Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/243
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EVENTIDE.
225
I love when evening veils the sky,
And the moon shines with silver ray,
To cast a glance around,
And see ten thousand worlds of light
Shine, ever new, and ever bright,
O'er the vast vault profound.
And the moon shines with silver ray,
To cast a glance around,
And see ten thousand worlds of light
Shine, ever new, and ever bright,
O'er the vast vault profound.
I love to let wild fancy stray,
And walk the spangled milky way,
Up to the shining height,
Where thousand thousand burning rays,
Mingle in one eternal blaze,
And charm the ravished sight.
And walk the spangled milky way,
Up to the shining height,
Where thousand thousand burning rays,
Mingle in one eternal blaze,
And charm the ravished sight.
I love from thence to take my flight,
Far downward on the beams of light,
And reach my native plain,
Just as the flaming orb of day
Drives night, and mists, and shades away,
And cheers the world again.
Far downward on the beams of light,
And reach my native plain,
Just as the flaming orb of day
Drives night, and mists, and shades away,
And cheers the world again.
Eventide.
O sweet is Nature's quiet hour,
When twilight shadows peaceful fall
Around the scene, while soft repose
And hallowed thoughts are felt by all.
When twilight shadows peaceful fall
Around the scene, while soft repose
And hallowed thoughts are felt by all.
The busy din of work is stilled,
And wearied men their labours cease,
For pleasant thoughts of those at 'home,
Like twilight hours bring dreams of peace.
And wearied men their labours cease,
For pleasant thoughts of those at 'home,
Like twilight hours bring dreams of peace.
So from the outer world our home
Like twilight's peaceful calm should be,
For why should aught save sweet content
Our fireside circle ever see.
Like twilight's peaceful calm should be,
For why should aught save sweet content
Our fireside circle ever see.
When avaricious thoughts preclude
The better feelings of man's breast,
To kindly feelings he is dead,
And mammon ne'er will give him rest.
The better feelings of man's breast,
To kindly feelings he is dead,
And mammon ne'er will give him rest.
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