VII.

Hence! thou lingerer, light! Eve saddens into night. Mother of wildly-working dreams! we view The sombre hours, that round thee stand With down-cast eyes (a duteous band!), Their dark robes dripping with the heavy dew. Sorceress of the ebon throne! Thy power the Pixies own, When round thy raven brow Heaven’s lucent roses glow, And clouds, in wat’ry colours drest, Float in light drapery o’er thy sable vest; What time the pale moon sheds a softer ray, Mellowing the woods beneath its pensive beam: For ’mid the quiv’ring light ’tis ours to play, Aye dancing to the cadence of the stream.