A WALK AT SUNSET.

When insect wings are glistening in the beam Of the low sun, and mountain tops are bright, Oh! let me by the crystal valley stream, Wander amid the mild and mellow light; And while the wood thrush pipes his evening lay, Give me one lonely hour to hymn the setting day. O sun! that o’er the western mountains now Go’st down in glory! ever beautiful And blesséd is thy radiance, whether thou Colorest the eastern heaven and night mist cool, Till the bright day-star vanish, or on high Climbest and streamest thy white splendors from mid-sky. Yet, loveliest are thy setting smiles, and fair, Fairest of all that earth beholds, the hues That live among the clouds, and flush the air, Lingering and deepening at the hour of dews. Then softest gales are breathed, and softest heard The plaining voice of streams, and pensive note of bird. —William Cullen Bryant.