I.
Sweet twilight,—of all other hours most blest
For those whose prospect is their needed rest;
When down the western sphere of heav’n had gone
The great and good—the all propitious sun.
Oh, Heaven! how gracious is that mid-way hour,
When all the day-birds seek their somb’rous bow’r;
And when—if not in full—the quartering moon
Attracts the eye to the celestial zone,—
Such then the hour when George in lowly state