Lifts his resplendent head.
The golden-tissued clouds,
Amid which now the Sun, world-worshipped, sinks,
Retain his glory still upon their brinks,
As gloom the earth enshrouds!
Slowly the darkness creeps
Up the lone hill-sides, shadow-like, by sighs
Of ev'ning lullabyed, as on man's eyes
Steals slumber ere he sleeps!
Thus on the mountain-oak,