University of Virginia Library

REFLECTIONS AT THE SETTING SUN.

While the mild air is fann'd by cooling breeze,
And whisp'ring murmurs of departing day
Melodious sound on mine attentive ear,
O! let me range to silent meadow green,
Aud there, under some shady beech reclin'd,
In contemplation view the setting sun.
Mark! the ruddy streak from light-drooping cloud,
That beams so bright with alternate flick'rings;
What mingl'd hues, of varied colours soft,
'Twixt burnish'd lustre of silv'ry whiteness,
Shine around the golden rays of Phœbus!
Each lofty mountain of towering height,
That through the day, has felt the sultry heat
Of burning sun, now humid coolness feels.
Creation seems refresh'd with evening shade.
The nodding trees, that spread their foliage green,
The sweet flowers, which scent with genial odour,
The rural music of the rustling leaves,
In lovely charms, bedeck the beauteous scene:
While, from the brow of yon dusky hill,
The Shepherd loit'ring comes, with toil fatigu'd;
His fleecy care around him plaintive bleat,
As homeward to close penn'd up folds they go.—
And here, while misty evening closes on,
And Nature seems her graces to unfold,
Wrapp'd in busy thought, to man congenial,
I'll calmly pass the hour, from cares repos'd.—
How Fancy's visions float my dizzy brain,
And paint before me scenes for ever gone!
Oh! childhood's happy time! blest stage of life,
Season of guileless pleasures unalloy'd,
Now do I see thee, with keen Mem'ry's eye,
In innocence and loveliness complete.
Each fleeting joy, of past infantine years,
Appears display'd to my rapturous view:
When young Ambition bloom'd, unblighted, gay,
Inexperienc'd led, to smile at prospect;
When vernal flowers bestrew'd the fleeting hour,
Nor Fortune's sullen blast reversive, swept
Away those rich scenes of captivation sweet.
That period gone—what alterations dire!
What chasms deep, have ope'd their yawning jaws,
To engorge within their hapless victim!
Friends once belov'd, who lock'd in dear embrace,
The choice companions of their early years,
Sleep now beneath the silent grave repos'd.
Where are those arms of parental fondness,
That so oft have clasp'd, 'mid throbs ecstatic,
With all the ardour of Love's pure spirit,
The happy child to Affection's bosom?
Devour'd, perchance, by cold and clammy Death,
Bloodless and stiff become, they cank'ring lie.
Say, fell Death, what dread havock thou hast made,
Raging in gory, red-stain'd butcheries?
What cheeks hast thou with scalding tears bedew'd?
What bursting heart, hast thou with inward throes
To madness riv'd, by agonies of grief?
But still, O Pleasure! rich gifts have show'r'd down,
Replete, diffusive, from thy bounteous hand.
Unnumber'd happy hours have flitted by,
Basking in the sunshine of tranquil ease.
When home was seen, with bland endearing ties,
To weave its fragile web of mystic joys.
Yes, those indeed were gifts, how richly fraught!
Earth was deem'd unworthy to retain them.
Yet Life, with all its bitter sweeten'd cares,
That weeps o'er such lachrymous distractions,
Keeps Hope, to suck the poison from the grief.—
But, hark! the dull peals of some tolling bell,
Ring through the thick air, low sounds lugubrous,
And bid me leave this calm and peaceful spot.—
Thy wond'rous ways, O Providence! to man,
How veil'd in mystery inscrutable!
With mercy temper'd is thy ev'ry act:
And whene'er in great wisdom thou ordain'st
That dire Misfortune's sting should mar our bliss,
Then grant, that each may with submission bow
To thy all-wise, supreme, and high decree.
And since thou alone perfect good canst know,
Make us, through each devious track of life,
Reclining on thy arm, with God-head nerv'd,
In mild obedience meet th' appointed doom.