On active wing abroad, the industrious bees Their busy hum mix with the passing breeze, The light breeze curls the silver-bosom'd flood, Or freshening whispers through the waving wood; The sun, now mounting, gilds the eastern skies, Bright'ning the landscape with its glowing dyes-- Gay beauty smiles along each field and grove-- Congenial smiles--for youth, for joy, and love. But when the soul, long since, has ceased to prove The tender fallacies of youthful love-- And soberer joys, no more, the way adorn, The sad heart, sick'ning, turns from sprightly morn-- Turns, pensive eve, to seek thy milder charms, And dewy haunts, which no gay sunbeam warms. When closing day shuts o'er its busy cares, And onward stealing, twilight meek appears, Drowns in obscurity the distant scene, And casts a softening charm o'er all between-- 'Tis then the sad, the lacerated mind, Does in thy gentle gloom a soother find-- Sighs with less pain beneath its load of cares, And mourns its sorrows with relieving tears. Disrobed of gayer tint and gaudy hue, Sweet Eventide! thy objects meet the view; In modest russet clothed each shrub and flower, Shades ever sacred to thy silent hour-- Shades how congenial! every heart must find, Which long, long suffering, feels, but is resign'd. So we oft see in life's bright morn display'd, A youthful beauty gorgeously arrayed! Unbent by care, her form erect she bears, Bright are her eyes, unsullied yet by tears; By thought unclouded her fair polish'd brow, Nor does her buoyant heart a sorrow know: Gay as the lark's first carol is her song, As with light agile step she moves along; Each young unwary heart to love she warms, A sparkling wonder, and a blaze of charms! But when this dazzling radiance is o'er And morn's bright beauties fade to bloom no more; When noontide clouds for evening showers prepare, And the gay crowd no longer hail her fair-- Then, if beneath this form so heavenly bright Some latent virtues rest--obscured from sight, (By suffering taught its own intrinsic worth) The struggling heart first learns to call them forth: Taught by her own to feel another's woes, The sweets of Heaven-born charity she knows; While sympathetic tears unbidden flow, And gentle pity does its balm bestow. Now softened every gaudy trait is seen To milder russet changed her vivid green; Her morning splendors caught the young and gay, But the meek mourner loves her eventide ray. Ah! hour of twilight russet--thou art past-- And hope, sweet star of eve! has shone its last-- Nor can a ray of cheering light impart Where midnight darkness ever wraps the heart.