI. Last Lines. And night is fled, Whose pitchy mantle overveil'd the earth.— Shakespeare — Henry VI. Pt. I. Act II. Sc. 2. L.1.

Come, gentle night, come, loving, blackbrow'd night.— Shakespeare — Romeo and Juliet. Act III. Sc. 2. L. 20.

Come, seeling night, Skarf up the tender eye of pitiful day; And with thy bloody and invisible hand Cancel and tear to pieces that great bond Which keeps me pale!— Shakespeare — Macbeth. Act III. Sc. 2. L. 46.

I must become a borrower of the night For a dark hour or twain.— Shakespeare — Macbeth. Act III. Sc. 1. L. 27.

In the dead vast and middle of the night.— Shakespeare — Hamlet. Act I. Sc. 2. L. 198.

Light thickens; and the crow Makes wing to the rooky wood: Good things of the day begin to droop and drowse; Whiles night's black agents to their preys do rouse.— Shakespeare — Macbeth. Act III. Sc. 2. L. 50.

Making night hideous.— Shakespeare — Hamlet. Act I. Sc. 4. L. 54.

Now the hungry lion roars, And the wolf behowls the moon; Whilst the heavy ploughman snores, All with weary task foredone. Midsummer-Night's Dream. Act V. Sc. 1. L. 378. The night is long that never finds the day.— Shakespeare — Macbeth. Act IV. Sc. 3. L. 240.

This is the night That either makes me or fordoes me quite.— Shakespeare — Othello. Act V. Sc. 1. L. 128.

'Tis now the very witching time of night, When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out Contagion to this world.— Shakespeare — Hamlet. Act III. Sc. 2. L. 404.

How beautiful this night! the balmiest sigh Which Vernal Zephyrs breathe in evening's ear Were discord to the speaking quietude That wraps this moveless scene. Heaven's ebon vault, Studded with stars, unutterably bright, Through which the moon's unclouded grandeur rolls, Seems like a canopy which love has spread To curtain her sleeping world.— SHELLEY — Queen Mab. Pt. IV.

Swiftly walk over the western wave, Spirit of Night!— SHELLEY — To Night.

How beautiful is night! A dewy freshness fills the silent air; No mist obscures, nor cloud nor speck nor stain Breaks the serene of heaven.— SOUTHEY — Thalaba. Bk. 1.

Dead sounds at night come from the inmost hills, Like footsteps upon wool.— S. TENNYSON- — Enone. St. 20.

Now black and deep the Night begins to fall, A shade immense! Sunk in the quenching Gloom, Magnificent and vast, are heaven and earth. Order confounded lies; all beauty void, Distinction lost, and gay variety One universal blot: such the fair power Of light, to kindle and create the whole.— THOMSON — The Seasons. Autumn. L. 113.

Curfew must not ring to-night.— ROSA H. THORPE — Title of Poem..

How is night's sable mantle labor'd o'er, How richly wrought with attributes divine! What wisdom shines! what love! this midnight pomp, This gorgeous arch, with golden worlds inlaid Built with divine ambition!— YOUNG — Night Thoughts. Night IV. L. 385.

Mine is the night, with all her stars.— YOUNG — Paraphrase on Job. L. 147.

Night, sable goddess! from her ebon throne, In rayless majesty, now stretches forth Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumbering world. Silence, how dead! and darkness, how profound! Nor eye, nor list'ning ear, an object finds; Creation sleeps. 'Tis as the general pulse Of life stood still, and nature made a pause; An awful pause! prophetic of her end.— YOUNG — Night Thoughts. Night I. L. 18.