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Ebening.

I.

COME, Evening, once again, season of peace;
Return, sweet Evening, and continue long!
Methinks I see thee in the streaky west,
With matron step slow moving, while the Night
Treads on thy sweeping train; one hand employ'd
In letting fall the curtain of repose

On bird and beast, the other charged for man
With sweet oblivion of the cares of day:
Not sumptuously adorn'd, nor needing aid,
Like homely-featured Night, of clustering gems;
A star or two, just twinkling on thy brow,
Suffices thee; save that the moon is thine,
No less than hers, not worn indeed on high
With ostentatious pageantry, but set
With modest grandeur in thy purple zone,
Resplendent less, but of an ampler round.

COWPER.

II.

WHEN eve is purpling cliff and cave,
Thoughts of the heart, how soft ye flow!
Not softer on the western wave

The golden lines of sunset glow.

Then all by chance or fate removed,
Like spirits, crowd upon the eye;
The few we liked, the one we loved,
And the whole heart is memory:

And life is like a fading flower,
Its beauty dying as we gaze;
Yet as the shadows round us lower,
Heaven pours above a brighter blaze.

CROLY.

III.

THE sun is set; the swallows are asleep,
The bats are flitting fast in the gray air;
The slow soft toads out of damp corners creep;
And evening's breath, wandering here and there
Over the quivering surface of the stream,
Wakes not one ripple from its summer dream.

There are no dews on the dry grass to-night,
Nor damp within the shadow of the trees;
The wind is intermitting, dry, and light;

And in the inconstant motion of the breeze
The dust and straws are driven up and down,
And whirl'd about the pavement of the town.

The chasm in which the sun has sunk, is shut
By darkest barriers of enormous cloud,
Like mountain over mountain huddled-but
Growing and moving upwards in a crowd,
And over it a space of watery blue,

Which the keen evening star is shining through.
SHELLEY.

The Ebening Hour.

SWEET Evening hour! sweet Evening hour!
That calms the air and shuts the flower;
That brings the wild-bee to its nest-
The infant to its mother's breast.

Sweet hour! that bids the labourer cease,

That gives the weary team release,

And leads them home, and crowns them there
With rest and shelter, food and care.

O season of soft sounds and hues,
Of twilight walks among the dews;
Of feelings calm and converse sweet,
And thoughts too shadowy to repeat!

Yes, lovely hour! thou art the time
When feelings flow and wishes climb;
When timid souls begin to dare,

And God receives and answers prayer.

Then, trembling, through the dewy skies,
Look out the stars, like thoughtful eyes
Of angels, calm reclining there,
And gazing on the world of care.

Sweet hour! for heavenly musing made,
When Isaac walk'd and David pray'd;
When Abraham's offering God did own,
And Jesus loved to be alone.

The Evening Sky.

ANON.

O EVENING grey! how oft have I admired
Thy airy tapestry, whose radiance fired
The glowing minstrels of the olden time,
Until their very souls flow'd forth in rhyme!
And I have listen'd till my spirit grew
Familiar with their deathless strains, and drew
From the same source some portion of the glow
Which fill'd their spirits, when from earth below
They scann'd thy golden imagery. And I
Have consecrated thee, bright Evening Sky,
My fount of inspiration: and I fling
My spirit on thy clouds-an offering
To the great deity of dying day,

Who hath transfused o'er thee his purple ray.

The Ebening Cloud.

JOHN BETHUNE.

A CLOUD lay cradled near the setting sun,
A gleam of crimson tinged its braided snow:
Long had I watch'd the glory moving on
O'er the still radiance of the lake below.
Tranquil its spirit seem'd, and floated slow!
Even in its very motion there was rest:

While every breath of wind that chanced to blow Wafted the traveller to the beauteous west.

Emblem, methought, of the departed soul,

To whose white robe the gleam of bliss is given; And by the breath of mercy made to roll Right onwards to the golden gates of heaven, Where, to the eye of faith, it peaceful lies, And tells to man his glorious destinies.

WILSON.

G

Moonrise.

SOON will the moon and all her stars be here;
A smiling light proclaims her o'er yon hill;
Slowly she raises up her radiant sphere,

And stillness at her smile becomes more still.
My heart forgets all thought of human ill,
And man seems happy as his place of birth;

All things that yield him joy my spirit fill With kindred joy! and even his humblest mirth Seems at this peaceful hour to beautify the earth. WILSON.

The Maning Moon.

-AND like a dying lady, lean and pale,
Who totters forth, wrapt in a gaudy veil,
Out of her chamber, led by the insane
And feeble wanderings of her faded brain,
The moon arose upon the murky earth,
A white and shapeless mass.

To the Moon.

SHELLEY.

O MOON! old boughs lisp forth a holier din
The while they feel thine airy fellowship.
Thou dost bless everywhere, with silver lip
Kissing dead things to life. The sleeping kine,
Couch'd in thy brightness, dream of fields divine:
Innumerable mountains rise, and rise
Ambitious for the hallowing of thine eyes;
And yet thy benediction passeth not
One obscure hiding-place, one little spot
Where pleasure may be sent: the nested wren
Has thy fair face within its tranquil ken,
And from beneath a sheltering ivy leaf
Takes glimpses of thee; thou art a relief
To the poor patient oyster, where it sleeps
Within its pearly house :-The mighty deeps,
The monstrous sea, is thine-the myriad sea!
O Moon! far spooming Ocean bows to thee,
And Tellus feels her forehead's cumbrous load.

KEATS.

How beautiful the Queen of Night.

How beautiful the Queen of Night, on high
Her way pursuing among scatter'd clouds,
Where, ever and anon, her head she shrouds,
Hidden from view in dense obscurity.
But look, and to the watchful eye

A bright'ning edge will indicate, that soon
We shall behold the struggling moon

Break forth-again to walk the clear blue sky.
WORDSWORTH.

A Night Piece.

THE sky is overcast

With a continuous cloud of texture, close,
Heavy, and wan, all whiten'd by the Moon,
Which through that veil is indistinctly seen,
A dull, contracted circle, yielding light
So feebly spread, that not a shadow falls,
Chequering the ground-from rock, plant, tree, or

tower.

At length a pleasant, instantaneous gleam
Startles the pensive traveller while he treads
His lonesome path, with unobserving eye

Bent earth wards. He looks up-the clouds are split
Asunder, and above his head he sees

The clear Moon, and the glory of the heavens;
There, in a black-blue vault, she sails along,
Follow'd by multitudes of stars, that, small,
And sharp, and bright, along the dark abyss
Drive as she drives: how fast they wheel away,
Yet vanish not !-The wind is in the tree,
But they are silent ;-still they roll along
Immeasurably distant; and the vault,

Built round by those white clouds-enormous clouds,
Still deepens its unfathomable depth.
At length the vision closes; and the mind,
Not undisturb'd by the delight it feels,
Which slowly settles into peaceful calm,
Is left to muse upon the solemn scene.

WORDSWORTH.

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