Chapter XIV

Hark! from the village, distant far
Re-echoed, varied discords jar;
The busy hum, the social din,
That welcome gentle twilight in,
Come swelling, from the vale below,
Up the lone mountain’s craggy side;
Sweeping “in solemn tones and slow,”
Round the broad summit’s crested pride:
Gently o’er the water dashing,
Where the silver waves are flashing
Beneath the rays of yellow light,
That mark the near approach of night.
How lovely is the placid hour!
How soft and tranquil is its power,
Ere the sun’s last faint tints have faded,
While yet the tender radiance lingers,
In heaven’s softest colours shaded,
By gentle twilight’s fairy fingers.--
The swain from healthful labour turns
His lingering steps, as, dimly burns,
Upon yon western summit’s height,
Sol’s latest beams of golden light,
To the dear cot where labors cease,
And kind endearments whisper peace.
Around their smiling father’s knee,
In unassum’d and heartfelt glee,
The troop of little urchins press,
And clamour for his fond caress.
Nor slighted is the dame’s embrace,
Proud of her simple, virtuous race.--