And fainter as his radiance glows,
Scarce heeded falls o’er nature’s breast
The languor of a soft repose.
Each breeze is hushed—each leaf is still—
The wild bird pours his song no more;
And gliding round yon graceful hill,
The meek stream laves the silent shore.
Oh—vain as fair—thou fleeting light!
Who now may in thy charms confide?
So shine earth’s pageants, false and bright,