University of Virginia Library

Fair, fairest Prospect—fairest hour,
When slowly over tree and tower
The light full softly wanes and fades,
As though the sunbeams turned to shades!
Now, dewy gems are scattered round
Meet for a Monarch robed and crowned
With sweeping stole and jewelled vest;
And still these gems might shame the rest.
The scene seems like a fairy world,
With Evening's stainless dews empearled!
Fair, fairest Prospect—fairest time,
Still fairer than the hour of Prime—
While all is dusk, and all is soft,
And gentle breezes whispering, waft
Sweet tidings from the Stars, that come
To smile and shine away the gloom.
Dear is the Evening's tranquil hour
In the domestic household bower,
The Evening's peaceful hour is dear
Where shines the firelight's glow to cheer,
While smile around the happy hearth
Young faces mantling o'er with mirth,
While many a pleasing tale is told
Of fairy-charms and genii old;
Of history too, and travelled lore—
A rich and ever varied store!
But Evening's hour is far more fair
Out in that fresh sweet open air,
Where play the Summer-breathing gales,
Where floats the hum from populous vales,
And gracious glooms and slumberous shades
Spread softly as the daylight fades
Though there, to gladden and to cheer,
No firelight glow shines bright and clear.
Fair, fairest Prospect—fairest hour,
The dews gleam out o'er bank and bower,
On quivering leaves and drooping stems,
More lovely than the mine's rich gems,
Those splendid flowers of the inner Earth,
Not doomed to perish from their birth;
That never droop, that never fade,
Ever in glorious light arrayed.
Beautiful—beautiful are they,
Nor destined unto quick decay;
Ever full-blown and ever fair,
These splendid flowers that flourish there,
Deep in the dark Earth's secret breast—
Untouched—unchanged—in radiant rest,
Oh! ever beautiful and bright,
Those precious things of solid light!
But these pure dews are yet more fair
Out in the fresh sweet open air;
Still lovelier, finer gems are these
That tremble to each passing breeze,
Though, unlike those that richly line
The deep recesses of the mine,
They sparkle their brief life away,
While glittering gleams each coloured ray,
Within a short and bounded space,
And are no more seen in their place!
The very flowers on which they shine,
That freshly wreathe and brightly twine,
In many a chaplet, rich and rare,
Outlast—outlive them proudly there!

Oh! fairest Prospect—fairest time—
More precious than the hour of Prime,
No breath of busy Life is here,
Save that soft stealing on the ear;
A murmurous hum comes, light and low,
From time to time—then dies off slow
At first, when sinks the glowing Sun,
When Day and all its pomps are done,
When the faint light declining fades,
And gather round the Evening's shades,
We shrink from the increasing glooms,
And from the Night that onward comes;
But then, by soft and slow degrees,
We find a thousand things to please;
Ever the scene more lovely grows,
And thousand beauties doth disclose!
So, when Joy's radiant reign is o'er,
Sorrow hath priceless gifts in store;
If sometimes, sternly to affright,
She darkens to a stormy night,
How oft, in this strange world, how oft
Her Evening aspect smileth soft;
How oft, by slow degrees, doth she
Win us her lovely charms to see.
Oh! still to sacred Sorrow bend,
And she may prove a gracious friend.
In the poetic heart and mind
Still is she fittingly enshrined,
For endless treasures spring up there,
Beneath her sway—divinely fair—
And thus that wounded heart becomes
O'ershadowed by her gathering glooms;
A casket rare—a precious urn,
Where glorious jewels hidden burn,
The bright Sun of Prosperity
May bring sweet flow'rets fair to see,
That bud and bloom, and smile and shine,
And fade, and alter, and decline,
But 'tis in caverns dark and lone
That slowly forms the precious stone,
Where no glad laughing sunny rays
Break through to feed the glorious blaze;
And thus the Sorrow-darkened Mind
May with rich treasure-heaps be lined,
Though hidden from the common eye
In that deep lonely sanctuary!
Like reliques none may dare assail
Within the Temple's solemn veil!
Oh! still to Mighty Sorrow bend,
Thy Patron she may prove, and friend!
Fair, fairest Prospect—fairest hour,
When gently, over tree and tower,
The sunlight wanes—the daylight fades,
And leaves the world to dreams and shades!