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And when the evening light decays
There is sweet music to his ear
In the distant sheep-bells sound.
But oh! of all delightful sounds
The sweetest is the voice of Love
WRITTEN WHILE SAILING IN A BOAT AT EVENING.
How richly glows the water's breast
The Boat her silent course pursues.
And see how dark the backward stream
Such views the youthful bard allure,
And let him nurse his fond deceit,
And what if he must die in sorrow!
Who would not cherish dreams so sweet
ON LEAVING SCHOOL.
DEAR native regions, I foretell,
My soul will cast the backward view,
A lingering light he fondly throws
On the dear hills where first he rose.
I'LL bid my hyacinth to blow,
The holly bower, and myrtle tree.
There, all his wild-wood scents to bring,
Delight my rustling canopy.
Come to my close and clustering bower,
Fresh with the dews of fruit and flower,
With all thy rural echoes come,
Sweet comrade of the rosy day, Wafting the wild bee's gentle hum, Or cuckoo's plaintive roundelay!
Where'er thy morning breath has play'd,
Come to my blossom-woven shade,
Thou wand'ring Wind of fairy land!
For sure from some enchanted isle,
Where Heav'n and Love their sabbath hold, Where pure and happy spirits smile,
Of beauty's fairest, brightest mould;
From some green Eden of the deep,
From some sweet Paradise afar,
Oh! gentle gale of Eden bowers,
In nature's more propitious home
Name to thy lov'd Elysian groves,
PART II. T. Campbell..
GEM of the crimson-colour'd even,
Companion of retiring day,
Why at the closing gates of heaven,,
Beloved star, dost thou delay?
So fair thy pensile beauty burns,
To chambers brighter than the rose;
To peace, to pleasure, and to love,
Descends and burns to meet with thee.
Thine is the breathing, blushing hour,
Oh! sacred to the fall of day,
And early rise, and long delay,
Shine on her chosen green resort,
Where trees the sunward summit crown; And wanton flowers, that well may court An angel's feet to tread them down.
Shine on her sweetly-scented road,
And guid'st the pilgrim to his home.