Day, a Pastoral (1814)/Evening
EVENING.
O'er the heath the heifer strays
Free—(the furrow'd task is done).
Now the village windows blaze,
Burnish'd by the setting sun.
Now he hides behind the hill,
Sinking from a golden sky:
Can the pencil's mimic skill
Copy the refulgent dye?
Trudging as the ploughmen go,
(To the smoking hamlet bound)
Giant-like their shadows grow,
Lengthen'd o'er the level ground.
Where the rising forest spreads
Shelter for the lordly dome,
To their high-built airy beds,
See the rooks returning home!
As the lark with varied tune,
Carols to the ev'ning loud,
Mark the mild resplendent moon,
Breaking thro' a parted cloud!
Now the hermit owlet peeps
From the barn or twisted brake;
And the blue mist slowly creeps
Curling on the silver lake.
As the trout in speckled pride,
Playful from its bosom springs,
To the banks a ruffled tide
Verges in successive rings.
Tripping thro' the silken grass,
O'er the path-divided dale,
Mark the rose-complexion'd lass,
With her weil-pois'd milking pail.
Linnets with unnumber'd notes,
And the cuckoo bird with two,
Tuning sweet their mellow throats,
Bid the setting sun adieu.