Littell's Living Age/Volume 173/Issue 2237/At Sunset
I love, when autumn days are done
And all the winds at rest,
To sit and watch the happy sun
Go out into the west;
To let my idle fancy stray
Across the waters' golden way;
To follow, follow, follow on
Until the gleaming land
Has sunk beneath the waves and gone
Like castles on the sand;
To follow till I gain at last
The charmèd country of the past.
There in the glamor of romance,
By forest, plain, and hill,
With crested helm and glittering lance
The knights are riding still,
And many a hoary castle wall
Echoes at eve their bugle-call.
There cruise the bearded buccaneers
Who swept the Spanish main;
There gather to the feast of Spears
The ravens of the Dane,
And to the shining summer skies
The old sea-rovers' war-songs rise.
And there are low soft melodies
About the shadowy shore,
Where the stars tremble on the seas
Beneath the silent oar;
Music of lutes and serenade,
Sweet songs by happy lovers made.
There, clash of steel on steel, and shout
Of battle wildly ring;
Granada's Moors are riding out
To meet the Christian king,
And all the chivalry of Spain
Is fighting for the cross again.
There by the glancing river's side,
Out through the morning mists,
Gay lords and ladies laughing ride
With hawks upon their wrists;
The soft winds bear across the fells
The music of their silver bells.
There, stretched the drowsy pines among,
The Lotos-eaters be;
There still the sirens' fatal song
Is sweet upon the sea,
And through the woodland and the stream,
The nymphs and naiads glide and gleam.
The golden glow falls pale and dim
Far in the western sky,
Where on the water's utmost rim
The ships go sailing by.
That fair world fades away once more
And leaves me lonely by the shore.