From ev'ry chimney mounts the curling smoke, Muddy and gray, of the new ev'ning fire; On ev'ry window smokes the fam'ly supper, Set out to cool by the attentive housewife, While cheerful groups at every door conven'd Bawl cross the narrow lane the parish news, And oft the bursting laugh disturbs the air. But see who comes to set them all agag! The weary-footed pedlar with his pack. How stiff he bends beneath his bulky load! Cover'd with dust, slip-shod, and out at elbows; His greasy hat sits backward on his head; His thin straight hair divided on his brow Hangs lank on either side his glist'ning cheeks, And woe-begone, yet vacant is his face. His box he opens and displays his ware. Full many a varied row of precious stones Cast forth their dazzling lustre to the light. To the desiring maiden's wishful eye The ruby necklace shews its tempting blaze: The china buttons, stamp'd with love device, Attract the notice of the gaping youth; Whilst streaming garters, fasten'd to a pole, Aloft in air their gaudy stripes display, And from afar the distant stragglers lure. The children leave their play and round him flock; E'en sober aged grand-dame quits her seat, Where by the door she twines her lengthen'd threads, Her spindle stops, and lays her distaff by, Then joins with step sedate the curious throng. She praises much the fashions of her youth, And scorns each gaudy nonsense of the day; Yet not ill-pleas'd the glossy ribband views, Uproll'd, and changing hues with ev'ry fold, New measur'd out to deck her daughter's head. Now red, but languid, the last weakly beams Of the departing sun, across the lawn Deep gild the top of the long sweepy ridge, And shed a scatter'd brightness, bright but cheerless, Between the op'nings of the rifted hills; Which like the farewell looks of some dear friend, That speaks him kind, yet sadden as they smile, But only serve to deepen the low vale, And make the shadows of the night more gloomy. The varied noises of the cheerful village By slow degrees now faintly die away, And more distinct each feeble sound is heard That gently steals ad own the river's bed, Or thro' the wood comes with the ruffling breeze. The white mist rises from the swampy glens, And from the dappled flatting of the heav'ns Looks out the ev'ning star.---- The lover skulking in the neighb'ring copse, (Whose half-seen form shewn thro' the thicken'd air, Large and majestic, makes the tray'ller start, And spreads the story of the haunted grove,) Curses the owl, whose loud ill-omen'd scream, With ceaseless spite, robes from his watchful ear The well known footsteps of his darling maid; And fretful, chaces from his face the night-fly, Who buzzing round his head doth often skim, With flutt'ring wing, across his glowing cheek: For all but him in deep and balmy sleep Forget the toils of the oppressive day; Shut is the door of ev'ry scatter'd cot, And silence dwells within. NIGHT SCENES OF OTHER TIMES. A POEM, IN THREE PARTS. PART I.