Robert Anderson (Роберт Андерсон)

Evening

How sweet 'tis to rove at the close of the day,
O'er daisy--clad meads, by a soft murm'ring rill,
When the thrush from the brake pours his evening love lay,
And Sol's parting beams tinge the furze--cover'd hill;
When the rustic's loud laugh tells a heart void of care,
With the maid of his bosom delighted to roam;
When eager the joys of his cottage to share,
The labourer wearied, thinks long for his home.

Now wrapt up in mist is the mountain's steep brow;
No longer the din of the village is heard;
Now lost is the landscape, late beauteous to view;
No sound strikes the ear, save one sorrowful bird:
'Tis the partridge's wail, for his far--distant mate--
Let man learn affection from each feather'd pair,
And reflect on the days he has spent, ere too late;
Still thankful, midst sorrows, for blessings that were.

In life's rosy morn, full of frolic and joy,
Light--hearted, in quest of new pleasures we fly,
Till noon brings its cares, many a hope to destroy,
And the thoughts of the past will oft force a deep sigh:
Eve steals on apace, and oft finds us in tears,
For in friendship, in love, constant changes we see;
Each wound of the heart deeper grows with our years,
And the evening of life's seldom tranquil or free.

1. Lines to a Redbreast
2. Jingle in the Glasses
3. Epitaph on Maria of the Cottage
4. Ode to Care
5. Dick Watters

Menella Smedley (Менелла Смедли) Evening ("It is the hour of evening")

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1786

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