NIGHT.
Now from the fresh, the soft, and tender bed,
Of her still mother gentle Night outflew
The fleeting balm on hills and dales she shed,
With honey drops of pure and precious dew,
And on the verdure of green forests spread,
The virgin primrose and the violet blue;
And sweet breath Zephyr on his spreading wings
Sleep, ease, repose, rest, peace and quiet brings.