The Poetical Works of The Rev. Samuel Bishop :: :: University of Virginia Library

Two things there are, hard to be done.—
To tell what Twilight is,—is one.
And what's the other, think you?—What?
—Marry, to tell, what it is not.
'Tis so like Day, to call it Night,
Would hardly do one's conscience right:
'Tis so like Night, to call it Day,
Will scarce give common sense fair play:
Some genius of maturer growth,
May prove it either,—neither,—both!

Both?—Apropos!—part dull, part bright!
Too light, for dark; too dark, for light!—

206

—You must have met, in many a place,
The Twilights of the human race.
The style and character they bear,
Suits this description to an hair:
And since the Family's so ample,
Pray take a few, by way of sample.

The group, let Bubble Twilight head,
A Politician born and bred;
Ways, means, men, measures, to explore,
So keen,—no owl at midnight more:
All eyes, to watch an Empire's fall,—
Yet, when plain fact and reason call,
Too blind, alas! an inch to spy
Beyond the nose, knaves lead him by.

Full brother to our Politician,
Stands Bolus Twilight, Quack Physician.
Tho' ignorance oft, in shape of cloud,
His intellectual optics shroud;

207

Should Argus' self the grave forsake,
With all his eyes, and all awake,
Not Argus could more clearly see,
If not the case,—at least the fee.

Observe the country pulpit next,
Where Hum-drum Twilight splits a text:
He wakes himself; and that, you'll say,
Is some small sign he knows 'tis day;
But sure, his congregation round,
Suppose 'tis night, and night profound,
They sleep so comfortably sound!

Where'er wrong-headed strife begins,
And boobies go to law for pins,
Th' Attorney Capias Twilight plies:
To mark where cause of action lies,
No eagle has acuter eyes;
“Commence your suit then, honest friend!”
—Bravo!—Now ask him, when 'twill end?

208

The very question—blinds him quite:
No mole is half so short of sight.

Smoke Tristram Twilight, sour and sage!
Great moral-mender of the age!
Folly and vice, (and who but grants
Folly and vice are thriving plants?)
Public and private, still provide
Employment for his seeing side.—
—“His blind side?”—That he keeps alone
For vice and folly—of his own.

Ætatis anno fifty-three
The grave Priscilla Twilight see!
Virgin, and vixen!—Ne'er was face,
In which some flaw she could not trace;—
Save one:—one did uncensur'd pass:—
“And where was that found?”—In her glass.
She never could, and you may swear,
Will never find a wrinkle there!

209

Prophetic of unwelcome news,
Look where old Blister Twilight stews!
More quick to ken things dread and drear,
Than second-sighted Highland seer!
Stone blind meanwhile, to all he owes,
To every comfort Heaven bestows;
Each honest hope's enlivening flame;
Each social joy; each social claim.

Something between a scrub, and squire,
Ranks Stanza Twilight, Versifier.
Of him—but he's a brother chip;—
And, therefore, now, we'll let him slip:
Poets at Poets should not strike;
Perhaps you'd find us but too like;
Too justly class me with the tribe
Of purblind Twilights, I describe;
And make my own absurd attack,
The very rod for my own back.

210

Well! Sirs!—as fate and you think fit!
Twilight is some light, all admit;
And were I worst of Twilight Bards,
There's one sure trick upon the cards;—
I can't have wholly mist my mark.
—'Tis something to be not pitch Dark.