A SONNET .

O N yon uplifted mountain's brow,
Where faintly gleams the setting ray;
And darkness, thickening from below,
Proclaims the sad retreat of day.

Now from his wearied team, the swain
Hies homeward o'er the upland lawn;
The warbling songsters cease their strain,
Till the return of morning's dawn.

Her empire silence wide extends,
The song is ceas'd the dance is done:
Black night the changeful throne ascends,
And all the joys of day are gone.

Thus life, tho' a more long eventful day,
A few more setting suns shall pass away!