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The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson

... for the first time fully collected and compared with the original and early editions ... edited ... by the Rev. Alexander B. Grosart ... with portrait, illustrations, &c

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EVENING.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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EVENING.

—AN ODE.

Now day departing in the West,
With gaudy splendor lures the eye;
The sun, declining, sinks to rest,
And Evening overshades the sky.

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And is the green extended lawn,
The waving grove, the flow'ry mead,
The charms of hill and dale withdrawn,
And all their blooming beauties hid?
They are—but lift aloft thine eye,
Where all these sparkling glories roll;
Those mighty wonders of the sky,
That glad and elevate the soul.
Day's undisguis'd effulgent blaze
Adorns the mead, or mountain blue;
But night amid her train, displays
Whole worlds revolving to the view.
Lone Contemplation, musing deep,
This vast, stupendous vault explores,
These rolling orbs, the roads they keep;
And Night's great Architect adores.
Nor mourns the absent glare of day,
The glitt'ring mead, or warbler's song;
For what are birds, or meadows gay,
To all that dazzling, starry throng.
So when the saint's calm eve draws nigh,
With joy the voice of Death he hears;
Heav'n opes upon his wond'ring eye,
And Earth's poor vision disappears.