 | The Poetical Works of Laman Blanchard |  |
175
SUNSET.
The heavens are dyed with autumn, the dim Day,
Stretched on its purple death-bed, sinks away.
Silence and Even (seldom found apart)
Come forth, to strengthen yet subdue the heart.
But ere thus, missioned with intenser joys,
They veil the deep and lull the forest's noise;
Ere yet the truant winds have home returned,
To cool some leaf whose breast hath all day burned
Ere o'er the waters steal Night's misty feet,
And on the plains of heaven her children meet;
Nature a moment pauses—nothing heaves
As Time looks back upon the path he leaves.
A scarce felt flush is seen to live and die,
As if the Sun re-oped his heavy eye,
Then by some tending cloud was fanned to sleep,
And bathed his burning forehead in the deep.
Lo! ere he drops, how fast the vapours ride
To dip their feathers in his wealthy tide;
While some to hover round his head repair,
And wind their pallid fingers through his hair;
Some flap their wings of snow amid his breath,
And on his bosom drinks a golden death;
While others stretch their arms to make a path
Of gentle steps into his ocean-bath!
Stretched on its purple death-bed, sinks away.
Silence and Even (seldom found apart)
Come forth, to strengthen yet subdue the heart.
But ere thus, missioned with intenser joys,
They veil the deep and lull the forest's noise;
Ere yet the truant winds have home returned,
To cool some leaf whose breast hath all day burned
Ere o'er the waters steal Night's misty feet,
And on the plains of heaven her children meet;
Nature a moment pauses—nothing heaves
As Time looks back upon the path he leaves.
A scarce felt flush is seen to live and die,
As if the Sun re-oped his heavy eye,
Then by some tending cloud was fanned to sleep,
And bathed his burning forehead in the deep.
Lo! ere he drops, how fast the vapours ride
To dip their feathers in his wealthy tide;
While some to hover round his head repair,
And wind their pallid fingers through his hair;
Some flap their wings of snow amid his breath,
And on his bosom drinks a golden death;
176
Of gentle steps into his ocean-bath!
One swifter-footed star hath reached its throne,
Surveys the west, and rules the east alone;
To share that realm its radiant fellows fly,
Above the azure mountains of the sky—
There on the bluest summits take their stand,
To guard the monarch of that minstrel land,
And warn the night to draw around his rest
The last pale curtain of the purpling west.
All earth seems anchored on the sands of peace,
And life begins where sound and motion cease.
Charmed by the star-break all things stay their flight,
And the fond waters bid the sun ‘Good-night!’
Surveys the west, and rules the east alone;
To share that realm its radiant fellows fly,
Above the azure mountains of the sky—
There on the bluest summits take their stand,
To guard the monarch of that minstrel land,
And warn the night to draw around his rest
The last pale curtain of the purpling west.
All earth seems anchored on the sands of peace,
And life begins where sound and motion cease.
Charmed by the star-break all things stay their flight,
And the fond waters bid the sun ‘Good-night!’
| The Poetical Works of Laman Blanchard | |