After the turmoil and heat of the day,
Comes calmly then the evening's sweet repose,--
Comes just as the sun's last lingering ray
Takes on the soft hue of the blushing rose.
The whippoorwill sings, now near and then far;
The misty hills send back his silver note;
While softly above beams the evening star,
And the young moon seems on the lake to float.
The damp sedge is vocal with cricket and frog,
The swerve of the night-hawk stirs the balmy air,
The bat leaves its home in the hollow log,
The firefly gleams in the thicket there.
The whispering winds stir the rustling leaves,
Wafting the perfume of eglantine sweet;
The swallows nestle beneath the shelt'ring eaves,
And rustic lovers in the shadows meet.
The bleating of the sheep, the chore boy's song,
The home returning kine's familiar low,
The sturdy farmhand's call, so loud and long,
Float up from the misty vale below.
A light gleams forth from yonder cottage door,
Struck while they partake of their frugal meal.
On such honest labor its blessings pour,
And health and happiness have set their seal.
