Midnight, at Meyringen

Is there no slumber for the hearts that mourn?
Vainly I long my weary eyes to close;
Sleep does but mock me with unfeeling scorn,
And only to the careless sends repose.
Nor night, nor silence lends my bosom rest;
My visionary spirit wanders far;
With heart and hopes I follow to the West
In its calm motion Hesper's flaming star.
Ah! there the fates spin sorrow's blackest thread,
And restless weave misfortune's broadest woof;
There Destiny, with threatening wings outspread,
Broods instill darkness o'er my home's dear roof.
I dread his power; and still my heart must sigh
In anguish; down the midnight stars are gone;
The moon has set; the hours are hurrying by;
And I am wakeful, sorrowing, and alone.