Evening
The sun upon the lake is low,
The wild birds hush their song;
The hills have evening’s deepest glow,
Yet Leonard tarries long.
Now all whom varied toil and care
From home and love divide,
In the calm sunset may repair
Each to the loved one’s side.
The noble dame on turret high,
Who waits her gallant knight,
Looks to the western beam to spy
The flash of armour bright.
The village maid, with hand on brow
The level ray to shade,
Upon the footpath watches now
For Colin’s darkening plaid.
Now to their mates the wild swans row,
By day they swam apart;
And to the thicket wanders slow
The hind beside the hart.
The woodlark at his partner’s side
Twitters his closing song—
All meet whom day and care divide,—
But Leonard tarries long!
Sir W. Scott.