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Then coy, and veil'd, her parting vigil keeps,
Or bathes her forehead in the Ocean spray;
Then closely wrapt in twilights' mantle, sleeps,
Wakes at the call of morn, and as she rises, weeps.
Night changes too; tho' like a mourner clad,
In sable suit, she passes o'er the scene,
Her eye is dark, tho' not forever sad,
But sparkles when the mild, majestic queen
Moves from her palace with a step serene;
And o'er her robe a tinge of silver spreads,
And tipp'd with rays, her ebon wand is seen,
While her attendant stars decline their heads,
Wait for her sceptred nod, and tremble as she treads.
The graceful year in every garb appears,
First, sad and lonely, wrapt in chilling showers;
And then a bashful child with artless fears,
Next as a blooming maiden crown'd with flowers;
Now like a matron lulls the infant hours,
With softest tones, of sweet melodious chime,
Then weak and hoary with enfeebled powers,
And bent beneath the heavy hand of time,
And last with magic strange, renews her youthful prime.
Whether the circling year with glowing locks,
Or infant smiles, or weary step should rove,
