EVENING.
BY THE SAME.
I.
Hail meek-ey'd Maiden, clad in sober grey,
Whose soft approach the weary wood-man loves;
As homeward bent to kiss his prattling babes,
Jocund he whistles through the twilight groves.
II.
When Phæbus sinks behind the gilded hills;
You lightly o'er the misty meadows walk;
The drooping daisies bathe in dulcet dews,
And nurse the nodding violet's tender stalk.
III.
The panting Dryads, that in day's fierce heat
To inmost bow'rs, and cooling caverns ran;
Return to trip in wanton ev'ning dance,
Old Sylvan too returns, and laughing Pan.
To the deep wood the clamorous rooks repair,
Light skims the swallow o'er the watry scene;
And from the sheep-cote, and fresh furrow'd-field,
Stout ploughmen meet to wrestle on the green.