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And when the evening light decay*
And all is calm around, There is sweet music to his ear
In the distant sheep-bells sound.
But oh! of all delightful sounds
Of evening or of morn,
That welcomes his return.
Written While Sailing In A Boat At Evening-.
How richly glows the water's breast
While facing thus the crimson west,
And see how dark the backward stream
And still perhaps with faithless gleam
Such views the youthful bard allure,
•He deems their colours may endure
And let him nurse his fond deceit,
Who would not cherish dreams so sweet
ON LEAVING SCHOOL.
DEAR native regions, I foretell,
From what I feel at this farewell;
That whereso'er my steps shall tend,
And whenso'er my course shall end:
If in that hour a single tie
Survive of local sympathy,
My soul will cast the backward view.
The longing look alone on you:
Thus when the Sun prepared for rest,.
Hath gained the precincts of the west j
Tho' his departing radiance fail
To illuminate the hollow vale,
A lingering light he fondly throws
On the dear hills where first he rose.
Fart i. T. Campbell.
I'LL bid my hyacinth to blow,
And sing my true love, all below
There, all his wild-wood scents to bring,
And, with the music of his wing,
Come to my close and clustering bower,
Thou spirit of a milder clime!
Of mountain heath and nioory thyme.
With all thy rural echoes come,
Wafting the wild bee's gentle hum,
Where'er thy morning breath has play'd,
Whatever isles of ocean fann'd, Come to my blossom-woven shade,
Thou wand'ring Wind of fairy land!
For sure from some enchanted isle,
Where pure and happy spirits smile,
From some green Eden of the deep,
Where tears of rapture lovers weep,
From some sweet Paradise afar,
Where Nature lights her leading star,
Oh! gentle gale of Eden bowers,
To revel with the cloudless hours,
Name to thy lov'd Elysian groves,
A fairer form than cherub loves,
GEM ef the crimson-colour'd eve»,
Why at the closing gates of heaven,
So fair thy pensile beauty burns,
So due thy plighted step returns
To peace, to pleasure, and to love,
Sure some enamoured orb above
Thine is the breathing, blushing hour,
Chased by the soul-subduing power
Oh! sacred to the fall of day,
And early rise, and long delay,
Shine on her chosen green resort,
And wanton flowers, that well may court
Shine on her sweetly-scented road,
That lead'st the nightingale abroad,