An Evening Elegy

Welcome thou sober evening, calm and grey, Now Phoebus' rage, and every blast is laid, Now fost'ring clews descend, and turb'lent day Retires beneath the halcyon wing of shade.

Now lucid Venus, grac'd with beamy hair, To dance nocturnal tempts the starry train, Commanding toil to cease, and anxious care From vexing mortal bosoms to refrain.

Yet will not Avarice, cursed fiend! forbear To break wise Nature's best-appointed law, She pensive-plodding sits, with downcast air Refusing rest, her fraudful plan to draw.

Pursuing which, nor Themis' righteous lore, Nor precious relatives blood-binding tie, Nor all that heaven for virtue has in store Can draw aside her Mammon-fixed eye:

O'er rocks and seas unheeded bounds she flies, Explores the cold extreme of either Pole, Dares the fierce heats of equinoctial skies, Nor slacks her race, till Death's unwelcome goal.

Far from my breast, kind heaven, such lust remove, At every grateful, tranquil eve's return, Let me, while doubtful Cynthia cheers the grove, With naught but love, or pious ardor burn.

And as along some placid stream I range, Viewing the wild flowers close their gaudy bloom, Or birds the free expanse of ether change, To seek the shady covert's inmost gloom,

Ah! let me tread with cautious step and slow, Where thick-set hawthorns shed their odours wide, Where intermingled roses sweetly blow, And rambling woodbines cling on every side;

Perchance, within the fragrant thicket hid, Some tuneful warbler rests his wearied throat, Who, ere the sun beneath th' horizon slid, Had sooth'd my bosom with his dulcet note:

Perchance, close-perch'd aside his brooding mate, With bill to bill inclin'd, in silent joy, He cheers her lonely hours, and watchful state, And cares lest aught should her repose destroy.

Sweet harmonists! your tender vigils keep Secure for me, I will not do ye wrong, The rustling boughs my garments shall not sweep, And ye shall pay me with your future song.

But hark! what voice the sacred stillness breaks? Softer than silence are those melting strains, Or lover's sighs, when pleading Nature speaks; 'Tis sadly-pleasing Philomel complains.

Long let me drink the magic of thy lay, Nor humming chafers baulk my thirsty ear, The time insensibly shall wear away, Till night approach, and every star appear:

Then as my lagging feet I homewards draw, My passions all in heavenly concord bound, The solemn scene shall fill my soul with awe, And God Omnipotent my tongue resound.

Methinks, when clad in beaming glories mild, Full and majestic shines the queen of night, Around her throne innumerous squadrons fil'd Of hosts celestial, ministers of light,

It should remind us of that holy hour, When heaven and earth's all-gracious Judge shall come, In the full splendor of his Father's power, With guard seraphic, to pronounce our doom.

May I, when life's short day begins to close, The star of age pale-glimmering o'er my head, Unvex'd by troublous blast my mind compose, Nor fortune's frowns, nor sacred vengeance dread:

From every anxious busy scene retir'd, Let me the world's mad tumult view from far, Smile at what erst each raging passion fir'd, Nor deem short pleasure worth unceasing care.

Within some humbly-decent rural shed, There let my sun of life in radiance set, Thro' smiling hope, when Death's black night is sled, A course more glorious shall its orient wait.