Sunset, after Rain.

The shower hath drifted o’er ;  the blue1
                        
                        Of cloudless heaven shines softly through ;2
                        
                        Still is the air, the sea is calm,3
                        
                        The bright-bloom’d flowers outbreathing balm :4
                        
                        And from the west, with orange ray,5
                        
                        Serenely clear and calmly gay,6
                        
                        The sun looks forth o’er ocean’s isles,7
                        
                        O’er earth and-heaven, and, setting, smiles.8
                        What though the day in clouds hath pass’d,9
                        
                        Though dripp’d the rain, and roar’d the blast,10
                        
                        Though morning’s orient flag unfurl’d11
                        
                        Scarce awed the shades that dimm’d the world,12
                        
                        And fire-eyed noon’s resplendent car13
                        
                        Plough’d vainly through deep mists afar—14
                        
                        This scene of beauty and delights,15
                        
                        And evening radiance, well requites16
                        
                        For dreary doubts and boding gloom,17
                        
                        And dreams whose dwelling was the tomb.18
                        The murmuring bee from flower to flower19
                        
                        Is roaming round the bloss’my bower,—20
                        
                        The clustering bower, where jasmine wreath21
                        
                        Is mix’d with odorous flowers ;  beneath22
                        
                        The creeping honeysuckle weaves23
                        
                        Its yellow horns with ivy leaves ;24
                        
                        And round about, in many a row,25
                        
                        The lilies of the valley blow,26
                        
                        Upshooting snowy bells between27
                        
                        Luxuriant stems of darkest green.28
                        How bright, how beautiful, the day29
                        
                        In its calm lustre dies away,30
                        
                        As if the clouds that wept the while31
                        
                        Now dried their tears, and turn’d to smile32
                        
                        Down on the verdant vales of earth,33
                        
                        Whose looks have changed from gloom to mirth !34
                        
                        On every blade, and leaf, and stem,35
                        
                        Of diamond drops a diadem36
                        
                        Around is sprinkled, bright and clear37
                        
                        As beauty’s sympathizing tear38
                        
                        When sinless sorrows cause its flow ;39
                        
                        The fruits depend from every bough,40
                        
                        
Mellow and ripe ;  the downy peach,41
                        
                        The purpled plum, and nectarine, each42
                        
                        Half-shaded by its leaves, in hue43
                        
                        Diversified, and varying too.—44
                        
                        With note melodious, clear, and free,45
                        
                        Upon the moss-brown’d apple-tree,46
                        
                        Within the ancient orchard’s pale,47
                        
                        The blackbird, Scotland’s nightingale,48
                        
                        Sits singing, and responses sound49
                        
                        From every grove and garden round.50
                        When worldly strife is hush’d, and all51
                        
                        With Music’s murmuring, dying fall,52
                        
                        The air is stirr’d, how sweet, to rest,53
                        
                        Remote from men, with easy breast,54
                        
                        While scenes awake to Memory’s eye—55
                        
                        Scenes, whose bright hues can never die—56
                        
                        As round the pictures of the past57
                        
                        Her more than sunlight glow is cast,—58
                        
                        Scenes ’mid Time’s landscape far, but seen,59
                        
                        By distance hallow’d, calm, serene,60
                        
                        And bearing in their mellow dyes61
                        
                        As ’twere the mark of Paradise ;—62
                        
                        So, over ocean’s billows curl’d63
                        
                        Blue coasts, the confines of a world—64
                        
                        A world of hope, and love, and truth,65
                        
                        And beauty to the eyes of youth ;66
                        
                        Some realm of fancy, which how fain67
                        
                        The feet would traverse—but in vain.68
                        Yes !  all of calm, and grand, and fair,69
                        
                        In iris hues are pictured there ;70
                        
                        There, from terrestrial dross refined,71
                        
                        We see the shadows of mankind,72
                        
                        Beyond the clouds of grief and fear,73
                        
                        Bright wandering in a fairy sphere ;74
                        
                        All low-born cares dispersed and gone,75
                        
                        Misfortune fled, and Pain unknown.76
                        We look on valorous deeds, which raise77
                        
                        To ecstasy the voice of praise,78
                        
                        As youthful Wolfe sinks down to die79
                        
                        Within the arms of victory ;80
                        
                        Or Moore, without a murmur, yields81
                        
                        His spirit on the last of fields,82
                        
                        And, by his mourning comrades brave,83
                        
                        Is laid, at midnight, in the grave,—84
                        
                        The wailing of the restless surge,85
                        
                        And cannon of the foe, his dirge :—86
                        
                        We listen to the words, whose glow87
                        
                        Makes nations like a river flow,88
                        
                        As Chatham’s kindled lips dispense89
                        
                        The lava tide of eloquence,90
                        
                        Unmanacle the friendless slave,91
                        
                        Stir up the nerveless to be brave,92
                        
                        And bid his country’s armies be93
                        
                        Unmatch’d on shore, supreme at sea ;—94
                        
                        We marvel at the thoughts which climb95
                        
                        Above our nature, bright, sublime,96
                        
                        As of the immortal Milton sings,97
                        
                        His muse on angel-pinion’d wings,98
                        
                        Aspiring high, till Heaven above99
                        
                        Seems link’d to Earth with chains of love.100