Обри Де Вер (Aubrey De Vere)

Sunset on the Lower Shannon

STILLED are the winds, scarce heard far ocean’s roar;
And maiden waves creep coyly to the shore,
Tinged with the purest blush of closing even.
Behold yon hills that catch the glow of heaven!
Those shadows purpling o’er the watery scene,
Now streaked with gold, now tinged with tender green,
And yon bright path that burns along the deep,
Ere the sun sinks behind his western steep!
Soft fades the parting glory through the sky,
Commingling with the cool aerial dye.
Light barks, with dusky sails, scarce seen to glide,
Bend their brown shadows o’er the burnished tide;
And hark! at intervals the sound of oars
Comes, faint with distance, to the listening shores,
Blent with the plaintive cadence of the song
Of boatmen chanting as they drift along;—
But see, the radiant orb now sinks apace,
Gradual and slow he stoops his glorious face;
And now but half his swelling disk appears,
And now how quickly gone! he scarcely rears
One burning point above the mountain’s head,—
And now the last expiring beam has fled.

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