 | Poems |  |
80
The Hour.
I
There is a sweet and solemn hour,And calmly soothing is its power,
To smile away grief's gloomy low'r,
'tis then I rove;
It follows last the revel train,
That frolics round Time's rapid wain,
this hour I love!
II
Then western clouds but faintly blush,And sad, yet sweetly sings the thrush,
The faint breeze bends the stream-lov'd rush;
while many a ray
From the night's silver-hooded queen,
Sipping the ambient wave is seen,
'tis then I stray.
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III
Then the last gleam of fading light,Streams on the turret's mould'ring height,
With ivy green and moss bedight;
perhaps an home
To some pale victim of despair,
Who from the world finds shelter there,
'tis then I roam!
IV
Then wearied village hinds retire,And pausing Labour trims the fire,
And lisping infants hail their sire,
than whom none fonder,
Then the fond maid the meeting gives,
To him for whom alone she lives,
and then I wander!
V
'Tis the first witching hour of night,When dapper elf and fairy sprite,
Dance by the glow-worm's trembling light,
in field or grove;
When Oberon and his dwarfish queen,
Glide o'er the evening's dew-deck'd green,
'tis then I rove.
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VI
Then hope on eagle pinion flies,And mem'ry's faded visions rise,
Of past delights, to cheer mine eyes,
delights long dead!
Each hour unting'd by care or strife,
Each frolic scene of early life,
for ever fled!
VII
Then round my heart illusions gay,With dreams of sweet enchantment play,
In fancy my affections stray,
and eager rove;
To catch a look, bask in the sight,
Or on the bosoms fondly light,
of those I love.
VIII
For since, by fate divided, IFrom those in whom I live must fly,
And still for them heave many a sigh,
and drop a tear;
In dreams alone with them I dwell,
But waking love them, can I tell,
ah! no, how dear?
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IX
Day cannot claim this charming hour,Nor night subdue it to its power,
Nor beamy smiles nor gloomy low'r,
does it display;
But blandly soothing, sweetly wild,
Soft, silent, stilly, fragrant, mild,
it steals away!
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