  TO EVENING. BY THE SAME. I. Hail meek-ey'd Maiden, clad in sober grey, Whose soft approach the weary wood-man loves; As homeward bent to kiss his prattling babes, Jocund he whistles through the twilight groves. II. When PhÆbus sinks behind the gilded hills; You lightly o'er the misty meadows walk; The drooping daisies bathe in dulcet dews, And nurse the nodding violet's tender stalk. III. The panting Dryads, that in day's fierce heat To inmost bow'rs, and cooling caverns ran; Return to trip in wanton ev'ning dance, Old Sylvan too returns, and laughing Pan. IV. To the deep wood the clamorous rooks repair, Light skims the swallow o'er the watry scene; And from the sheep-cote, and fresh furrow'd-field, Stout ploughmen meet to wrestle on the green. V. The swain, that artless sings on yonder rock, His supping sheep, and lengthening shadow spies; Pleas'd with the cool the calm refreshful hour, And with hoarse humming of unnumber'd flies. VI. Now ev'ry Passion sleeps: desponding Love, And pining Envy, ever-restless Pride; An holy Calm creeps o'er my peaceful soul, Anger and mad Ambition's storms subside. VII. O modest EVENING! oft let me appear A wandering votary in thy pensive train; Listening to every wildly-warbling note, That fills with farewel sweet thy darkening plain. |
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