06.06.2008, 08:52
On the Evening
Slow sinks the glimmering beam from western sky;
The woods and hills, obscured by Evening gray,
Vanish from mortal sigh, and fade away.
Now with the flocks and yearlings let me hie
To farm, or cottage lone, where, perch'd hard by,
On mossy pale the redbreast tunes his lay,
Soft twittering, and bids farewell to day;
Then, whilst the watchdog barks, and ploughmen lie,
Lull'd by the rocking winds, let me unfold
Whate'er in rhapsody, or strain most holy,
The hoary minstrel sang in times of old;
For well I ween, from them the Nine inspire
Wisdom shall flow, and Virtue's sacred fire,
And Peace, and Love, and heavenly Melancholy.
Slow sinks the glimmering beam from western sky;
The woods and hills, obscured by Evening gray,
Vanish from mortal sigh, and fade away.
Now with the flocks and yearlings let me hie
To farm, or cottage lone, where, perch'd hard by,
On mossy pale the redbreast tunes his lay,
Soft twittering, and bids farewell to day;
Then, whilst the watchdog barks, and ploughmen lie,
Lull'd by the rocking winds, let me unfold
Whate'er in rhapsody, or strain most holy,
The hoary minstrel sang in times of old;
For well I ween, from them the Nine inspire
Wisdom shall flow, and Virtue's sacred fire,
And Peace, and Love, and heavenly Melancholy.