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.