Classic Poem

How sweet the hour when daylight blends
With the pensive shadows on evening's breast;
And dear to the heart is the pleasure it lends,
'T is like the departure of saints to their rest.

Oh, 't is sweet, Saranac, on thy loved banks to stray,
To watch the last day-beam dance light on thy wave,
To mark the white skiff as it skims o'er the bay,
Or heedlessly bounds o'er the warrior's grave.

Oh, 't is sweet to a heart unentangled and light,
When with hope's brilliant prospects the fancy is blest,
To pause 'mid its day-dreams so witchingly bright,
And mark the last sunbeams, while sinking to rest.