Their lamp to cheer the traveller’s sight;—
At that calm hour, so still, so pale,
Awakes the lonely nightingale;
And from a hermitage of shade
Fills with her voice the forest glade.
And sweeter far that melting voice
Than all which through the day rejoice;
And still shall bard and wanderer love
The twilight music of the grove.
Father in heaven! oh, thus when day