19 



NIGHT AND LOYE. 



Far in the West, the Lord of light 

 Has sunk to rest ; and now the Night 



Begins her silent reign : 

 Each drooping flower hangs its head, 

 Each warbler seeks his leafy bed, 



His home, each tired swain. 



The waning sky mysterious fades 

 Far into gloom ; and deepening shades, 



As mourning mantles, fall 

 O er land and sea, and nod the trees, 

 Waving in Evening s dying breeze, 



Like plumes funereal. 



Now wheels the bat his dusky flight, 

 While little cricket chirps to Night 

 His melancholy lay ; 



