22
No more each thought unsullied springs,
With peace encircled round,
As when in some fair bower I lay,
Or on some mossy mound;—
With peace encircled round,
As when in some fair bower I lay,
Or on some mossy mound;—
While the faint light's last glimmering beam
Did through the branches play,
And on the thin cloud blushing gleam,
Then beauteous glide away.
Did through the branches play,
And on the thin cloud blushing gleam,
Then beauteous glide away.
Nor, when the still and placid night
In darkness veils the sphere,
And silence spreads a soft delight,
Doth peace's loved form appear.
In darkness veils the sphere,
And silence spreads a soft delight,
Doth peace's loved form appear.
No more the spirit tranquil yields,
To slumber soft resigned,
The pleasing meditative task
Of the retiring mind.
To slumber soft resigned,
The pleasing meditative task
Of the retiring mind.
Those transient hours of peace are fled,
Those happy days are gone;
Time moving forward, winged with haste,
Forbids their blest return.
Those happy days are gone;
Time moving forward, winged with haste,
Forbids their blest return.
