THE EVENING SPIRIT.
When the pale moon is shining bright,
And nought disturbs the gloom of night,
'Tis then upon yon level green,
From which St. Clair's dark heights are seen,
The Evening Spirit glides along,
And chants her melancholy song;
Or leans upon a snowy cloud,
And its white skirts her figure shroud.
By zephyrs light she's wafted far,
And contemplates the northern star,
Or gazes from her silvery throne,
On that pale queen, the silent moon.
And nought disturbs the gloom of night,
'Tis then upon yon level green,
From which St. Clair's dark heights are seen,
The Evening Spirit glides along,
And chants her melancholy song;
Or leans upon a snowy cloud,
And its white skirts her figure shroud.
By zephyrs light she's wafted far,
And contemplates the northern star,
Or gazes from her silvery throne,
On that pale queen, the silent moon.
Who is the Evening Spirit fair,
That hovers o'er thy walls, St. Clair?
Who is it, that with footstep light,
Breathes the calm silence of the night?
Ask the light zephyr who conveys
Her fairy figure o'er the waves;
Ask yon bright fleecy cloud of night,
Ask yon pale planet's silver light,
Why does the Evening Spirit fair
Sail o'er the walls of dark St. Clair?
That hovers o'er thy walls, St. Clair?
Who is it, that with footstep light,
Breathes the calm silence of the night?
Ask the light zephyr who conveys
Her fairy figure o'er the waves;
Ask yon bright fleecy cloud of night,
Ask yon pale planet's silver light,
Why does the Evening Spirit fair
Sail o'er the walls of dark St. Clair?