Elegy III. Evening

The broad sun verging on the close of day, A fuller red beams o'er th' etherial plain, The streaky clouds attend his last bright ray, And silver Vesper leads his starry train.

Dim fades each lovely variegated scene, That swell'd to extasy the visual soul, As mist-clad Evening treads the breezy green, And wakes the buzzing bat and mopeing owl.

O'er Vegetation's numerous tribes she pours The dews refreshing, as their sweets exhale; While from the odorous shrubs and breathing flowers A balmy fragrance swells the pregnant gale.

Now labour rests, and to the sons of toil Sweet relaxation gives the vacant hour, While ease, or sports, or social scenes beguile, As fancy prompts, mankind's directive power.

By courage fir'd to many a hardy game, To the throng'd ring the village youths repair, Where young ambition pants for generous fame, And victory's wreath oft wins the scornful fair,

Or with the bright maid join'd, whose mutual glance Holds in love's silken bonds the feeling heart, On the gay green they tread the mazy dance, Whilst sweet-tongued Phoebe plays the minstrel's part.

The sons of genius, forc'd by heat extreme, Waste in the cooling shade the tedious day, Now setting Phoebus pours the milder gleam Thro' the thrush-haunted copse, or upland stray.

Where, to chant forth their evening hymn of praise, Full frequent perch'd on many a verdant spray, Their warblings wild the feather'd songsters raise, By far more sweet than art's most labour'd lay.

Whilst blithsome milkmaids in the neighbouring mead, The rural ditty tune in cheerful strain, The weary woodman seeks his lowly shed, And thoughtless plow-boy whistles o'er the plain.

How sweet the pleasure at mild evening's hour When gentle breezes fan the sultry air, To seek Reflection in her lonely bower, Or drown in generous wine intruding care.

Or where meandring Isis' waters stray, And woo with many a kiss Oxonia's plain, In sharp-prow'd boat to cut the liquid way, And at the bending oar with pleasure strain.

And see how generous emulation fires The youths that in the neighbouring wherry ride, While hope of victory this and that inspires, Tho' equal skill and strength retains them side by side.

But now some deep-struck oar the weeds detain, The rivals shoot with rapid speed a-head, Success strings every nerve, warms every vein, While gloomy grief is o'er the vanquish'd spread.

Just emblem this of man's uncertain state! For when long plodding some ambitious scheme, Ready to reach the top, some shaft of fate Arrests him vainly wise, and ends his pleasing dream.