University of Virginia Library

EVENING.

Mild Evening, on whose dove-like, downy wing,
The wanton Zephyrs sport, and as they fling
Their soft refreshing dews o'er hill and dale,
Ten thousand sweets are wafted by the gale—
Thee I invoke, sweet, solemn virgin, thee,
To take thy silver lamp, and stray with me
To yonder hill, half hid beneath the wood,
Where I may listen to th' impetuous flood,
Which, rushing from the cliff's rude craggy side,
Softer and softer flows in sullen pride;
Till through the mead its bright meanders stray,
And its weak murmurs gently die away.
There, as my feet the flow'ry margin press,
Thou, Nymph, in thy most fascinating dress,
In azure robe ascend thy studded car,
And on thy forehead thy pale crescent bear:
Nor let light Folly, noisy, pert and rude,
Upon the peaceful solitude intrude;
But to my wish be some companion sent,
Who knows to make e'en silence eloquent;
Who feels thy charms expand the glowing heart,
And in few words, those feelings can impart;
In simplest language, be each thought exprest
In part, whilst looks of rapture speak the rest.
And whilst on contemplation's wing we rise
To range the wondrous concave of the skies,
Mark how the planetary systems roll,
And trace Creative Power from pole to pole;
Then may mild wisdom, from the lips I love,
Assist, direct, encourage, and improve
My weaker judgment; bid my soul aspire;
Teach me to comprehend, adore, admire;
Thus strewing flow'rs along life's dreary road,
We'd trace the path that leads us to our God.
Ah! whither, whither would my fancy stray?
Behold th' enchanting vision fleets away!
A lonely, dreary waste is all I see;
A lonely prospect but remains for me:
Yet here and there adorn'd with evergreen,
Some simple, fair, and fragrant flowers are seen.
Then let me not ungrateful pass them by,
Though they boast not the rich carnation's die;
Nor do their modest leaves or forms disclose
The grace and perfume of the blushing rose;
Yet e'en in these, the humble heart may find
And draw a balm to heal the wounded mind.