TWILIGHT'S Soft dews steal o'er the village-green, All, all are fled; yet still I linger here! Mark yon old Mansion frowning thro' the trees, Long may the ruin spare its hallowed guest! As jars the hinge, what sullen echoes call! Now stained with dews, with cobwebs darkly hung, And orphan-sorrows drew the ready tear. Oft with the babes we wandered in the wood, Or viewed the forest-feats of Robin Hood: Murdered by ruffian hands, when smiling in its sleep. As o'er the dusky furniture I bend, Those once-loved forms, still breathing thro' their dust, Still, from the frame in mould gigantic cast, Starting to life-all whisper of the Past! C As thro' the garden's desert paths I rove, What fond illusions swarm in every grove! How oft, when purple evening tinged the west, We watched the emmet to her grainy nest; Welcomed the wild-bee home on weary wing, Laden with sweets, the choicest of the spring! How oft inscribed, with Friendship's votive rhyme, The bark now silvered by the touch of Time; Soared in the swing, half pleased and half afraid, Thro' sister elms that waved their summer-shade; |