Evening

O'er the heath the heifer strays Free;—(the furrow'd task is done) Now the village windows blaze, Burnish'd by the setting sun.

Now he sets behind the hill, Sinking from a golden sky: Can the pencil's mimic skill, Copy the refulgent dye?

Trudging as the plowmen go, (To the smoaking hamlet bound) Giant-like their shadows grow, Lengthen'd o'er the level ground.

Where the rising forest spreads, Shelter, for the lordly dome! To their high-built airy beds, See the rooks returning home!

As the Lark with vary'd tune, Carrols to the evening loud; Mark the mild resplendent moon, Breaking through a parted cloud!

Now the hermit Howlet peeps From the barn, or twisted brake; And the blue mist slowly creeps, Curling on the silver lake.

As the Trout in speckled pride, Playful from its bosom springs; To the banks, a ruffled tide Verges in successive rings.

Tripping through the silken grass, O'er the path-divided dale, Mark the rose-complexion'd lass With her well-pois'd milking pail.

Linnets with unnumber'd notes, And the Cuckow bird with two, Tuning sweet their mellow throats, Bid the setting sun adieu.