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The City of Dreadful Night by James Thomson

The City of Dreadful Night by James Thomson

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Published by: Irene Baptista on Jul 25, 2010
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The Project Gutenberg EBook of The City of Dreadful Night, by James ThomsonThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.orgTitle: The City of Dreadful NightAuthor: James ThomsonPosting Date: August 16, 2008 [EBook #1238]Release Date: March, 1998Language: EnglishCharacter set encoding: ASCII*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CITY OF DREADFUL NIGHT ***Produced by Michael C. BrowningTHE CITY OF DREADFUL NIGHTBy James ThomsonPer me si va nella citta dolente.--DantePoi di tanto adoprar, di tanti motiD'ogni celeste, ogni terrena cosa,Girando senza posa,Per tornar sempre la donde son mosse;Uso alcuno, alcun fruttoIndovinar non so.Sola nel mondo eterna, a cui si volveOgni creata cosa,In te, morte, si posaNostra ignuda natura;Lieta no, ma sicuraDell' antico dolor . . .Pero ch' esser beatoNega ai mortali e nega a' morti il fato.--Leopardi
 
PROEMLo, thus, as prostrate, "In the dust I writeMy heart's deep languor and my soul's sad tears."Yet why evoke the spectres of black nightTo blot the sunshine of exultant years?Why disinter dead faith from mouldering hidden? 5Why break the seals of mute despair unbidden,And wail life's discords into careless ears?Because a cold rage seizes one at whilesTo show the bitter old and wrinkled truthStripped naked of all vesture that beguiles, 10False dreams, false hopes, false masks and modes of youth;Because it gives some sense of power and passionIn helpless innocence to try to fashionOur woe in living words howe'er uncouth.Surely I write not for the hopeful young, 15Or those who deem their happiness of worth,Or such as pasture and grow fat amongThe shows of life and feel nor doubt nor dearth,Or pious spirits with a God above themTo sanctify and glorify and love them, 20Or sages who foresee a heaven on earth.For none of these I write, and none of theseCould read the writing if they deigned to try;So may they flourish in their due degrees,On our sweet earth and in their unplaced sky. 25If any cares for the weak words here written,It must be some one desolate, Fate-smitten,Whose faith and hopes are dead, and who would die.Yes, here and there some weary wandererIn that same city of tremendous night, 30Will understand the speech and feel a stirOf fellowship in all-disastrous fight;"I suffer mute and lonely, yet anotherUplifts his voice to let me know a brotherTravels the same wild paths though out of sight." 35O sad Fraternity, do I unfoldYour dolorous mysteries shrouded from of yore?Nay, be assured; no secret can be toldTo any who divined it not before: 40None uninitiate by many a presageWill comprehend the language of the message,Although proclaimed aloud for evermore.IThe City is of Night; perchance of DeathBut certainly of Night; for never thereCan come the lucid morning's fragrant breath
 
After the dewy dawning's cold grey air:The moon and stars may shine with scorn or pity 5The sun has never visited that city,For it dissolveth in the daylight fair.Dissolveth like a dream of night away;Though present in distempered gloom of thoughtAnd deadly weariness of heart all day. 10But when a dream night after night is broughtThroughout a week, and such weeks few or manyRecur each year for several years, can anyDiscern that dream from real life in aught?For life is but a dream whose shapes return, 15Some frequently, some seldom, some by nightAnd some by day, some night and day: we learn,The while all change and many vanish quite,In their recurrence with recurrent changesA certain seeming order; where this ranges 20We count things real; such is memory's might.A river girds the city west and south,The main north channel of a broad lagoon,Regurging with the salt tides from the mouth;Waste marshes shine and glister to the moon 25For leagues, then moorland black, then stony ridges;Great piers and causeways, many noble bridges,Connect the town and islet suburbs strewn.Upon an easy slope it lies at largeAnd scarcely overlaps the long curved crest 30Which swells out two leagues from the river marge.A trackless wilderness rolls north and west,Savannahs, savage woods, enormous mountains,Bleak uplands, black ravines with torrent fountains;And eastward rolls the shipless sea's unrest. 35The city is not ruinous, althoughGreat ruins of an unremembered past,With others of a few short years agoMore sad, are found within its precincts vast.The street-lamps always burn; but scarce a casement 40In house or palace front from roof to basementDoth glow or gleam athwart the mirk air cast.The street-lamps burn amid the baleful glooms,Amidst the soundless solitudes immenseOf ranged mansions dark and still as tombs. 45The silence which benumbs or strains the senseFulfils with awe the soul's despair unweeping:Myriads of habitants are ever sleeping,Or dead, or fled from nameless pestilence!Yet as in some necropolis you find 50Perchance one mourner to a thousand dead,So there: worn faces that look deaf and blindLike tragic masks of stone. With weary tread,Each wrapt in his own doom, they wander, wander,Or sit foredone and desolately ponder 55Through sleepless hours with heavy drooping head.

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