Silence best and conscious shades

Please the hearts that Love invades ; Other pleasures give them pain,

Lovers all but Love disdain.

ΤΟ

EVENING.

BY JOSEPH WARTON, D. D.

HAIL meek-ey'd Maiden, clad in sober grey,
Whose soft approach the wary woodman loves,
As homeward bent to kiss his prattling babes,
He jocund whistles thro' the twilight groves.

When Phoebus sinks behind the gilded hills,
You lightly o'er the misty meadows walk,
The drooping daisies bathe in dulcet dews,
And nurse the nodding vi’let's tender stalk:

The panting Dryads, that in day's fierce heat,
To inmost bowers and cooling caverns ran,
Return to trip in wanton evening-dance,
Old Sylvan too returns, and laughing Pan.

To the deep wood the clamorous rooks repair, Light skims the swallow o'er the wat'ry scene, And from the sheep-cotes, and fresh-furrow'd field, Stout plowmen meet to wrestle on the green. Vol. XIV.

The swain that artless sings on yonder rock, His nibbling sheep, and lengthened shadow spies, - Pleas'd with the cool, the calm, respectful hour, And with hoarse hummings of unnumber'd flies.

Now ev'ry passion sleeps; desponding Love,
And pining Envy, ever-restless Pride;
An holy calm creeps o'er my peaceful soul,
Anger and mad Ambition's storms subside.

O modest Evening, oft let me appear
A wandering votary in the pensive train,
List'ning to every wildly-warbling throat
That fills with farewell notes the dark'ning plain.

то

NIGHT.

BY MR. PARROT.

THE busy cares of day are done;
In yonder western cloud the sun
Now sets, in other worlds to rise,

And glad with light the nether skies.
With ling'ring pace the parting day retires,
And slowly leaves the mountain tops, and gilded spires.

Yon azure cloud, enrob'd with white,
Still shoots a gleam of fainter light:
At length descends a browner shade:
At length the glimm'ring objects fade:
'Till all submit to NIGHT's impartial reign,
And undistinguish'd darkness covers all the plain.

No more the ivy-crowned oak

Resounds beneath the woodman's stroke.
Now Silence holds her solemn sway;

Mute is each bush, and every spray;

Nought but the sound of murm'ring rills is heard, Or, from the mould'ring tow'r, NIGHT's solitary bird,

Hail, sacred hour of peaceful rest!
Of pow'r to charm the troubled breast!
By thee the captive slave obtains
Short respite from his galling pains;
Nor sighs for liberty, nor native soil;
But for a while forgets his chains, and sultry toil.

No horrors hast thou in thy train,
No scorpion lash, no clanking chain.
When the pale murd'rer round him spies

A thousand grisly forms arise,

When shrieks and groans arouse his palsy'd fear, 'Tis guilt alarms his soul, andconscience wounds his ear.

The village swain whom Phillis charms,
Whose breast the tender passion warnis,
Wishes for thy all-shadowing veil,

To tell the fair his love-sick tale:
Nor less impatient of the tedious day,
She longs to hear his tale, and sigh her soul away.

Oft by the covert of thy shade

LEANDER Woo'd the THRACIAN maid;
Through foaming seas his passion bore,
Nor fear'd the ocean's thund'ring roar.

The conscious virgin from the sea girt tow'r
Hung out the faithful torch, to guide him to her bow'r.

Oft at thy silent hour the sage

Pores on the fair instructive page;