Beneath the golden gloamin' sky The redbreast pours his sweetest strains The simple joys that nature yields ROBERT TANNAHILL. DAY IS DYING. FROM "THE SPANISH GYPSY." DAY is dying! Float, O song, Pierced by shafts of Time he bleeds, All the long-drawn earthy banks THE EVENING WIND. SPIRIT that breathest through my lattice: thou That cool'st the twilight of the sultry day! Gratefully flows thy freshness round my brow; Thou hast been out upon the deep at play, Riding all day the wild blue waves till now, Roughening their crests, and scattering high their spray, And swelling the white sail. I welcome thee Nor I alone, - a thousand bosoms round Lies the vast inland, stretched beyond the sight. Go forth into the gathering shade; go forth, God's blessing breathed upon the fainting earth! Go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest; Curl the still waters, bright with stars; and rouse The wide old wood from his majestic rest, Summoning, from the innumerable boughs, The strange deep harmonies that haunt his breast. Pleasant shall be thy way where meekly bows The shutting flower, and darkling waters pass, And where the o'ershadowing branches sweep the grass. Stoop o'er the place of graves, and softly sway The sighing herbage by the gleaming stone, That they who near the churchyard willows stray, And listen in the deepening gloom, alone, May think of gentle souls that passed away, Like thy pure breath, into the vast unknown, Sent forth from heaven among the sons of men, And gone into the boundless heaven again. The faint old man shall lean his silver head To feel thee; thou shalt kiss the child asleep, And dry the moistened curls that overspread His temples, while his breathing grows more deep; O sunset sky! O purple tide! O friends to friends that closer pressed! Those glories have in darkness died, And ye have left my longing breast. I could not keep you by my side, Nor fix that radiance in the west. WILLIAM BELCHER GLAZIER. SUNSET. FROM "QUEEN MAB." IF solitude hath ever led thy steps Of purple gold that motionless Hung o'er the sinking sphere: Thou must have marked the billowy clouds, Edged with intolerable radiancy, Towering like rocks of jet Crowned with a diamond wreath. Peeps like a star o'er ocean's western edge, Like islands on a dark-blue sea; Then has thy fancy soared above the earth, Within the Fairy's fane. Yet not the golden islands Gleaming in yon flood of light, Nor the feathery curtains Stretching o'er the sun's bright couch, Paving that gorgeous dome, So fair, so wonderful a sight As Mab's ethereal palace could afford. Whilst suns their mingling beamings darted NIGHTFALL: A PICTURE. Low burns the summer afternoon; FROM "PARADISE LOST," BOOK IV. Now came still evening on, and twilight gray Had in her sober livery all things clad; Silence accompanied; for beast and bird, They to their grassy couch, these to their nests, Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale ; She all night long her amorous descant sung. Silence was pleased: now glowed the firmament With living sapphires; Hesperus, that led The starry host, rode brightest, till the moon, Rising in clouded majesty, at length Apparent queen, unveiled her peerless light, And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw. EVENING. FROM "DON JUAN. MILTON. AVE Maria! o'er the earth and sea, Ave Maria! blessèd be the hour, The time, the clime, the spot, where I so oft Have felt that moment in its fullest power Sink o'er the earth so beautiful and soft, The shrill cicalas, people of the pine, TO DELIA. CARE-CHARMER Sleep, son of the sable Night, SAMUEL DANIEL. THE CAMP AT NIGHT. FROM "THE ILIAD," BOOK VIII. THE winds transferred into the friendly sky Their supper's savor; to the which they sat delightfully, And spent all night in open field; fires round about them shined. As when about the silver moon, when air is free from wind, And stars shine clear, to whose sweet beams, Making their summer lives one ceaseless song, Were the sole echoes, save my steed's and Of all steep hills and pinnacles, thrust up themhigh prospects, and the brows mine, selves for shows, Sleep will come when thou art fled; Swift be thine approaching flight, Come soon, soon! PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. NIGHT. FROM "CHILDE HAROLD,' CANTO II. 'Tis night, when Meditation bids us feel MYSTERIOUS Night! when our first parent knew Within thy beams, O Sun! or who could find, Who with the weight of years would wish to If light can thus deceive, wherefore not life? bend, When Youth itself survives young Love and joy? Alas! when mingling souls forget to blend, Thus bending o'er the vessel's laving side, JOSEPH BLANCO WHITE. NIGHT. FROM "QUEEN MAB." How beautiful this night! the balmiest sigh Studded with stars unutterably bright, Seems like a canopy which love has spread |