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But soon, delightful star of even!

These twilight scenes thy loss shall mourn; Thou leavest now the western heaven To glitter in the beams of morn.

I view thee with regretful eye

As thus I bid thee this adieu, Nor find in all the spangled sky A star so pleasing to the view.

Oft have I hail'd thy dim-seen light

When over western woods thy sheep Appear'd, first in the train of night,

And smil'd upon the plain serene.

Oft have I hail'd thy dim-seen light
When, with Eugenius by my side,
I rov'd where summer pleas'd the sight
And evening's mellow beauties ey❜d.

Then pleasure was my constant guest,

And friendship cheer'd the close of day, And, nascent in the purple west,

More lovely seem'd thy gleaming ray.

But memory seeks those times in vain,
For borne to distant fields is he;
And thou departest, and the plain

Is left "to darkness and to me."

What then shall glad my weary eyes
When thy soft beams I seek in vain,
Though Jove ascends the eastern skies
And red Mars holds meridian reign.

With listless gaze each orb I see,

That pours its twinkling stream of day: The thought unweeting turns to thee,

And mourns that thou art fled away.

But weak these sorrows, weak to those
That sadly on the mind attend,
When, with the past while memory glows,
I seek in vain the absent friend.

None here his hallow'd place supply,

All meet me with unmeaning smiles;
A distant coldness in each eye
At which my inmost soul recoils.

Then let me shun the thoughtless train
And melancholic muse along,
For better far this lonely plain

Than where gay lifeless idiots throng.

Here mid the evening "twilight gray"
Let me my pausing walk pursue,
And haunt those scenes where swift away
My former days of pleasure flew.

Amusing Fancy here shall come,

And paint the past in colours strong; And Hope shall point my future doom, And cheer the lingering hours along.

The thought shall still my soul to peace, When sad Remembrance gives a wound, That this ungrateful state shall cease

And Time shall run his fated round.

Eugenius shall again be given

With me to view the close of day, And thou, O Hesper! gild the heaven Rejoicing in thy new-born ray.

L. 2

THE CRICKET.

SHRILL sounding through the listening night
Thy sportive songs my soul delight,
Blithe insect, who so sweetly gay
Dost pass the midnight hour away.
While the pale moon, with modest beam,
Does o'er the plain's wide bosom stream,
Her rays now lost in yonder wood,
Now flashing from the heaving flood,
Now falling on the clouds that rise
Like snowy mountains in the skies,
Then thou with merry chirp dost pay
Thy welcome to her milder day.
More replete with pensive pleasure
Is thy plain unvarying measure
Than all the labour'd strains of art,
That strive in vain to reach the heart:
For much of music's touching pow'r
Depends upon the scene and hour.
Amid the day's discordant noise
Unheeded were thy simple voice,
When bustling cares perplex the soul,
And strong the tides of passion roll.
But now amid the silent night
Thy lays to soothing thoughts invite,
While Cynthia shines serene above,
And the white clouds slowly move,

While the busy stir is o'er,
And tumult fills the air no more.
Still then thy grateful strain pursue;
Still jocund sip the falling dew;
Rehearse thy joys without control,
And still to rest my anxious soul.
For care around my aching head
His gloomy shadows long has spread,
Shadows that chase oblivious sleep
And bid the mourner wake and weep.
Thee no troublous thought annoys,
No regret of vanish'd joys,
But with easy sportive mirth,
From the window or the hearth,
I hear thee still thy lay prolong,
Nor end but with the night thy song.
Oh that from my sorrows free,

Cricket, I were gay as thee!

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