Poems (Campbell)/To the Evening Star

by Dorothea Primrose Campbell

For works with similar titles, see To the Evening Star.

TO THE EVENING STAR. 1803.

Bright trav'ller of yon blue expanse,
Throwing through clouds thy silv'ry glance,
 The dewy ev'ning to adorn;
Say, on what shore shall I appear,
When thou, as wheels the rolling year,
 Shalt usher in the morn?

Still must these barren plains and hills,
These rugged rocks, and scanty rills,
 My narrow prospects bound?
Must I, where nature's bounteous hand
Dresses in smiles the favour'd land,
 Be never, never found?

Still on these plains, where scant'ly spread,
The modest daisy lifts its head,
 Or lurks amid the broom;
Still with pall'd eye behold again,
Thin scatter'd on the stony plain,
 The primrose scarcely bloom?

Oft fancy wanders many a mile,
To scenes where nature loves to smile,
 And scatters charms around;
Where rocky mounts on mounts arise,
Whose tow'ring summits kiss the skies,
 With leafy forests crown'd;

Or where the dreadful cat'ract roars,
Or where through meads of honied flow'rs
 Soft murm'ring rivers glide;
Or where the lake expands to view,
Reflecting on its bosom blue,
 The mountain's woody side.

But, ah! this ocean's liquid round
My dreary prospect still must bound;
 And fancy dreams in vain
Of distant shores, that only shine
For other, happier, eyes than mine,
 Beyond the stormy main.