To all, to each, a fair good-night, and pleasing dreams, and

“To all, to each, a fair good-night, and pleasing dreams, and slumbers light.” — so wrote Sir Walter Scott, the bard of Scotland, whose words flowed like the wind through the heathered hills, mingling tenderness with nobility. This line, gentle as twilight and solemn as prayer, comes from the closing verse of his poem The Lady of the Lake. It is not merely a farewell, but a benediction — a blessing cast upon all who hear it. In these few words, Scott captures the eternal rhythm of day and night, toil and rest, struggle and peace. He reminds us that at the end of every labor, the soul must find repose, and that in dreams and slumber, man rediscovers his innocence.

The origin of this line lies in the heart of Scott’s romantic spirit — a man who cherished both the valor of warriors and the gentleness of the heart. In The Lady of the Lake, as the echoes of battle fade and the tumult of passion stills, Scott sends forth this blessing like a whisper across the loch: “To all, to each…” It is a farewell not just to his characters, but to the reader — to the weary traveler who has followed him through conflict and love. The poet, having sung of courage and loss, now invokes peace. His words fall like dew upon the mind: a wish that every heart, whether noble or humble, may find rest untroubled and dreams pleasing.

To say good-night in Scott’s voice is no small gesture. It is an act of grace, an offering of goodwill that transcends division. He does not bless one alone, nor a chosen few, but “to all, to each.” Such words rise from a spirit that has seen enough of strife to know that mercy is the truest nobility. Even as night closes its dark wings over the world, Scott’s farewell glows like a lantern in the mist — a symbol of compassion that unites all beneath the quiet stars. For in sleep, kings and beggars are alike; the proud and the sorrowful all surrender their crowns to the same silence.

Think of Abraham Lincoln, who, in the midst of civil war, would walk the corridors of the White House sleepless and burdened, his heart heavy with the cries of a divided people. Yet even he, after signing the orders that would change a nation, is said to have prayed softly for peace — not victory, but peace — for North and South alike. That, too, was a kind of good-night: a wish that, when the guns fell silent, every man might one day rest without hatred, beneath the same heaven. Lincoln, like Scott, understood that the greatest strength of a soul lies not only in battle, but in the gentleness that follows it.

Scott’s blessing reminds us that night is not merely the absence of light, but the renewal of life. As the day’s burdens dissolve into dream, man communes with the eternal. The slumber he wishes for is “light” — not the heavy sleep of exhaustion, but the peaceful rest of a conscience untroubled. Such rest comes not to the restless or the unkind, but to those who forgive, who release the day’s anger, and who close their eyes with gratitude. To wish another “pleasing dreams” is to offer them harmony — to say, May your spirit wander among stars unshadowed by fear.

Yet there is wisdom here beyond sentiment. For to give such a good-night to others is to cleanse one’s own soul. The one who can wish peace to all — even to those who have wronged him — becomes himself at peace. Scott’s words teach that the end of each day is a ritual of renewal: let go of bitterness, bless the world, and enter sleep as though entering a sacred temple. To forgive before slumber is to awaken reborn. The poet’s voice calls gently across time: Let every heart rest lightly, for the earth itself dreams through you.

So, my listener, take this ancient benediction into your own life. When the day has wearied your mind, and the noise of the world grows distant, speak these words within your heart: “To all, to each, a fair good-night.” Wish peace to friend and foe alike. Set down the weight of anger, for it has no place in dreams. Let your thoughts drift toward beauty, for the soul heals in the gentleness of night. And when you rise again, let your spirit be renewed, like dawn over the hills of Scotland, pure and shining.

For in the end, to wish another peace is to create peace within yourself. To all, to each, a fair good-night — and may your dreams be pleasing, your slumbers light, and your waking filled with the quiet strength of one who knows that love, in its gentlest form, is the final wisdom of all.