E'ening's Dewy Hour

When rosy day, far in the west, has vanish'd frae the scene,
And gloamin' spreads her mantle gray owre lake and mountain green;
When yet the darklin' shades o' mirk but haflens seem to lower,
How dear to love and beauty is the e'ening's dewy hour!

When down the burnie's wimpling course, amid the hazel shade,
The robin chants his vesper sang, the cushat seeks the glade;
When bats their drowsy vigils wheel round eldrich tree and tower,
Be 't mine to meet the lass I lo'e at e'ening's dewy hour!

When owre the flower-bespangled sward the flocks have ceased to stray,
And maukin steals across the lawn beneath the twilight gray;
Then, oh! how dear, frae men apart, in glen or woodland bower,
To meet the lass we dearly lo'e at e'ening's dewy hour!

The ruddy morn has charms enow, when, from the glowin' sky,
The sun on rival beauties smiles wi' gladness in his eye;
But, oh! the softer shaded scene has magic in its power,
Which cheers the youthful lover's heart at e'ening's dewy hour!