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As homeward bent to kiss his prattling babes,
Jocund he whistles thro' the twilight groves.

II.

When Phebus finks behind the gilded hills,
You lightly o'er the mifty meadows walk;
The drooping daifies bathe in dulcet dews,
And nurse the nodding violet's flender stalk.
III.

The panting Dryads, that in day's fierce heat
To inmoft bow'rs, and cooling caverns ran;
Return to trip in wanton ev'ning dance,
Old Sylvan too returns, and laughing Pan.

IV.

To the deep wood the clamourous rooks repair, Light skims the swallow o'er the watry scene; And from the sheep-cote, and fresh furrow'd-field, Stout ploughmen meet, to wrestle on the Green.

མ.

The fwain, that artlefs fings on yonder rock,
His fupping fheep, and lengthening fhadow spies;
Pleas'd with the cool the calm refreshful hour,
And with hoarse humming of unnumber'd flies.
VI.

Now every Paffion fleeps: defponding Love,
And pining Envy, ever-reftlefs Pride;
An holy Calm creeps o'er my peaceful soul,
Anger, and mad Ambition's ftorms fubfide.
VII.

O modeft EVENING! oft let me appear
A wand'ring votary in thy penfive train;
Listening to every wildly-warbling note,
That fills with farewel fweet thy dark'ning plain.

BY

O DE

ΤΟ

EVENING.

MR. WILLIAM COLLINS.

Fought of oaten ftop, or paftoral fong,
May hope, chafte Eve, to footh thy modeft ear,
Like thy own folemn fprings,

Thy springs, and dying gales,

O Nymph referv'd, while now the bright-hair'd fun
Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts,
With brede ethereal wove,

O'erhang his wavy bed:

Nor air is hufh'd, fave where the weak-ey'd bat, With short shrill fhriek flits by on leathern wing, Or where the beetle winds

His fmall but fullen horn,

As oft he rifes 'midft the twilight path,
Against the pilgrim born in heedless hum;
Now teach me, Maid compos'd,

To breath fome foften'd ftrain,

Whofe numbers ftealing thro' thy dark'ning vale,

May not unfeemly with it's ftillness fuit,
As mufing flow, I hail

Thy genial lov'd return!

For when thy folding ftar arising fhews

His paly circlet, at his warning lanıp
The fragrant Hours, and Elves

Who flept in flow'rs the day,

And many a Nymph who wreaths her brows with fedge,

And sheds the fresh'ning dew, and lovelier still, The Penfive Pleasures fweet

Prepare thy fhadowy car.

Then lead, calm Vot'refs, where fome fheety lake Cheers the lone heath, or fome time-hallow'd pile, Or up-land fallows grey

Reflect it's laft cool gleam.

But when chill bluft'ring winds, or driving rain,
Forbid my willing feet; be mine the hut,
That from the mountain's fide,

Views wilds, and fwelling floods,

And hamlets brown, and dim-difcover'd spires,
And hears their fimple bell, and marks o'er all
Thy dewy fingers draw

The gradual dusky veil.

While fpring fhall pour his fhow'rs, as oft he wont, And bathe thy breathing treffes, meekeft Eve!

While Summer loves to sport,

Beneath thy ling'ring light:

While fallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves;
Or Winter yelling thro' the troublous air,
Affrights thy fhrinking train,

And rudely rends thy robes;
So long, fure-found beneath thy fylvan fhed,
Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, rofe-lip'd Health,
Thy gentleft influence own,
And hymn thy fav'rite name!

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