THE SETTING SUN.
(Written at the request of a young Lady.)
Behold yon brilliant orb, whose matchless light
O’er heaven’s capacious arch its rays diffuse;
Atchiev’d his constant round, he shews less bright,
And half his splendor’s wrapt in western dews.
The lightly passing clouds, with gold array’d,
Steal from their august Monarch as he dies;
And ting’d with brightest hues they fly pourtray’d;
And give a glow to circumambient skies.
The Night too soon her darksome curtain drops,
And, deep with mourning look, drives day away;
But lo! the radiant moon with lustre stops,
And adds new glory, though she shines less gay.
In such a scene as this we learn, that man,
Although he dies and moulders in the tomb,
His fame and virtues shall complete the plan;
And while he sleeps in death his name shall bloom.
The seeds of well spent days shall rise apace,
And like the moon of night on growth will shine,
Although his body is despoil’d of grace,
And mix’d with ashes, as was Heav’n’s design.
LUCIUS.
Pine-Street, Aug. 19, 1796.