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 hides behind the hill,
Sinking from a golden sky:
Can the pencil's mimic skill
Copy the refulgent dye?
Trudging as the ploughmen go,
(To the smoking 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 varied tune,
Carols to the ev'ning loud,
Mark the mild resplendent moon,
Breaking thro' a parted cloud!
Now the hermit owlet 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 thro' the silken grass,
O'er the path-divided dale,
Mark the rose-complexion'd lass,
With her weil-pois'd milking pail.
Linnets with unnumber'd notes,
And the cuckoo bird with two,
Tuning sweet their mellow throats,
Bid the setting sun adieu.