A Cottage Scene. Poem by Susan Evance

GENTLE Eve had blush'd adieu-
Soft the twilight breezes blew;
Faint appear'd the western star, -
O'er the tufted woods afar;
Soon the silver orb of night
Rose majestic on the sight,
From the grove that wav'd before
A Peasant's humble cottage door:
O how tranquil was the hour:
My bosom felt its soothing pow'r;
I paus'd- and silent gaz'd around,
And listen'd for each rural sound.
Low the woodbine-scented breeze
Rustling crept among the trees;
Then I softly gently heard
The twitter of the nestling bird:
While across the forest dell,
Tinkled faint the cattle's bell;

Soon a strain of music near
Struck with sweet surprise mine ear;
It came from that secluded spot,
The Peasant's lowly peaceful cot,
There the mother sang to rest
The babe she folded on her breast-
It was a hymn, or evening pray'r,
A simple melancholy air;
It spake her tenderness and love,
Her pious hope and trust above.
O there is more of magic found
In such a plaintive artless sound,
More that will touch and melt the heart,
Than all the studied tones of art!

I saw her kiss her darling's form,
And place it in the cradle warm;
Then, cautious stir her little fire,
To cheer her boy's expected sire:
While oft she listening paus'd, to hear
Whether his well-known step drew near;

Then to the open'd door she came,
And look'd, and sigh'd her William's name.
Bright was the flame that o'er her face
Flashing disclos'd its artless grace;
But brighter did her smiles appear,
When she beheld his form so dear,
And, with affection's language sweet,
Flew swift his homeward steps to meet.
Ah! did not that enraptur'd smile
Repay the weary husband's toil?
Repay- O toil itself will prove
Delight, endur'd for those we love!
And how mistaken then are those?
Who say, that pleasure only glows
Where Fortune spreads her treasures gay-
O 'tis Affection's lovely ray
That brightens all- Affection cold,
Vain are our stores of glitt'ring gold;
They will not teach us to possess
The fleeting form of Happiness.
She, Angel wand'rer from above,
Can ne'er be brib'd to smiles of love;

But 'tis in calm Affection's breast
That most on earth she loves to rest.
Ah Poverty! why should we dread
Thy lone, obscure, and humble shed?
How oft beneath its roof are seen
Content; and Love, and Peace serene,
And Virtue's undisturb'd repose,
And all the heaven Devotion knows.
For these, not wealth- my pray'r shall be; -
Rich blessings these, tho' giv'n with Poverty!