HELEN MARIA WILLIAMS1762-1827
1762-1827
Meek Twilight! soften the declining day,And bring the hour my pensive spirit loves;When o’er the mountain slow descends the rayThat gives to silence the deserted groves.Ah, let the happy court the morning still,When, in her blooming loveliness array’d,She bids fresh beauty light the vale, or hill,And rapture warble in the vocal shade.Sweet is the odour of the morning’s flower,And rich in melody her accents rise;Yet dearer to my soul the shadowy hour,At which her blossoms close, her music dies—For then, while languid nature droops her head,She wakes the tear ’tis luxury to shed.
Meek Twilight! soften the declining day,And bring the hour my pensive spirit loves;When o’er the mountain slow descends the rayThat gives to silence the deserted groves.Ah, let the happy court the morning still,When, in her blooming loveliness array’d,She bids fresh beauty light the vale, or hill,And rapture warble in the vocal shade.Sweet is the odour of the morning’s flower,And rich in melody her accents rise;Yet dearer to my soul the shadowy hour,At which her blossoms close, her music dies—For then, while languid nature droops her head,She wakes the tear ’tis luxury to shed.
Meek Twilight! soften the declining day,And bring the hour my pensive spirit loves;When o’er the mountain slow descends the rayThat gives to silence the deserted groves.Ah, let the happy court the morning still,When, in her blooming loveliness array’d,She bids fresh beauty light the vale, or hill,And rapture warble in the vocal shade.Sweet is the odour of the morning’s flower,And rich in melody her accents rise;Yet dearer to my soul the shadowy hour,At which her blossoms close, her music dies—For then, while languid nature droops her head,She wakes the tear ’tis luxury to shed.
Meek Twilight! soften the declining day,
And bring the hour my pensive spirit loves;
When o’er the mountain slow descends the ray
That gives to silence the deserted groves.
Ah, let the happy court the morning still,
When, in her blooming loveliness array’d,
She bids fresh beauty light the vale, or hill,
And rapture warble in the vocal shade.
Sweet is the odour of the morning’s flower,
And rich in melody her accents rise;
Yet dearer to my soul the shadowy hour,
At which her blossoms close, her music dies—
For then, while languid nature droops her head,
She wakes the tear ’tis luxury to shed.
O ever skill’d to wear the form we love!To bid the shapes of fear and grief depart;Come, gentle Hope! with one gay smile removeThe lasting sadness of an aching heart.Thy voice, benign Enchantress! let me hear;Say that for me some pleasures yet shall bloom,That Fancy’s radiance, Friendship’s precious tear,Shall soften, or shall chase, misfortune’s gloom.But come not glowing in the dazzling ray,Which once with dear illusions charm’d my eye,O! strew no more, sweet flatterer! on my wayThe flowers I fondly thought too bright to die;Visions less fair will soothe my pensive breast,That asks not happiness, but longs for rest!
O ever skill’d to wear the form we love!To bid the shapes of fear and grief depart;Come, gentle Hope! with one gay smile removeThe lasting sadness of an aching heart.Thy voice, benign Enchantress! let me hear;Say that for me some pleasures yet shall bloom,That Fancy’s radiance, Friendship’s precious tear,Shall soften, or shall chase, misfortune’s gloom.But come not glowing in the dazzling ray,Which once with dear illusions charm’d my eye,O! strew no more, sweet flatterer! on my wayThe flowers I fondly thought too bright to die;Visions less fair will soothe my pensive breast,That asks not happiness, but longs for rest!
O ever skill’d to wear the form we love!To bid the shapes of fear and grief depart;Come, gentle Hope! with one gay smile removeThe lasting sadness of an aching heart.Thy voice, benign Enchantress! let me hear;Say that for me some pleasures yet shall bloom,That Fancy’s radiance, Friendship’s precious tear,Shall soften, or shall chase, misfortune’s gloom.But come not glowing in the dazzling ray,Which once with dear illusions charm’d my eye,O! strew no more, sweet flatterer! on my wayThe flowers I fondly thought too bright to die;Visions less fair will soothe my pensive breast,That asks not happiness, but longs for rest!
O ever skill’d to wear the form we love!
To bid the shapes of fear and grief depart;
Come, gentle Hope! with one gay smile remove
The lasting sadness of an aching heart.
Thy voice, benign Enchantress! let me hear;
Say that for me some pleasures yet shall bloom,
That Fancy’s radiance, Friendship’s precious tear,
Shall soften, or shall chase, misfortune’s gloom.
But come not glowing in the dazzling ray,
Which once with dear illusions charm’d my eye,
O! strew no more, sweet flatterer! on my way
The flowers I fondly thought too bright to die;
Visions less fair will soothe my pensive breast,
That asks not happiness, but longs for rest!