 | Poems |  |
10
SUNSET.
O'er Shechem's vale, the fading day
Steals, calmly lingering, away;
On either hand the mountains rise,
Clothed richly soft with varied dyes;
Not cragged and cold—and bleak and gray,
But gently curved, with flowers gay.
And where they open, widely sweeping,
The western sky all golden shewing,
Is seen the broad sun, brightly glowing,
And crimson streaks around him sleeping,
Crossed by a distant scattered group
Of palm trees that desponding droop,
As if in lowly meekness bending,
Before their God, the Sun descending!
Steals, calmly lingering, away;
On either hand the mountains rise,
Clothed richly soft with varied dyes;
Not cragged and cold—and bleak and gray,
But gently curved, with flowers gay.
And where they open, widely sweeping,
The western sky all golden shewing,
Is seen the broad sun, brightly glowing,
And crimson streaks around him sleeping,
Crossed by a distant scattered group
Of palm trees that desponding droop,
As if in lowly meekness bending,
Before their God, the Sun descending!
And warmly flow those sunbeams bright,
Fill the hushed vale with hallowed light,
And gleam o'er groves whose lengthening shadows
In stillness rest on greenest meadows—
Groves richly filled with jasmine fair
That sweetly scents the evening air—
And skirted by a gay profusion
Of fruit and flower in wild confusion,
And many a tree in blossom now
Whose fruit still blushes on the bough.
Fill the hushed vale with hallowed light,
And gleam o'er groves whose lengthening shadows
In stillness rest on greenest meadows—
Groves richly filled with jasmine fair
That sweetly scents the evening air—
And skirted by a gay profusion
Of fruit and flower in wild confusion,
And many a tree in blossom now
Whose fruit still blushes on the bough.
11
The bee hums on to the mountain side,
His gathered honey there to hide;
The warbling of the nestling bird
Within the trees is faintly heard;
All is so still, and sweet, and fair,
That every sense might revel there!
His gathered honey there to hide;
The warbling of the nestling bird
Within the trees is faintly heard;
All is so still, and sweet, and fair,
That every sense might revel there!
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