Page 198.

Her steps are in the whispered sound
That steals along the stilly ground.
Oh, dawn of day, in rosy bower,
What art thou to this witching hour!
Oh, noon of day in sunshine bright,
What art thou to this fall of night!

JOANNA BAILLIE

EVENING.

SOME, 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 employed 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 adorned, 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.

EVENING.

LL round was still and calm; the noon of night Was fast approaching; up the unclouded sky The glorious moon pursued her path of light, And shed her silvery splendour far and nigh:

No sound save of the night-wind's gentlest sigh
Could reach the ear; and that so softly blew,
It scarcely stirred, in sweeping lightly by,
The acacia's airy foliage; faintly too

It kissed the jasmine's stars which just below me grew.

Before me, scattered here and there, some trees,
Whose massy outline of reposing shade,

Ran broken by that faint and fitful breeze,
With the clear sky a lovely contrast made:
'Twas Nature in her chastest charms arrayed!
How could I then abruptly leave such scene?
I could not: for the beauties it displayed
To me were dearer than the dazzling sheen
Of noon's refulgent hour, or Morning's sparkling mien.

BARTON.

EVENING.

HE hours have danced their joyous round
Adorned in flowers of May;

Till each in turn, with mercy crowned,

Has come and passed away.

The constant sun has run his race

Athwart the boundless deep;
And ne'er amid that trackless space
Has failed his path to keep.

The earth has drank the morning dew,

And fed her flowery train;

The flowers have spread their charms to view,
And decked the earth again.

Now Evening's lengthened shadows spread

To curtain them around,

And each reclines her modest head,

In gentle slumbers bound.

Beasts, strong to labour, o'er the lea
Have drawn the cumberous plough;
And feed in pastures, glad and free,
Their toil accomplished now.

Laborious man fulfils his task,
And seeks repose; but I—
Is mine accomplished?—let me ask-
And conscience shall reply.

Birds, beasts, and trees, unmoved by choice,

Have each improved the day,

Obedient still to nature's voice:-
But whose did I obey?

Were Christ's commands before my sight

In all I thought and spoke?
And have I borne his burden light,

And worn his easy yoke?

Has pride or wrath disturbed my breast,
Or wishes wild and vain?

Has sinful sloth my powers possessed

And bound them in its chain?

Has not my resolution failed?

Lord, search, for thou didst see; And has not base self-love prevailed Instead of love to thee?

Did I this day, for small or great,
My own pursuits forego,
To lighten by a feather's weight

The mass of human woe?

'Mid cares and hopes and pleasures mean,

With eager fondness sought,

Oh, has one glance at things unseen

Sublimed my earthly thought?