The ruddy-purpled day in light retires, The shrieking owlets wanton in the air, And others hoot to see the rising fires Of Hesperus exalt their glory fair; The cattle low from out their stabled yard, From house to house the chiding dog is heard, And now the hamlets, that have laboured hard The live-long day, have their sweet toil deferred: Above, the moon her silver orbit wheels With pale delight, like fitful tragedy; And to the shepherd his damp path reveals, That to the longing arms of Madge doth hie: In cities now they play great scenes to kings, Whilst here muse I, and think of deeper things.