George Moses Horton
On The Evening And Morning - Poem by George Moses Horton
When Evening bids the Sun to rest retire,
Unwearied Ether sets her lamps on fire;
Lit by one torch, each is supplied in turn,
Till all the candles in the concave burn.
The night-hawk now, with his nocturnal tone,
Wakes up, and all the Owls begin to moan,
Or heave from dreary vales their dismal song,
Whilst in the air the meteors play along.
[illegible] ength the silver queen begins to rise,
[illegible] spread her glowing mantle in the skies,
[illegible] from the smiling chambers of the east,
[illegible] the eye to her resplendent feast.
What joy is this unto the rustic swain,
Who from the mount surveys the moon-lit plain;
Who with the spirit of a dauntles Pan
Controls his fleecy train and leads the van;
Or pensive, muses on the water's side,
Which purling doth thro' green meanders glide,
With watchful care he broods his heart away
'Till might is swallowed in the flood of day.
The meteors cease to play, that mov'd so fleet
And spectres from the murky groves retreat,
The prowling wolf withdraws, which bowl'd so bold
And bleating flocks may venture from the fold.
The night-hawk's din deserts the shepherd's ear,
Succeeded by the huntsman's trumpet clear,
O come Diana, start the morning chase
Thou ancient goddess of the hunting race.
Aurora's smiles adorn the mountain's brow,
The peasant hums delighted at his plow,
And lo, the dairy maid salutes her bounteous cow.
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