University of Virginia Library

SONNET.—TO EVE.

September 10, 1800.
Queen of the balmy Peace, that soothes my breast,
As oft I linger in thy dewy reign;
Whose gentle sighs lull Nature into rest,
Whose sober shadows mellow o'er the plain.
How sweet to wander thro' the dusky vale,
When Philomela weeps her bleeding woes;
When plaintive murmurings thro' the grove prevail,
And purling runnels bubble to repose!
Tis then the influence of thy placid wand
Steals into solemn thought my pensive mind;
I bow enraptur'd to thy soft'ning hand;
And oft on yon old moss-grown bank reclin'd,
List to the breeze that whispers thy command,
While Fancy sighs each echo from behind!