 | American poems, selected and original |  |
249
[The Lord of light has journey'd down the sky]
The Lord of light has journey'd down the sky,And bath'd his coursers in the foaming wave;
The twinkling star of Even too, hastes to lave
Her silver form, and vanish from my eye.
Now dusky twilight flings her sombre shade,
O'er the bright beauties of the silent vale;
The aspin trembles not, the verdant blade
No longer nodding answers to the gale.
Come sweet Reflection! hither pensive maid!
Direct thy wandering steps, and on this stone,
Worn by no traveller's feet, with moss o'ergrown,
Repose with me in solitude's deep shade.
Then shall I know the height of human bliss,
And taste the joy of other worlds in this.
Birtha.
May 25th, 1791.
| American poems, selected and original | |