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Poem by John Codrington Bampfylde Sonnet. On the Evening Slow sinks the glimmering beam from western sky, The woods and hills obscur'd by Evening grey Vanish from mortal sight, and fade away. Now with the flocks and yearlings let me hie To farm, or cottage lone, where, perch'd hard by On mossy pale the Red--Breast tunes his lay, Soft twittering, and bids farewell to day: Then, whilst the watch--dog barks, and ploughmen lie Lull'd by the rocking winds, let me unfold Whate'er in rhapsody, or strain most holy, The hoary Minstrel sang in times of old; For well I ween, from them the Nine inspire Wisdom shall flow, and Virtue's sacred fire, And Peace, and Love, and heavenly Melancholy. John Codrington Bampfylde John Codrington Bampfylde's other poems:
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