BY MRS. REBECCA S. NICHOLS .
How like a conqueror the King of Day
Folds back the curtains of his orient couch!
Bestrides the fleecy clouds, and speeds his way
'Mid skies made brighter by his burning touch;
And as a warrior from the tented field,
Victorious, hastes his wearied limbs to rest,
So doth the Sun his brazen sceptre yield,
And sink, fair Night, upon thy gentle breast.
All hail, sad Vesper! on thy girdled throne
Thou sit'st a queen, O twilight watcher-star;
How oft I find me gazing towards thy home,
Pale, dreamy dweller of the realms afar;
And when at eve's most holy, chastened hour,
I watch each lesser star within its shrine,
How do I miss the strange, mysterious power,
That chains my spirit to thine orb divine.
Fair Vesper! when thy golden tresses gleam
Amid the banners of the sunset sky,
Thy spirit floats on every radiant beam,
Gilding with beauty thy proud place on high;
Then hath my soul its hour of deepest bliss,
And gentle thoughts like angels round me throng,
Breathing of worlds, (oh! how unlike to this!)
Where dwell eternal melody and song.
Star of the twilight! thou wert loved by one ,
Whose spirit late hath passed away from earth;
Who parted from us, when the wailing tone
Of some lone winds told of pale autumn's birth;
Yet, though we miss her at the eventide,
And eyes gaze sadly on the vacant chair,
Though from the hearth her music-tones have died,
And gone glad laughter that resounded there;
Still from her high and holy place above,
None would recall her to this earthly sphere,
Nor seek to win her from that home of love,
To tread the paths of sin and sorrow here.
But lo! clouds gather round fair Cynthia's home,
And fling their draperies on the arching skies,
Whilst, one by one, depart from yon vast dome,
The blue sky's many bright and burning eyes.
And she, pale spirit of the midnight skies,
Whose tears of light were streaming o'er the heath,
Now seems unto my wakeful, watching eyes,
Like some lone weeper in the house of death!
The storm hath burst — the lightning's angry eye
Glances around me, and the hoarse winds tell
The raging tempest's might and majesty;
Bright thoughts have vanished — gentle star, farewell!
How like a conqueror the King of Day
Folds back the curtains of his orient couch!
Bestrides the fleecy clouds, and speeds his way
'Mid skies made brighter by his burning touch;
And as a warrior from the tented field,
Victorious, hastes his wearied limbs to rest,
So doth the Sun his brazen sceptre yield,
And sink, fair Night, upon thy gentle breast.
All hail, sad Vesper! on thy girdled throne
Thou sit'st a queen, O twilight watcher-star;
How oft I find me gazing towards thy home,
Pale, dreamy dweller of the realms afar;
And when at eve's most holy, chastened hour,
I watch each lesser star within its shrine,
How do I miss the strange, mysterious power,
That chains my spirit to thine orb divine.
Fair Vesper! when thy golden tresses gleam
Amid the banners of the sunset sky,
Thy spirit floats on every radiant beam,
Gilding with beauty thy proud place on high;
Then hath my soul its hour of deepest bliss,
And gentle thoughts like angels round me throng,
Breathing of worlds, (oh! how unlike to this!)
Where dwell eternal melody and song.
Star of the twilight! thou wert loved by one ,
Whose spirit late hath passed away from earth;
Who parted from us, when the wailing tone
Of some lone winds told of pale autumn's birth;
Yet, though we miss her at the eventide,
And eyes gaze sadly on the vacant chair,
Though from the hearth her music-tones have died,
And gone glad laughter that resounded there;
Still from her high and holy place above,
None would recall her to this earthly sphere,
Nor seek to win her from that home of love,
To tread the paths of sin and sorrow here.
But lo! clouds gather round fair Cynthia's home,
And fling their draperies on the arching skies,
Whilst, one by one, depart from yon vast dome,
The blue sky's many bright and burning eyes.
And she, pale spirit of the midnight skies,
Whose tears of light were streaming o'er the heath,
Now seems unto my wakeful, watching eyes,
Like some lone weeper in the house of death!
The storm hath burst — the lightning's angry eye
Glances around me, and the hoarse winds tell
The raging tempest's might and majesty;
Bright thoughts have vanished — gentle star, farewell!