Approach of Evening

A plow, like enchantment, is seen o'er the lake,
Like the flush of the sky, when the day heralds wake
And o'er its dull bosom their soft plumage shake.
Now the warmth of the heaven is fading away —
Young Evening comes up in pursuit of the Day —
The richness and mist of the tints that were there
Are melting away like the bow of the air —
The blue-bosom' d water heaves darker and bluer,
The cliffs and the trees are seen bolder and truer,
The landscape has less of enchantment and light:
But it lies the more steady and firm in the sight.
The lustre-crown'd peaks, while they dazzled the eye,
Seem'd loosen'd and passing away in the sky,
And the far-distant hills, in their tremulous blue,
But baffled the eye, as it dwelt on their hue.
The light of the hill, and the wave, and the sky '
Grow fainter, and fainter: — The wonders all die!
The visions have gone! they have vanish'd away,
Unobserved in their change, like the bliss of a day.
The rainbows of heaven were bent in our sight,
And fountains were gushing like wine in its light,
And seraphs were wheeling around in their flight —
A moment: and all was enveloped in night!
'Tis thus with the dreams of the high-heaving heart:
They come but to blaze, and they blaze to depart —
Their gossamer wings are too thin to abide
The chilling of sorrow, or burning of pride —
They come, but to brush o'er its young gallant swell,
Like bright birds over ocean — but never to dwell.