WHEN day declining sheds a milder gleam, Epist. VIII. EPISTLES DESCRIPTIVE, &c. Whence your return, by such nice instinct led While o'er the cliff th' awaken'd churn-owl hung Through the still gloom protracts his chattering song; While high in air and pois'd upon his wings, As fancy warms, a pleasing kind of pain Steals o'er each cheek, and thrills the creeping vein! Each rural sight, each sound, each smell combine; The tinkling sheep-bell, or the breath of kine ; Thus, ere night's veil had half obscur'd the sky, Th' impatient damsel hung her lamp on high: True to the signal, by love's meteor led, Leander hasten'd to his Hero's bed. THE feather'd game that haunt the hoary plains, Oft when I've seen the new-fledg'd morn arise, And spread its pinions to the polar skies, Th' expanded air with gelid fragrance fan, Brace the slack nerves and animate the man: Swift from the college, and from cares I flew, (For studious cares solicit something new) From tinkling bells that wake the truant's fears, And letter'd trophies of three thousand years; |