Hush, ye songsters! day is done,
See how sweet the setting sun
Gilds the welkin's boundless breast,
Smiling as he sinks to rest;
Now the swallow down the dell,
Issuing from her noontide cell,
Mocks the deftest marksman's aim
Jumbling in fantastic game:
Sweet inhabitant of air,
Sure thy bosom holds no care;
Not the fowler full of wrath,
Skilful in the deeds of death--
Not the darting hawk on high
(Ruthless tyrant of the sky!)
Owns one art of cruelty
Fit to fell or fetter thee,
Gayest, freest of the free!
Ruling, whistling shrill on high,
Where yon turrets kiss the sky,
Teasing with thy idle din
Drowsy daws at rest within;
Long thou lov'st to sport and spring
On thy never-wearying wing.
Lower now 'midst foliage cool
Swift thou skimm'st the peaceful pool,
Where the speckled trout at play,
Rising, shares thy dancing prey,
While the treach'rous circles swell
Wide and wider where it fell,
Guiding sure the angler's arm
Where to find the puny swarm;
And with artificial fly,
Best to lure the victim's eye,
Till, emerging from the brook,
Brisk it bites the barbed hook;
Struggling in the unequal strife,
With its death, disguised as life,
Till it breathless beats the shore
Ne'er to cleave the current more!
Peace! creation's gloomy queen,
Darkest Night, invests the scene!
Silence, Evening's handmaid mild,
Leaves her home amid the wild,
Tripping soft with dewy feet,
Summer's flowery carpet sweet,
Morpheus--drowsy power--to meet.
Ruler of the midnight hour,
In thy plenitude of power,
From this burthen'd bosom throw
Half its leaden load of woe.
Since thy envied art supplies
What reality denies,
Let thy cheerless suppliant see
Dreams of bliss inspired by thee--
Let before his wond'ring eyes
Fancy's brightest visions rise--
Long lost happiness restore,
None can need thy bounty more.