TWILIGHT.
How sweet the hour when daylight blends
With the pensive shadows on evening's breast!
And dear to the heart is the pleasure it lends;
'Tis like the departure of saints to their rest.
With the pensive shadows on evening's breast!
And dear to the heart is the pleasure it lends;
'Tis like the departure of saints to their rest.
O, 'tis sweet, Saranac, on thy loved banks to stray,
To watch the last day-beam dance light on thy wave,
To mark the white skiff as it skims o'er the bay,[1]
Or heedlessly bounds o'er the warrior's grave.
To watch the last day-beam dance light on thy wave,
To mark the white skiff as it skims o'er the bay,[1]
Or heedlessly bounds o'er the warrior's grave.
O, 'tis sweet to a heart unentangled and light,
When with hope's brilliant prospects the fancy is blest,
To pause 'mid its day-dreams so witchingly bright,
And mark the last sunbeams, while sinking to rest.
When with hope's brilliant prospects the fancy is blest,
To pause 'mid its day-dreams so witchingly bright,
And mark the last sunbeams, while sinking to rest.
- ↑ Cumberland Bay, the scene of a battle during the last war.
