 | The poetical works of Samuel Woodworth |  |
49
EVENING.
'Tis pleasant, when the world is still,
And evening's mantle shrouds the vale,
To hear the pensive whip-poor-will
Pour her deep notes along the dale;
While through the self-taught rustic's flute
Wild warblings wake upon the gale,
And from each thicket, marsh, and tree,
The cricket, frog, and Katy-dee,
With various notes assist the glee,
Nor once through all the night are mute.
And evening's mantle shrouds the vale,
To hear the pensive whip-poor-will
Pour her deep notes along the dale;
While through the self-taught rustic's flute
Wild warblings wake upon the gale,
And from each thicket, marsh, and tree,
The cricket, frog, and Katy-dee,
With various notes assist the glee,
Nor once through all the night are mute.
The streamlet murmurs o'er its bed,
The wanton zephyrs kiss its breast,
Bid the green bulrush bend its head,
And sigh through groves in verdure dressed;
While Cynthia, from her silver horn,
Throws magic shades o'er evening's vest;
Sheds smiles upon the brow of night,
Not dazzling, like day's shower of light,
But soft as dew, which mocks the sight
Till seen to sparkle on the thorn.
The wanton zephyrs kiss its breast,
Bid the green bulrush bend its head,
And sigh through groves in verdure dressed;
While Cynthia, from her silver horn,
Throws magic shades o'er evening's vest;
Sheds smiles upon the brow of night,
Not dazzling, like day's shower of light,
But soft as dew, which mocks the sight
Till seen to sparkle on the thorn.
| The poetical works of Samuel Woodworth | |