To Twilight. Poem by Susan Evance

PALE Twilight! bath'd in tears of dew,
Which fall in many a silent show'r-
I love the gently fading hue
That marks thy melancholy hour.

I love the zephyrs that attend
Low fluttering, in thy pensive train;
Who oft their dying voices blend
With the wild music of the main.

I love thy shadowy mists that stray
In mystic shapes along the green;
And by the star that guides thy way,
Dim and imperfectly are seen.

With thee, serene, enchanting hour!
Thy lovely sister, Fancy flies; -
The gentle magic of her pow'r
Thrills in thy low-breath'd mournful sighs.

She paints upon the glimmering plain,
The gay, the sprightly fairy throng;
Who lead in wild fantastic train
Their dance the furzy brakes among,

She swells their sweet expressive lay,
Borne on the wand'ring breezes near;
Till, trembling- sad- it dies away.
And rapture gives the starting tear.

- Twilight! more dear to me thy shade
Than moon-beams trembling through the trees.
Or touching soft the sparkling glade,
Or dancing on the foamy seas.

More sweet than when from slumbers still
The morn awakes with smiling view;
And climbing o'er yon eastern hill
Shakes from her glittering locks the dew.-

For memory loves with thee to stay
O'er visions of departed days;
And, upon joys, long past away,
To muse, with pensive, tearful gaze.

Soft fancy, with her pencil bright
Gives to each scene a lovelier dye;
While wrapt in tenderest delight,
I fondly breathe the lingering sigh;