Fans lightly the dew-drops, that spangle their bed!
The Villagers, thronging around, scatter roses,
The grey wing of Evening the western sky closes,—
And Night’s sable pall, o’er the landscape extending,
Is the mourning of Nature! the solemn Scene ending.
The ALIEN BOY.
’Twas on a Mountain, near the Western Main
An Alien dwelt. A solitary Hut
Built on a jutting crag, o’erhung with weeds,
Mark’d the poor Exile’s home. Full ten long years