toveliest of the meteor-train,
Girdle of the summer-rain,
Tinger of the dews of air,
Glowing vision fleet as fair,
While the evening shower retires
Kindle thy unhurting fires,
And among the meadows near
Thy refulgent pillar rear;
Or amid the dark-blue cloud
High thine orbed glories shroud,
Or the moistened hills between
Bent in mighty arch be seen,
Thro' whose sparkling portals wide
Fiends of stormr and darkness ride..

Like Chearfulness thou art wont to gaze
Always on the brightest blaze,
Canst from setting suns deduce
Varied gleams and sprightly hues;
And on louring gloom imprint
Smiling streaks of gayest tint:


Friend of the pensive wanderer, Twilight, hail !
I joy to see thee roll thy sea of clouds

Athwart the crimson throne
Of the departing sun.

For then what various objects, dimly seen,
By wonder-working Fancy touch'd, acquire

An awe-inspiring air,
And urge Fear's hurried step.

Lo! thing attendant, the low-sailing bat.
Flaps his brown wing, beging his circling flight;

E'en Midnight's tuneful bird,
To hail thee, pours: her strain.

I love thy simple garb; no brilliant stars
Adorn thy dusky vest, unlike to that

Worn by thy sister Night,
Save when she reigna in storme.

Nor canst thou boast the many-tinted robo
Worn by thy beauteous herald, dowy. Eve,

Thine is a veil of grey,
Meet for the cloister'd maid.

Thou ņurse of saddening thoughts, prolong thy stay,
Let me adore thee stil! Eve's glowing grace,

Night's fire-embroider'd vest,
Alike displease my eye;

For I am Sorrow's child, and thy cold showers,
Thy mist-encircled forms, thy doubtful shapes,

Wake a responsive chord
Within my troubled soul.

For oh! to me futurity appears
Wrapt in a chilling veil of glooms and mists,

Nor seems one tint or star
To deck her furrow'd brow,

But slowly cross her path, imperfe& shapes
Of danger, sorrow, frenzy, and despair,

Force their uneasy way,
And pale my cold, sunk cheek.

But see the unwelcome moon unreils her head, (Those hours are gone in which I haild her beams)

Distinctness spreads around,
And mimic day appears.

I loathe the cheerful sight, as still my fate,
O Twilight! bears a hue resembling thine;

And envy-struck, I shun
The scene I cannot share.

I'll to my, couch, yet not alas to rest ;
By artificial gloom I'll suit my soul,

And e'en from pity hide
My dim and sleepless eyes.



WRITTEN IN the 16th cenTURY,

For aye be hynce ye vayne delyghts
So short as seeme the guiltie nyghtes

Yatte men forweare inne folie !
This lowlie world hath nothyng swote
Hadde mortals onlie wytte to know yt

But halie melancholie.

Then welcome armes yatte folded lye,
From heavie breste the long-drawn sye,

The purses of the browe,
The loke yrooted to the growne,
The tong yehaynde withouten sowne,

Unguided steps and slowe.

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