  The lingering lustre of a vernal day From the dim landscape slowly steals away; One lovely hour!—and then the stars of Even Will sparkling hail the apparent Queen of Heaven; For the tired Sun, now softly sinking down, To his fair daughter leaves his silent throne. Almost could I believe with life embued, And hush'd in dreams, this gentle solitude. Look where I may, a tranquillizing soul Breathes forth a life-like pleasure o'er the whole. The shadows settling on the mountain's breast Recline, as conscious of the hour of rest; Stedfast as objects in a peaceful dream, The sleepy trees are bending o'er the stream; With sound like silence, motion like repose. My heart obeys the power of earth and sky, And 'mid the quiet slumbers quietly! A wreath of smoke, that feels no breath of air, Melts amid you fair clouds, itself as fair, And seems to link in beauteousness and love That earthly cottage to the domes above. There my heart rests,—as if by magic bound: Blessings be on that plat of orchard-ground! Wreathed round the dwelling like a fairy ring, Its green leaves lost in richest blossoming. Within that ring no creature seems alive; The bees have ceased to hum around the hive; On the tall ash the rooks have roosted long, And the fond dove hath coo'd his latest song; Now, shrouded close beneath the holly-bush, Sits on her low-built nest the sleeping thrush. All do not sleep: behold a spotless lamb Looks bleating round, as if it sought its dam. Its restless motion and its piteous moan Tell that it fears all night to rest alone, Though heaven's most gracious dew descends in peace Softly as snow-flakes on its radiant fleece. That mournful bleat hath touch'd the watchful ear Of one to whom the little lamb is dear, As innocent and lovely as itself! See where with springs she comes, the smiling elf! Well does the lamb her infant guardian know: Joy brightening dances o'er her breast of snow, And light as flying leaf, with sudden glide, Fondly she presses to the maiden's side. With kindness quieting its late alarms, The sweet child folds it in her nursing arms; And calling it by every gentle name That happy innocence through love can frame, With tenderest kisses lavish'd on its head, Conducts it frisking to its shelter'd bed. Kind hearted infant! be thy slumbers bland! Dream that thy sportive lambkin licks thy hand, Or, wearied out by races short and fleet, Basks in the sunshine, resting on thy feet; That waking from repose, unbroken, deep, Thou scarce shalt know that thou hast been asleep! With eye-lids trembling through thy golden hair, I hear thee lisping low thy nightly prayer. O sweetest voice! what beauty breathes therein! Ne'er hath its music been impaired by sin. In all its depths my soul shall carry hence The air serene born of thy innocence. To me most awful is thy hour of rest, For little children sleep in Jesus' breast! |
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